Community Fic: so go join a jane austen book club
Here 0penhearts. Whatever Mary. I'll get to the other thing when I want to.
so go join a jane austen book club
he said. she said. they said. whatever. there are no dinosaurs in this one.
community | jeff/annie | spoilers for geography of global conflict | 3,222 words, PG.
-
Jeff breaks his refrigerator. Abed calls it the end of an era, still riding the weird high from the UN fiasco; it's still a broken refrigerator and Jeff's probably looking for someone to blame when really it's the stupid door and a little hair product and everything Jeff swears her to secrecy about. She's still not sure how that happens or how it's possible.
It's just that Shirley gets a wind of the whole thing and since their awkward week of feelings, she's convinced that broken refrigerators are a euphemism for sex and fake relationships. Or this is what Jeff tells her when he catches her in a panic. There's something about him, her, and bedrooms and she's trying not to blush that badly, framing her face with her hands.
"She's going to test us."
"You," she points out. "Shirley is going to test you."
They're in the closet. Or their closet. You know, the one he dragged himself into after their debate. No, she doesn't call it their closet. It only happens by default when the couch is unavailable and they kind of have to talk about stuff.
She's trying not to trip too. Because nobody ever cleans out this room; Pierce's wine and glasses and easy chair are gathering spiders and dust in the corner. It's gross. There have to be more romantic closets than this one anyway.
"Look," he corners her by the shelves. "I'll, like, watch Glee or whatever."
Her eyes narrow. "You hate the show," she says. "And besides, it's not like anybody's going to be surprised about you and your hair product fetish. You're Jeff Winger. This is kind of what you go and do - a worrying amount of hair product is always involved."
"Annie."
"Jeff."
He throws his hands up. She bites back a grin.
"Look," she says. "Swear Abed off or something - it's more believable seeing as he's the one that's been to your place."
He shakes his head, moving into her space. He hovers. Then he reaches out and brushes his fingers against her cheek. She doesn't blush, but she tries and hides a sigh. It's about space and no space and she feels herself turn her cheek into his touch, the corners of his mouth turning and this is really, really bad.
This is how it starts. It's his fault.
He plays dirty.
While Jeff can hide behind his passive aggressive tendency to downplay all aspects of his life, she kind of hides behind her ability to accept that and then accept more downplay - in, you know, a childish tantrum sort of way. She's an adult, okay, and she gets angry. She gets furious because sometimes these people expect her to and it's hard not to give into it. The last thing she wants to do is disappoint her friends, who are more and more like her family anyway.
So when she arrives at the front of his door, she remembers that she swore up and down to Shirley and Shirley's baby that she was only in Jeff's apartment for five minutes and no, no, no she couldn't recite the placement of his television or the glasses in his cupboard or the color of the shirt she wore in the morning. Okay not that. But she's practicing and Shirley has seemed to make up her mind anyway: Jeff, Annie, tension - it all equates to some kind of relationship conspiracy.
"I don't know why I'm here," she blurts when he opens the door and honestly, he looks at her like he's surprised to see her when she definitely, definitely knows that this was his idea and she can't really do anything about it. Jeff's plans only do well for the collective anyway.
"Solidarity," he says dryly.
"Whatever."
He steps back to let her in and she slips around him, half-expecting a wide array of grays and blues, lazy paintings, an abnormally sized television and a butler who is really a playmate or something. That's the Britta in her head. Remember, Jeff is gross. Remember.
But in fact, Jeff's place is pretty normal, pretty empty, and she's kind of confused by the whole thing. Her hands curl around her jacket. She tugs it off and she folds it over her arm, draping it over the back of his couch.
"Jeff," she says. "It's like no one lives here."
"I do."
She snorts. "Sorry," she says. "Let me rephrase this. It's like you don't live here. But then I'm remembering your car and that kind of, like, puts that into perspective."
"Shirley's going to test you," he points out.
"So you made it easier for me?"
