and now my heart stumbles
and now my heart stumbles -- jeff & annie
in response to a ficcy friday prompt at m/m by eurydice1980 where Annie doesn't realize she's on a date with Jeff.
enjoy!
He bakes bread.
It's like… ridiculously out of character for him (baking? thoughtfulness? carbs?) and his apartment smells like all those hipster coffee houses Britta drags him to on the weekends and his kitchen is a total mess, but it's actually kind of cool. Maybe if he's feeling ambitious, he'll light some candles too.
Whoa, reign it in Winger. Let's not get crazy.
They had been doing potlucks lately, the whole study group, not… not him and-and it was… nice, nice in the way that seemed to fill the void that Greendale had left (a surprisingly gaping void that wasn't so painful when she beamed her goddamn smile at him). Even though Troy makes dishes from the contents of the downstairs vending machines, it’s pretty much perfect.
They do potlucks and he bakes bread and he invites Annie over before he can change his mind.
He's just, he's really interested in no longer being that jerk who leads her on. He wants to be that jerk who holds her hand and kisses her mouth and promises to sometimes not be a jerk.
(She drinks tequila now, he thinks, he thinks. He pushes that thought away.)
She accepts with a quick reply and a smiley face, because dinner at his place means actual silverware (and the scent of his cologne) and the fact that she doesn't have to do the dishes. It means she doesn't have to pretend that she knows about wine or that she didn't have instant pudding for breakfast. Jeff doesn't reveal the menu, but doesn't tell her to contribute anything either. She waffles for a moment, tapping her finger against her chin.
Shirley had promised to bring a homemade apple pie to their next group dinner, so she unearths a hidden tub of vanilla bean from the freezer, tucks it into one of the reusable grocery bags Britta had given to them all for Christmas, and steps out of the apartment. Troy and Abed, who had undoubtedly received the same group text, would probably be late. They were spending the day at Home Depot, or as they called it, Magical Exploration Land. She debates double checking with them, just to be safe, but there had been a… discussion last week on how sometimes she could be a bit of a… worrier. And so, she slides her phone away and heads across town to Jeff's pace.
It's not weird that she's the first person there-she prides herself on being prompt, but it's weird that Jeff keeps looking at her like she's done something to piss him off. Was it the ice cream? Was it too much? She was just trying to be helpful. He practically slams the container into his freezer and rounds on her, his jaw tensed.
"I bought wine."
He practically spits it out, which is kind of strange, so she smiles up at him hesitantly. Alcohol, she knows from movies and a disappointing junior year of high school, is social lubricant, and maybe Jeff will relax after a glass or two. Maybe three.
He turns to uncork the bottle and pour their glasses because her smile has always been a little too disarming, and he can't understand why his hands are unsteady.
He's a little surprised that she's not all dolled up, taller in heels and distracting in a dress. She's got on flats and a denim skirt he's seen a hundred times, a sunny cardigan that teases at collarbones and she looks lovely. He'd say it but the words are sort of trapped between his lungs and his lips (and maybe it's just better that he focuses on not shotgunning his pinot grigio).
She takes the second glass from his hand, not touching his fingers, and keeps her face at a practiced impassive so that he doesn't realize that she's still not used to the taste of liquor on her tongue.
The silence falls heavy between them, the pause just long enough that they both start speaking at the same time, just to bring an end to the crushing quiet. Annie flushes a little in apology and Jeff squeezes his wine glass too tightly and gestures for her to continue her train of thought-which isn’t really helpful because she can’t remember a thing.
“So…” she finally ventures, “what are you making for dinner?”
He gives that Italian name of the pasta so that it sounds a little classier than “oh you know, noodles n’ sauce, whatevs” because pasta is essentially idiot proof and even though he knew how to take care of himself from a young age, it takes him like twenty minutes to confirm the exact temperature of the stovetop burners because he is nervous about Annie.
Annie smiles and sips at her wine. It’s cold and the color is the same of her mother’s sedan and she has no idea where she’s going with this train of thought but Jeff keeps looking at her and then back at his hands like he’s hoping his cell phone will just magically appear so he can live-tweet this moment, hashtags: #awkwardannie #noodlesnsauce.
“I, well, you’ll be pleased to know that I actually baked bread today, which is something I haven’t done since my mandatory seventh grade life skills class.”
She laughs up at him and the crooked grin that forms on his mouth helps slide all the pieces back into place.
“I’m guessing it was the last time you’ve sewn anything, too.”
“Please, back when I had a real job, I had a real tailor whose job it was to sew things for me. So I just want you to admire my personal growth here for a moment, alright? And, perhaps a moment of silence for old Jeff, who was probably better dressed-”
“-but had no life skills?”
Jeff nods, smile growing.
“But had no life skills.”
