A/A Fic: Apartment 303, Chapter 1
Title: Apartment 303: Chapter 1
Author:ogwriter
Rating: blanket NC-17
Word Count: approx. 1,200
Disclaimer: I don’t own or profit from Community, just a fan writer.
Description: This is the beginning to what will be an ongoing multi-chapter fic surrounding Abed & Annie at Apartment 303.
Posted to: abedxannie livejournal community
Apartment 303: Chapter 1
By the end of Annie’s second month in the apartment, she had been indoctrinated into the order of the late-night movie marathon. “If you had to choose between having either a tail or giant ears,” Abed began, a note of sleepiness in his voice, “Which one would you choose?” The credits to the last movie of the night, Stand By Me, rolled by on the blanket fort’s TV. Abed didn’t blink much as he looked to where Annie sat at the other end of the couch, quietly expectant of her reply.
She looked up from her phone slowly, and he didn’t have to wonder who she was texting. “W-what?” She stuttered, her wide eyes looking tired from finals week.
The corner of Abed’s mouth pulled slightly as the interaction seemed to fail him. “Nevermind.” He said, and his expression was indifferent. Abed’s eye wandered to Troy’s sleeping form on the nearby bunk bed-when asked, Troy had answered ‘tail’.
Her phone made a plastic rattle as it was suddenly tossed upon the coffee table. “I think giant ears, because a tail would be a nightmare in skirts!” He looked back to her swiftly, and remembered to cue up a smile as she continued. “What about you?”
“I think ears too. As I told Troy, you could wear backpacks as earrings, which would free up your hands.” His chin tipped downward in a gesture he was still ironing out, meant to jokingly express his own poignancy.
“I like backpacks.” She said, and when she smiled, he realized he hadn’t stopped.
White morning light shone insistently through Apartment 303’s plastic blinds, casting a bright glare on the nearby television and seating area. The apartment was hushed with the quiet of morning except for the gentle creak of floorboards and the quiet running of taps. Annie stood in the kitchen, wearing yellow gloves up to her elbows as she tended to the few dishes from the previous night’s movie marathon-bowls of popcorn and glasses of Special Drink all around.
Rummaging in the blanket fort and yet hardly in another room, Abed could be heard quietly pacing and getting ready, humming a jazzy sort of tune that Annie was sure she had heard before. She found herself listening to the quiet song, and kept the taps running low to prevent from drowning out the sound.
Abed emerged from behind a curtain. He was cheerful after movie marathons, and made tracks for the cupboard’s box of plain granola bars. “Morning, Annie.” He said, placing his overstuffed school bag upon the nearby counter as he searched the cabinets behind her.
“Morninnnng”, she reciprocated, before turning a puzzled expression to his bag. “What’s in there?”
“Bathrobe.” He answered, offering a mechanical twitch of the eyebrows as he strode to add his retrieved snack to the bag’s contents. In his jerky movements and intermittent hums, he expressed a quiet type of excitement usually reserved for his film ventures and Troy-related tomfoolery.
“Bathrobe, huh…” Annie’s bottle of dish detergent made a wheezing noise as its neon-coloured contents were squeezed into the dirty contents of the sink. So he was playing Inspector Spacetime today-she found herself bemused by her own growing familiarity with her roommate’s idiosyncrasies, and regarded him with a wry sort of look. “Let me guess-the bowler hat is in there, too.”
He faced her to deliver his droll reply, presented in an only partially believable British accent. “Elementary, my dear time-friend.” His nose wrinkled in a rare and short-lived grin. “I’m meeting Troy.”
She only shook her head through a smirk, the rubber of her gloves squeaking against an unclean plate as she rinsed.
“You don’t have to do those,” he said, planting his lanky person near the counter where she worked. She glanced over to him, her hand still circling the outside of a plate with a sud-soaked sponge as she multitasked.
Her expression reflected ‘who, me?’ as she followed his extended finger to where it pointed at the side of their fridge. There hung the “Chores List” that the roommates had amicably agreed upon, which for the current week read: “Abed - Swiffer, Troy -Dishes, Annie -Storytime.” The boys seemed to take that last one seriously.
She nodded in response, but it was dismissive, and her scrubbing hadn’t stopped. “I don’t mind doing them, really. Besides… and I say this with love… Troy makes a much better quarterback than a dishwasher.” The ladle she now handled was run under the gently streaming tap, its suds washing down into the drain which gargled a constant dialogue of its own.
“Hm. I won’t tell him.” He nodded, as if reflecting. Abed would, in fact, be mentioning Newly-Washed-Ladle jousting later on. “Although he did repair the sink.” His pointer finger was now extended in its practiced mannerism toward the basin’s newly functional ‘hot’ tap.
“I know!,” Annie smiled, and he had no trouble reading the delight in her face. She let the tap drip upon the sink’s forgotten payload as she emoted at him. “I almost thought we’d have to let Rick take a look, and I really can’t afford to lose any more ballet flats this year.”
He afforded her a minute smile in return, beginning to sling his bag over his shoulder and adjust the strap beneath the hood to his sweater. “Any more of Rick and you’ll miss your days with Count Spaghetti.” He was turning away, looking toward the door, keys jingling in his pocket as he seemed to take stock of his possessions.
“No-“ , she protested, before immediately finding herself too emphatic. “I mean-I wouldn’t. It’s much better living here. I mean.” He glanced back only to find her eyeline cast furtively downward as she pulled off her gloves and sent them to the counter with a rubbery flop. “Let’s just say it would be best to keep Spaghetti out of Storytime.”
He raised an eyebrow in a pause of consideration. Her emoting had changed, become fidgety, distracted. How to read it…
“I seem to recall that B-bed the Unicorn dealt with Spaghetti the Cracksmith.” Abed said, and when she looked up, she saw the same look in his eye as the night he’d invited her to live at 303-almost like a plan.
She paused as he looked at her, and the stretched moment in time was somehow weighted with the distinct feeling that she was being told something. “Yea,” she began, but he was already turning away, slipping on his shoes to leave. “He did…”
Abed said goodbye, and left her standing in the quiet kitchen, with the white morning light shining in through their plastic blinds.
Let me know what you think!
-ogwriter