His mouth twitches. She's a little offended, but shakes her head.
"She probably thinks we've - " she waves her hand around, flushing. "You know," she says. "And stuff … why should it matter if I know that your glasses are by the sink and the cabinet door is broken."
He blinks. "What?"
She rolls her eyes. "Britta," she says simply.
Jeff groans and she moves around the room, taking in the rest of his apartment. There's a door off to the side that she assumes leads to the bedroom. She forgoes it for the kitchen though, greeted by a neat stack of dishes in the skin and a few beer bottles leaning against the counter by the breakfast bar. There is a big bucket of something called protein powder. Her mouth opens and closes. She wrinkles her nose too. It's all weirdly Jeff, but weirdly lonely, so much so that she turns around and finds him watching her.
He waves his hand. They need to get to work anyway.
"Are we faking a relationship for five minutes?" she asks, and they've covered the kitchen. Outside of the broken refrigerator, there's the leaky faucet and the hinge on the door with the glasses is, in fact, broken. He's also shoved most of the supermarket in his freezer, which weirdly worries her too. But Jeff is Jeff, right?
"You know Shirley has probably drawn her own conclusions anyway," she says too. "So this could never matter. Or not be five minutes. The baby is starting his teething, you know."
He narrows his eyes, but says nothing yet. They've made it to the bedroom as it is.
The bed's a mess, the sheets skewed everywhere. It's too much white and on the walls, there is a single series of photographs that makes her cough a laugh into her hand. There's nothing in particular - a street, a wide range in the woods, and an old car. She can imagine him standing there, trying to explain to Girl A about the metaphysical nature of it all, totally serious and totally Jeff with Girl A - and B, C, D, E - buying it all the way to his bed.
"Seriously though," she drawls. "This is Shirley. Shirley probably doesn't care this much."
He drops to the bed. "It's Shirley," he repeats. "Shirley already hates me for breathing the same air as you unsupervised. Don't need to aggravate the situation."
"Jeff," she says. "You broke your refrigerator with hair product. How, I don't want to even know. Tell her the truth and she may forget about you and your - issues."
He smirks. "You're my issue, Annie."
"I know." Her eyes narrow. "You told me, remember?"
He's quiet because, of course, she brings it up again like always. He'll get to start. She blames him for the first make out situation. Then, you know, she's not going to go and not kiss him back. Jeff Winger is in fact an excellent kisser, so bring on the second make out and then the multiple times and times of unresolved tension that drove her so crazy so maybe, so okay, she started watching Glee. She takes ownership in this too - don't get her wrong - there is something about Jeff that pulls ridiculously well at her nerves, that makes her crazy and soft and just too open to be comfortable with. She can't help it and she hates him a little for that.
It's what makes her sit down too. She curls her legs underneath herself. Her skirt shifts and slides and she reaches forward, punching him lightly on the arm.
"We have to make this believable."
He snorts. "I know." She laughs a little, shaking her head. "No seriously," he says. "I know."
"It's probably going to freak her out about her baby and what not," Annie says, shrugging. "It would probably be worse if she had a daughter."
Jeff groans, rubbing his eyes. "There is that."
She ignores him for a moment. Her fingers play at the buttons of her blouse, staring at his closet. It's closed, but it doesn't matter. There's a basket of shirts leaning against it.
"Blue," she says suddenly. She doesn't look at him. Her hands ball into fists against her legs. "I'd wear your blue shirt, okay? The one that you try and hope people don't know you wear a lot. In the mornings and to bed - and yes, you're particular about thread count and whatever stupid Jeff qualities that attract not so great girls to you. But I get away with it. Because you're Jeff and I'm Annie and we're so going to have the best fake relationship for five minutes ever."
He laughs, dropping back against the bed. "Yeah, there's that too."
Shirley sends Abed up first with the ex-husband husband husband. She can hear the three of them talk from the bedroom, neatly folding her skirt in half. She takes one look at it, then digs her fingers into the fabric. She balls it up and then tosses it the side, watching as it lands somewhere close to Jeff's gym back. Or close enough.