They mock toast to his vain past, but are interrupted when the pot boils over, and the sound of steam reaches them. Jeff sneaks several curses in as he fumbles for over mitts and Annie gives a surreptitious glance to her watch. It’s 6:25, which means that everyone else is really late, like to the point of maybe they’ve all died in horrific car crashes and why hasn’t anyone texted her yet?
“Pretend none of this happened and that I didn’t mess up the entire stovetop, please.” He says it out loud, but it’s almost more for his own benefit and she says nothing.
Jeff’s long frame is bent over the newly-tamed pasta pot, scowling (adorable!) and poking the contents with a wooden spoon. She hears what sounds like “fuck it, it’s done” and hides another smile behind her wine glass.
It’s at this time that she realizes that Jeff’s cramped kitchen table is just that, and more importantly, covered in junk mail and his gym bag and what looks like a poor attempt at recreational reading (Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter?). Where are they all supposed to eat?
Before she can voice any questions, Jeff shoves the breadbasket into her free hand and steers her around the corner through a small door she had always thought led to a closet. It’s a balcony-a very small balcony with set up with two chairs and a teeny table and silverware and candles and oh.
Oh.
She turns to say something and he’s right behind her, carrying too many things for such a small table, but he looks so exposed (emotionally! not physically because he’s definitely dressed and his shirt makes him look so-) and she doesn’t know what to say anyway.
(you are on a date! oh god don’t panic don’t panic don’t-)
Jeff manages to make room on the table for everything he was carrying but she’s still standing there, half in the doorway, clutching the basket and looking a little lost.
“You wanna… sit down, maybe? The balcony’s small but if I can fit here, you certainly can.” He offers with that half-smirk because he’s cool Jeff Winger and knows exactly how attractive his stupid face is when he does that.
But, as he stretches out on his cheap outdoor furniture, Annie sees that beneath that smirk is a genuine smile and maybe even something that hints at fear and the honesty of it all sort of knocks the wind out of her.
Her hands are still full but she leans down and kisses him anyway, kisses him soundly on the mouth because he’s actually nervous about this and he went to all this trouble (candles! bread!). It’s sort of strange to be the taller one in his scenario, and she can’t exactly wrap her arms around him (she hopes the wine wasn’t too expensive because she’s spilled half the glass on the concrete) but he’s kissing her back, cupping her jaw with his large hand and losing a bit of the tension in his shoulders.
When she pulls away, unsteady but beaming, Jeff offers up a sheepish look.
“You had no idea this was a date.”
“I thought… I brought ice cream. I was anticipating someone else bringing pie. Oh, and I’m not even dressed up! You’ll have to give me more warning next time!” Annie bemoans, taking her seat on the other side of the table. Jeff looks smug.
“Next time, huh?”
Her eyes do that dumb sparkly thing that makes him want to kiss her again, but the pasta is cooling and he did promise her dinner.
She compliments his cooking (eh, not my best, to be honest) and his baking (I only followed this recipe online, it was nothing, really) and offers to clear the dishes away (no way, sweets, I’ve got this). It gets too cold on the balcony so they head inside and he makes coffee while she serves up some ice cream and it’s so lovely that it’s almost ridiculous.
It’s easier between them, now that truth is out. Annie, being female, and a neurotic one at that, will most likely corner him at some point in the near future to discuss whatever it was that was going on between the two of them, but he was more that happy to corner her now, between the sink and the coffee maker, and kiss that tempting curl of her lips.
The moment is sort of ruined when Troy sends a text that says “um so britta says not 2 put out, where r u? pls bring home taco bell NO HOT SAUCE”.
It’s late and the crappy fluorescent lighting in his kitchen is really obvious now (he probably looks washed out and old), but Annie looks thoroughly kissed and startlingly pleased, so maybe the evening is a success after all.
“I’d stay longer,” she grins, “but you heard Britta.”
He chokes a little on his coffee-he knows she’s only joking but it sort of takes him by surprise anyway.
“And Troy. He seemed very serious about the hot sauce. Previous bad experiences?”
Annie shoots him an exasperated look that says it all.
She leaves the ice cream for him to indulge and gathers up her things, slipping back into her jacket and searching for her keys. He kisses her again before she goes, deeply so that she makes this sound in the back of her throat that forces him to tear away from her. He’s a gentleman now (mostly), so he keeps himself in check (mostly).
“We should do this again soon,” she tells him, words open and face honest and all he can do is breathe an “absolutely” before she gives his hand a squeeze and slips out of his apartment.
He’s not sixteen, and doesn’t have a vagina, so he doesn’t breathe a sigh of relief and sink to the floor with a smile on his face. However, there may/may not have been a fist pump or two once he was sure she was out of earshot.