She's wearing the blue shirt and just the blue shirt. Shirley's going to kill her. Well, no. Shirely's going to kill Jeff first and then send her away to one of those conversion camps in hopes of bringing her to the spirt or something. It doesn't matter though because Jeff's shirt feels nice against her skin, settling against her thighs. She's rolled the cuffs too and runs a hand through her hair, messing it up a little. She slides on her glasses and takes a couple of deep breathes. Then, okay, she take a couple more, moving to the frame of the open door.
Abed sees her first. His eyes narrow and he tilts his head to the side. Jeff and Malcolm are talking quietly; the baby in Malcolm's arms is sleeping and Jeff looks like he's trying all sorts of ways to figure out if it's going to wake up and eat his face off. It's very Jeff.
She bites her lip. "Hey," she says.
"It's not -" Jeff turns and his eyes darken. His arms cross in front of his chest. "Sears," he finishes, licking his lips. "Shirley's on her way up."
"Solidarity," she says, and Jeff's mouth curls. It makes her relax.
"So resolved," Abed says.
She shrugs and smiles at Malcolm. "I'm sorry you're here," she says, and the man shrugs, his mouth quirking.
"Where's the Annie touch though?" Abed says.
"Jeff kills flowers," she tells him. "And only dry cleans."
She is not looking at Jeff. She cannot look at Jeff. Jeff is looking at her. Or her legs - she tries not to feel self-conscious about the whole thing. Then again she is faking a relationship with a guy who told her that he secretly likes her or is waiting around for her in a totally condescending kind of way. Okay though, she really likes Jeff's shirt.
"I hope you're wearing undergarments, Annie."
Everybody freezes with Shirley coming into the apartment. Jeff, in fact, pulls back from Malcolm and Abed and baby Shirley to move to her. He touches her hip. She looks up at him and her mouth twitches.
"Yes," she says slowly. Her face feels warm. "The shirt's long enough."
"It's her favorite," Jeff adds, and Annie's mouth twitches. She ducks when Shirley makes a horrified sound and then it's the baby whimpering in Malcolm's arm. "Which is whatever," he says. "At least it's not the gray one."
She rolls her eyes. "You're not helping your case," she mutters.
He grits his teeth. "Shut up, Annie."
Abed watches them with interest and then steps forward, moving to her. She shifts against the door frame and then he leans over her, the corners of his mouth twist. A lazy, sinking feeling starts to grow inside of her; when he reaches forward, his fingers curl lightly around the ends of her hair, twisting a few strands.
"Kid," he says, voice low and thick. Annie flushes, eyeing him warily.
"Abed," Jeff warns.
But Abed keeps his gaze on her. He shifts closer and she's getting the feeling that she's suddenly about to be a key player in one of Abed's obvious social experiments. Her lips still part and he's sort of leaning into her too, his mouth hovering a little too close to hers.
"Abed," Jeff warns again.
And here's the thing, Abed for all his quirks is relatively fearless when it comes to pushing and pushing and pushing in a certain way. She never knows what it means and there's the whole paintball thing that comes back to mind. It's then that she gently grasps his wrist, tugging it free from her hair and sliding closer to Jeff. Jeff, for his part, lets his fingers skim against her thigh and then her hip, leaning closer to her too.
Abed blinks. Then to Annie, he shrugs. "You smell nice."
"Ugh," Jeff says.
Shirley clears her throat. "I think," she says, "it's time we talk ground rules. And - and protection, Jeffery. Or investments, if it's this serious."
Annie decides that they're the worst when it comes to this.
When everyone is gone - and subsequently, after Annie swears on a purse-size version of the Holy Bible that she's going to be home at a reasonable time - she and Jeff drop to his couch. Her hands cover her face. She's sure she should probably be a little more careful about how she sits, seeing as she's still in Jeff's shirt and it's not, okay, it's sort of like a big deal because Jeff basically told her the other day that he could be really serious about things and she basically confessed to some kind of trust issues. And this was supposed to be about his hair product issues.