Of course, now he owes everyone twenty bucks for not showing up at the last minute, but whatever. Totally worth it.
in response to a ficcy friday prompt at m/m by eurydice1980 where Annie doesn't realize she's on a date with Jeff.
enjoy!
He bakes bread.
It's like… ridiculously out of character for him (baking? thoughtfulness? carbs?) and his apartment smells like all those hipster coffee houses Britta drags him to on the weekends and his kitchen is a total mess, but it's actually kind of cool. Maybe if he's feeling ambitious, he'll light some candles too.
Whoa, reign it in Winger. Let's not get crazy.
They had been doing potlucks lately, the whole study group, not… not him and-and it was… nice, nice in the way that seemed to fill the void that Greendale had left (a surprisingly gaping void that wasn't so painful when she beamed her goddamn smile at him). Even though Troy makes dishes from the contents of the downstairs vending machines, it’s pretty much perfect.
They do potlucks and he bakes bread and he invites Annie over before he can change his mind.
He's just, he's really interested in no longer being that jerk who leads her on. He wants to be that jerk who holds her hand and kisses her mouth and promises to sometimes not be a jerk.
(She drinks tequila now, he thinks, he thinks. He pushes that thought away.)
She accepts with a quick reply and a smiley face, because dinner at his place means actual silverware (and the scent of his cologne) and the fact that she doesn't have to do the dishes. It means she doesn't have to pretend that she knows about wine or that she didn't have instant pudding for breakfast. Jeff doesn't reveal the menu, but doesn't tell her to contribute anything either. She waffles for a moment, tapping her finger against her chin.
Shirley had promised to bring a homemade apple pie to their next group dinner, so she unearths a hidden tub of vanilla bean from the freezer, tucks it into one of the reusable grocery bags Britta had given to them all for Christmas, and steps out of the apartment. Troy and Abed, who had undoubtedly received the same group text, would probably be late. They were spending the day at Home Depot, or as they called it, Magical Exploration Land. She debates double checking with them, just to be safe, but there had been a… discussion last week on how sometimes she could be a bit of a… worrier. And so, she slides her phone away and heads across town to Jeff's pace.
It's not weird that she's the first person there-she prides herself on being prompt, but it's weird that Jeff keeps looking at her like she's done something to piss him off. Was it the ice cream? Was it too much? She was just trying to be helpful. He practically slams the container into his freezer and rounds on her, his jaw tensed.
"I bought wine."
He practically spits it out, which is kind of strange, so she smiles up at him hesitantly. Alcohol, she knows from movies and a disappointing junior year of high school, is social lubricant, and maybe Jeff will relax after a glass or two. Maybe three.
He turns to uncork the bottle and pour their glasses because her smile has always been a little too disarming, and he can't understand why his hands are unsteady.
He's a little surprised that she's not all dolled up, taller in heels and distracting in a dress. She's got on flats and a denim skirt he's seen a hundred times, a sunny cardigan that teases at collarbones and she looks lovely. He'd say it but the words are sort of trapped between his lungs and his lips (and maybe it's just better that he focuses on not shotgunning his pinot grigio).
She takes the second glass from his hand, not touching his fingers, and keeps her face at a practiced impassive so that he doesn't realize that she's still not used to the taste of liquor on her tongue.
The silence falls heavy between them, the pause just long enough that they both start speaking at the same time, just to bring an end to the crushing quiet. Annie flushes a little in apology and Jeff squeezes his wine glass too tightly and gestures for her to continue her train of thought-which isn’t really helpful because she can’t remember a thing.
“So…” she finally ventures, “what are you making for dinner?”
He gives that Italian name of the pasta so that it sounds a little classier than “oh you know, noodles n’ sauce, whatevs” because pasta is essentially idiot proof and even though he knew how to take care of himself from a young age, it takes him like twenty minutes to confirm the exact temperature of the stovetop burners because he is nervous about Annie.
Annie smiles and sips at her wine. It’s cold and the color is the same of her mother’s sedan and she has no idea where she’s going with this train of thought but Jeff keeps looking at her and then back at his hands like he’s hoping his cell phone will just magically appear so he can live-tweet this moment, hashtags: #awkwardannie #noodlesnsauce.
“I, well, you’ll be pleased to know that I actually baked bread today, which is something I haven’t done since my mandatory seventh grade life skills class.”
She laughs up at him and the crooked grin that forms on his mouth helps slide all the pieces back into place.
“I’m guessing it was the last time you’ve sewn anything, too.”
“Please, back when I had a real job, I had a real tailor whose job it was to sew things for me. So I just want you to admire my personal growth here for a moment, alright? And, perhaps a moment of silence for old Jeff, who was probably better dressed-”
“-but had no life skills?”
Jeff nods, smile growing.
“But had no life skills.”