Pulling her hands from her face, she drops her head back on the couch and turns it so that she's looking at him. His eyes are closed but his mouth curls lazily.
"You're way too pleased," she says.
"You were right." She chokes and Jeff smirks. "I mean," he says. "Shirley's going to think what she wants to think anyway."
"So why am I here again?"
He shrugs. "Solidarity," he says.
They're quiet. She's trying not to think too much about the fact that she really does like Jeff's blue shirt and it's kind of nice how it's not too short, not too long, and if this was really serious, he'd probably never get said shirt back unless - she is so not going to finish that thought. But her fingers trail against her thighs and she's curling her legs to the side, shifting so that slowly, carefully, her head drops against his shoulder.
His arm slips underneath her neck and it feels almost instinctive. His fingers move to her hair and he's combing them lightly through the strands. His mouth grazes her forehead and she breathes, feeling herself relax.
"We're lousy at faking," he murmurs.
"We have to get over ourselves," she agrees. He snorts and she amends. "You do," she says, her fingers brushing over his jeans. "The sooner you accept your unhealthy attachments to hair products, the better - I accept you for who you are."
"That's something," he says dryly.
She smacks his thigh.
"I don't know how to do this," he tells her. It's not a confession, but he's serious enough. His fingers brush against the back of her neck. "Not even remotely," he mutters.
Annie swallows. "Does anybody ever?" she asks. "I mean, I've watched you before and then there's Britta and then there's Shirley too. There was me and Vaughn and Delaware. And Abed - " she shakes her head, sighing. "The point is that nobody really does. If I'm going to accept growing up, you kind of have to do so too."
"She's still going to test us," he mutters.
Her eyes roll.
"She's Shirley."
He shakes his head. "Still, I mean -" she feels his mouth curl against her forehead. It's weird, she thinks. It's so weird because she is not thinking about kissing him. It's just weirdly nice to be next to him this way. There's no sense of expectation. "I'm a vain asshole," he says instead. "You do know that right?"
Her laughter is soft. "Since I met you."
When she looks up at him, he's serious. His mouth opens but nothing comes out; it's Jeff and it's feelings and maybe this is the part where she's supposed where she's either supposed to be the bigger person or the one with all the answers. Maybe it's just time she come to terms with her own words.
Cupping his face, she leans in and brushes her mouth against his jaw. She kisses his cheek then too. He only draws back, just a little bit, meeting her gaze.
"Annie."
She shakes her head. "Shut up, Jeff," she says.
It's easy to kiss him first. It's kind of supposed to be her anyway; her mouth opens lazily, her fingers curling into a fist against the jaw. He bites at her mouth and she finds herself twisting into his lap to sit against him.
The shirt is everywhere and his fingers drag at her throat, over the first couple of buttons. He picks at them, his thumb rolling into the collar and she lets out a soft moan into his mouth. The couch presses back against her knees. The tails of his shirt are rising and really though, this is a terrible, terrible idea. It's different when they're alone though and hiding behind that doesn't work and maybe that's the part that they need to move into.
She's the one that pulls back though, rocking back onto her knees too and drawing her hands over his chest. Her hair falls into her eyes and she reaches up to push her glasses back into it, shaking her head as he sighs and clears his throat.
Hiding doesn't work anyway.
Annie wears his shirt to school. She tucks it into her skirt, carrying her books at her hip as she makes sure to place herself between the door and Economics, directly in Shirley's view as she comes down the hall to join her. Her friend smiles and there's baby pictures and their professor passes into the room with them, staring at the pictures in Shirley's hands like they are the most offensive things ever.
Still, Annie runs a hand over the shirt, pressing at the fabric and over the creases. She watches Shirley as she talks, bring the inside of her mouth as the other woman keeps talking. But Shirley won't notice until lunch.
Abed picks up on it first.
so go join a jane austen book club
he said. she said. they said. whatever. there are no dinosaurs in this one.
community | jeff/annie | spoilers for geography of global conflict | 3,222 words, PG.
-
Jeff breaks his refrigerator. Abed calls it the end of an era, still riding the weird high from the UN fiasco; it's still a broken refrigerator and Jeff's probably looking for someone to blame when really it's the stupid door and a little hair product and everything Jeff swears her to secrecy about. She's still not sure how that happens or how it's possible.
It's just that Shirley gets a wind of the whole thing and since their awkward week of feelings, she's convinced that broken refrigerators are a euphemism for sex and fake relationships. Or this is what Jeff tells her when he catches her in a panic. There's something about him, her, and bedrooms and she's trying not to blush that badly, framing her face with her hands.
"She's going to test us."
"You," she points out. "Shirley is going to test you."
They're in the closet. Or their closet. You know, the one he dragged himself into after their debate. No, she doesn't call it their closet. It only happens by default when the couch is unavailable and they kind of have to talk about stuff.
She's trying not to trip too. Because nobody ever cleans out this room; Pierce's wine and glasses and easy chair are gathering spiders and dust in the corner. It's gross. There have to be more romantic closets than this one anyway.
"Look," he corners her by the shelves. "I'll, like, watch Glee or whatever."
Her eyes narrow. "You hate the show," she says. "And besides, it's not like anybody's going to be surprised about you and your hair product fetish. You're Jeff Winger. This is kind of what you go and do - a worrying amount of hair product is always involved."
"Annie."
"Jeff."
He throws his hands up. She bites back a grin.
"Look," she says. "Swear Abed off or something - it's more believable seeing as he's the one that's been to your place."
He shakes his head, moving into her space. He hovers. Then he reaches out and brushes his fingers against her cheek. She doesn't blush, but she tries and hides a sigh. It's about space and no space and she feels herself turn her cheek into his touch, the corners of his mouth turning and this is really, really bad.
This is how it starts. It's his fault.
He plays dirty.
While Jeff can hide behind his passive aggressive tendency to downplay all aspects of his life, she kind of hides behind her ability to accept that and then accept more downplay - in, you know, a childish tantrum sort of way. She's an adult, okay, and she gets angry. She gets furious because sometimes these people expect her to and it's hard not to give into it. The last thing she wants to do is disappoint her friends, who are more and more like her family anyway.
So when she arrives at the front of his door, she remembers that she swore up and down to Shirley and Shirley's baby that she was only in Jeff's apartment for five minutes and no, no, no she couldn't recite the placement of his television or the glasses in his cupboard or the color of the shirt she wore in the morning. Okay not that. But she's practicing and Shirley has seemed to make up her mind anyway: Jeff, Annie, tension - it all equates to some kind of relationship conspiracy.
"I don't know why I'm here," she blurts when he opens the door and honestly, he looks at her like he's surprised to see her when she definitely, definitely knows that this was his idea and she can't really do anything about it. Jeff's plans only do well for the collective anyway.
"Solidarity," he says dryly.
"Whatever."
He steps back to let her in and she slips around him, half-expecting a wide array of grays and blues, lazy paintings, an abnormally sized television and a butler who is really a playmate or something. That's the Britta in her head. Remember, Jeff is gross. Remember.
But in fact, Jeff's place is pretty normal, pretty empty, and she's kind of confused by the whole thing. Her hands curl around her jacket. She tugs it off and she folds it over her arm, draping it over the back of his couch.
"Jeff," she says. "It's like no one lives here."
"I do."
She snorts. "Sorry," she says. "Let me rephrase this. It's like you don't live here. But then I'm remembering your car and that kind of, like, puts that into perspective."
"Shirley's going to test you," he points out.
"So you made it easier for me?"
His mouth twitches. She's a little offended, but shakes her head.