They mock toast to his vain past, but are interrupted when the pot boils over, and the sound of steam reaches them. Jeff sneaks several curses in as he fumbles for over mitts and Annie gives a surreptitious glance to her watch. It’s 6:25, which means that everyone else is really late, like to the point of maybe they’ve all died in horrific car crashes and why hasn’t anyone texted her yet?
“Pretend none of this happened and that I didn’t mess up the entire stovetop, please.” He says it out loud, but it’s almost more for his own benefit and she says nothing.
Jeff’s long frame is bent over the newly-tamed pasta pot, scowling (adorable!) and poking the contents with a wooden spoon. She hears what sounds like “fuck it, it’s done” and hides another smile behind her wine glass.
It’s at this time that she realizes that Jeff’s cramped kitchen table is just that, and more importantly, covered in junk mail and his gym bag and what looks like a poor attempt at recreational reading (Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter?). Where are they all supposed to eat?
Before she can voice any questions, Jeff shoves the breadbasket into her free hand and steers her around the corner through a small door she had always thought led to a closet. It’s a balcony-a very small balcony with set up with two chairs and a teeny table and silverware and candles and oh.
Oh.
She turns to say something and he’s right behind her, carrying too many things for such a small table, but he looks so exposed (emotionally! not physically because he’s definitely dressed and his shirt makes him look so-) and she doesn’t know what to say anyway.
(you are on a date! oh god don’t panic don’t panic don’t-)
Jeff manages to make room on the table for everything he was carrying but she’s still standing there, half in the doorway, clutching the basket and looking a little lost.
“You wanna… sit down, maybe? The balcony’s small but if I can fit here, you certainly can.” He offers with that half-smirk because he’s cool Jeff Winger and knows exactly how attractive his stupid face is when he does that.
But, as he stretches out on his cheap outdoor furniture, Annie sees that beneath that smirk is a genuine smile and maybe even something that hints at fear and the honesty of it all sort of knocks the wind out of her.
Her hands are still full but she leans down and kisses him anyway, kisses him soundly on the mouth because he’s actually nervous about this and he went to all this trouble (candles! bread!). It’s sort of strange to be the taller one in his scenario, and she can’t exactly wrap her arms around him (she hopes the wine wasn’t too expensive because she’s spilled half the glass on the concrete) but he’s kissing her back, cupping her jaw with his large hand and losing a bit of the tension in his shoulders.
When she pulls away, unsteady but beaming, Jeff offers up a sheepish look.
“You had no idea this was a date.”
“I thought… I brought ice cream. I was anticipating someone else bringing pie. Oh, and I’m not even dressed up! You’ll have to give me more warning next time!” Annie bemoans, taking her seat on the other side of the table. Jeff looks smug.
“Next time, huh?”
Her eyes do that dumb sparkly thing that makes him want to kiss her again, but the pasta is cooling and he did promise her dinner.
She compliments his cooking (eh, not my best, to be honest) and his baking (I only followed this recipe online, it was nothing, really) and offers to clear the dishes away (no way, sweets, I’ve got this). It gets too cold on the balcony so they head inside and he makes coffee while she serves up some ice cream and it’s so lovely that it’s almost ridiculous.
It’s easier between them, now that truth is out. Annie, being female, and a neurotic one at that, will most likely corner him at some point in the near future to discuss whatever it was that was going on between the two of them, but he was more that happy to corner her now, between the sink and the coffee maker, and kiss that tempting curl of her lips.
The moment is sort of ruined when Troy sends a text that says “um so britta says not 2 put out, where r u? pls bring home taco bell NO HOT SAUCE”.
It’s late and the crappy fluorescent lighting in his kitchen is really obvious now (he probably looks washed out and old), but Annie looks thoroughly kissed and startlingly pleased, so maybe the evening is a success after all.
“I’d stay longer,” she grins, “but you heard Britta.”
He chokes a little on his coffee-he knows she’s only joking but it sort of takes him by surprise anyway.
“And Troy. He seemed very serious about the hot sauce. Previous bad experiences?”
Annie shoots him an exasperated look that says it all.
She leaves the ice cream for him to indulge and gathers up her things, slipping back into her jacket and searching for her keys. He kisses her again before she goes, deeply so that she makes this sound in the back of her throat that forces him to tear away from her. He’s a gentleman now (mostly), so he keeps himself in check (mostly).
“We should do this again soon,” she tells him, words open and face honest and all he can do is breathe an “absolutely” before she gives his hand a squeeze and slips out of his apartment.
He’s not sixteen, and doesn’t have a vagina, so he doesn’t breathe a sigh of relief and sink to the floor with a smile on his face. However, there may/may not have been a fist pump or two once he was sure she was out of earshot.
Of course, now he owes everyone twenty bucks for not showing up at the last minute, but whatever. Totally worth it.