"She probably thinks we've - " she waves her hand around, flushing. "You know," she says. "And stuff … why should it matter if I know that your glasses are by the sink and the cabinet door is broken."
He blinks. "What?"
She rolls her eyes. "Britta," she says simply.
Jeff groans and she moves around the room, taking in the rest of his apartment. There's a door off to the side that she assumes leads to the bedroom. She forgoes it for the kitchen though, greeted by a neat stack of dishes in the skin and a few beer bottles leaning against the counter by the breakfast bar. There is a big bucket of something called protein powder. Her mouth opens and closes. She wrinkles her nose too. It's all weirdly Jeff, but weirdly lonely, so much so that she turns around and finds him watching her.
He waves his hand. They need to get to work anyway.
"Are we faking a relationship for five minutes?" she asks, and they've covered the kitchen. Outside of the broken refrigerator, there's the leaky faucet and the hinge on the door with the glasses is, in fact, broken. He's also shoved most of the supermarket in his freezer, which weirdly worries her too. But Jeff is Jeff, right?
"You know Shirley has probably drawn her own conclusions anyway," she says too. "So this could never matter. Or not be five minutes. The baby is starting his teething, you know."
He narrows his eyes, but says nothing yet. They've made it to the bedroom as it is.
The bed's a mess, the sheets skewed everywhere. It's too much white and on the walls, there is a single series of photographs that makes her cough a laugh into her hand. There's nothing in particular - a street, a wide range in the woods, and an old car. She can imagine him standing there, trying to explain to Girl A about the metaphysical nature of it all, totally serious and totally Jeff with Girl A - and B, C, D, E - buying it all the way to his bed.
"Seriously though," she drawls. "This is Shirley. Shirley probably doesn't care this much."
He drops to the bed. "It's Shirley," he repeats. "Shirley already hates me for breathing the same air as you unsupervised. Don't need to aggravate the situation."
"Jeff," she says. "You broke your refrigerator with hair product. How, I don't want to even know. Tell her the truth and she may forget about you and your - issues."
He smirks. "You're my issue, Annie."
"I know." Her eyes narrow. "You told me, remember?"
He's quiet because, of course, she brings it up again like always. He'll get to start. She blames him for the first make out situation. Then, you know, she's not going to go and not kiss him back. Jeff Winger is in fact an excellent kisser, so bring on the second make out and then the multiple times and times of unresolved tension that drove her so crazy so maybe, so okay, she started watching Glee. She takes ownership in this too - don't get her wrong - there is something about Jeff that pulls ridiculously well at her nerves, that makes her crazy and soft and just too open to be comfortable with. She can't help it and she hates him a little for that.
It's what makes her sit down too. She curls her legs underneath herself. Her skirt shifts and slides and she reaches forward, punching him lightly on the arm.
"We have to make this believable."
He snorts. "I know." She laughs a little, shaking her head. "No seriously," he says. "I know."
"It's probably going to freak her out about her baby and what not," Annie says, shrugging. "It would probably be worse if she had a daughter."
Jeff groans, rubbing his eyes. "There is that."
She ignores him for a moment. Her fingers play at the buttons of her blouse, staring at his closet. It's closed, but it doesn't matter. There's a basket of shirts leaning against it.
"Blue," she says suddenly. She doesn't look at him. Her hands ball into fists against her legs. "I'd wear your blue shirt, okay? The one that you try and hope people don't know you wear a lot. In the mornings and to bed - and yes, you're particular about thread count and whatever stupid Jeff qualities that attract not so great girls to you. But I get away with it. Because you're Jeff and I'm Annie and we're so going to have the best fake relationship for five minutes ever."
He laughs, dropping back against the bed. "Yeah, there's that too."
Shirley sends Abed up first with the ex-husband husband husband. She can hear the three of them talk from the bedroom, neatly folding her skirt in half. She takes one look at it, then digs her fingers into the fabric. She balls it up and then tosses it the side, watching as it lands somewhere close to Jeff's gym back. Or close enough.
She's wearing the blue shirt and just the blue shirt. Shirley's going to kill her. Well, no. Shirely's going to kill Jeff first and then send her away to one of those conversion camps in hopes of bringing her to the spirt or something. It doesn't matter though because Jeff's shirt feels nice against her skin, settling against her thighs. She's rolled the cuffs too and runs a hand through her hair, messing it up a little. She slides on her glasses and takes a couple of deep breathes. Then, okay, she take a couple more, moving to the frame of the open door.
Abed sees her first. His eyes narrow and he tilts his head to the side. Jeff and Malcolm are talking quietly; the baby in Malcolm's arms is sleeping and Jeff looks like he's trying all sorts of ways to figure out if it's going to wake up and eat his face off. It's very Jeff.
She bites her lip. "Hey," she says.
"It's not -" Jeff turns and his eyes darken. His arms cross in front of his chest. "Sears," he finishes, licking his lips. "Shirley's on her way up."
"Solidarity," she says, and Jeff's mouth curls. It makes her relax.
"So resolved," Abed says.
She shrugs and smiles at Malcolm. "I'm sorry you're here," she says, and the man shrugs, his mouth quirking.
"Where's the Annie touch though?" Abed says.
"Jeff kills flowers," she tells him. "And only dry cleans."
She is not looking at Jeff. She cannot look at Jeff. Jeff is looking at her. Or her legs - she tries not to feel self-conscious about the whole thing. Then again she is faking a relationship with a guy who told her that he secretly likes her or is waiting around for her in a totally condescending kind of way. Okay though, she really likes Jeff's shirt.
"I hope you're wearing undergarments, Annie."
Everybody freezes with Shirley coming into the apartment. Jeff, in fact, pulls back from Malcolm and Abed and baby Shirley to move to her. He touches her hip. She looks up at him and her mouth twitches.
"Yes," she says slowly. Her face feels warm. "The shirt's long enough."
"It's her favorite," Jeff adds, and Annie's mouth twitches. She ducks when Shirley makes a horrified sound and then it's the baby whimpering in Malcolm's arm. "Which is whatever," he says. "At least it's not the gray one."
She rolls her eyes. "You're not helping your case," she mutters.
He grits his teeth. "Shut up, Annie."
Abed watches them with interest and then steps forward, moving to her. She shifts against the door frame and then he leans over her, the corners of his mouth twist. A lazy, sinking feeling starts to grow inside of her; when he reaches forward, his fingers curl lightly around the ends of her hair, twisting a few strands.
"Kid," he says, voice low and thick. Annie flushes, eyeing him warily.
"Abed," Jeff warns.
But Abed keeps his gaze on her. He shifts closer and she's getting the feeling that she's suddenly about to be a key player in one of Abed's obvious social experiments. Her lips still part and he's sort of leaning into her too, his mouth hovering a little too close to hers.
"Abed," Jeff warns again.
And here's the thing, Abed for all his quirks is relatively fearless when it comes to pushing and pushing and pushing in a certain way. She never knows what it means and there's the whole paintball thing that comes back to mind. It's then that she gently grasps his wrist, tugging it free from her hair and sliding closer to Jeff. Jeff, for his part, lets his fingers skim against her thigh and then her hip, leaning closer to her too.
Abed blinks. Then to Annie, he shrugs. "You smell nice."
"Ugh," Jeff says.
Shirley clears her throat. "I think," she says, "it's time we talk ground rules. And - and protection, Jeffery. Or investments, if it's this serious."
Annie decides that they're the worst when it comes to this.
When everyone is gone - and subsequently, after Annie swears on a purse-size version of the Holy Bible that she's going to be home at a reasonable time - she and Jeff drop to his couch. Her hands cover her face. She's sure she should probably be a little more careful about how she sits, seeing as she's still in Jeff's shirt and it's not, okay, it's sort of like a big deal because Jeff basically told her the other day that he could be really serious about things and she basically confessed to some kind of trust issues. And this was supposed to be about his hair product issues.
Pulling her hands from her face, she drops her head back on the couch and turns it so that she's looking at him. His eyes are closed but his mouth curls lazily.
"You're way too pleased," she says.
"You were right." She chokes and Jeff smirks. "I mean," he says. "Shirley's going to think what she wants to think anyway."
"So why am I here again?"
He shrugs. "Solidarity," he says.
They're quiet. She's trying not to think too much about the fact that she really does like Jeff's blue shirt and it's kind of nice how it's not too short, not too long, and if this was really serious, he'd probably never get said shirt back unless - she is so not going to finish that thought. But her fingers trail against her thighs and she's curling her legs to the side, shifting so that slowly, carefully, her head drops against his shoulder.
His arm slips underneath her neck and it feels almost instinctive. His fingers move to her hair and he's combing them lightly through the strands. His mouth grazes her forehead and she breathes, feeling herself relax.
"We're lousy at faking," he murmurs.
"We have to get over ourselves," she agrees. He snorts and she amends. "You do," she says, her fingers brushing over his jeans. "The sooner you accept your unhealthy attachments to hair products, the better - I accept you for who you are."
"That's something," he says dryly.
She smacks his thigh.
"I don't know how to do this," he tells her. It's not a confession, but he's serious enough. His fingers brush against the back of her neck. "Not even remotely," he mutters.
Annie swallows. "Does anybody ever?" she asks. "I mean, I've watched you before and then there's Britta and then there's Shirley too. There was me and Vaughn and Delaware. And Abed - " she shakes her head, sighing. "The point is that nobody really does. If I'm going to accept growing up, you kind of have to do so too."
"She's still going to test us," he mutters.
Her eyes roll.
"She's Shirley."
He shakes his head. "Still, I mean -" she feels his mouth curl against her forehead. It's weird, she thinks. It's so weird because she is not thinking about kissing him. It's just weirdly nice to be next to him this way. There's no sense of expectation. "I'm a vain asshole," he says instead. "You do know that right?"
Her laughter is soft. "Since I met you."
When she looks up at him, he's serious. His mouth opens but nothing comes out; it's Jeff and it's feelings and maybe this is the part where she's supposed where she's either supposed to be the bigger person or the one with all the answers. Maybe it's just time she come to terms with her own words.
Cupping his face, she leans in and brushes her mouth against his jaw. She kisses his cheek then too. He only draws back, just a little bit, meeting her gaze.
"Annie."
She shakes her head. "Shut up, Jeff," she says.
It's easy to kiss him first. It's kind of supposed to be her anyway; her mouth opens lazily, her fingers curling into a fist against the jaw. He bites at her mouth and she finds herself twisting into his lap to sit against him.
The shirt is everywhere and his fingers drag at her throat, over the first couple of buttons. He picks at them, his thumb rolling into the collar and she lets out a soft moan into his mouth. The couch presses back against her knees. The tails of his shirt are rising and really though, this is a terrible, terrible idea. It's different when they're alone though and hiding behind that doesn't work and maybe that's the part that they need to move into.
She's the one that pulls back though, rocking back onto her knees too and drawing her hands over his chest. Her hair falls into her eyes and she reaches up to push her glasses back into it, shaking her head as he sighs and clears his throat.
Hiding doesn't work anyway.
Annie wears his shirt to school. She tucks it into her skirt, carrying her books at her hip as she makes sure to place herself between the door and Economics, directly in Shirley's view as she comes down the hall to join her. Her friend smiles and there's baby pictures and their professor passes into the room with them, staring at the pictures in Shirley's hands like they are the most offensive things ever.
Still, Annie runs a hand over the shirt, pressing at the fabric and over the creases. She watches Shirley as she talks, bring the inside of her mouth as the other woman keeps talking. But Shirley won't notice until lunch.
Abed picks up on it first.