Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It had been exactly 587 days since they’d left, but Jeff still felt it like it was yesterday.

He felt Annie sitting in his passenger seat, knee jiggling with nervous anticipation. He felt the glance she shot back at him as she walked away, Abed trailing behind with six years worth of nostalgic sadness on his face. But most of all, he felt the shell-shocked pain that had consumed him when he’d opened the door to his apartment and realized he was completely and utterly alone.

Years of emotional repression should have prepared him for that day—after all, Jeff was no stranger to impermanence. When he first came to Greendale, he'd been thriving off of life’s lack of predictability and people’s tendency to be wholly unreliable, grounding himself in the idea and attributing all of his success to it. Every time he started to think that maybe he was too jaded, too nihilistic, the image of his father leaving the courthouse, without so much as a glance his way, popped into his head to remind him. He'd only been 8 years old.

But, despite this, six years at Greendale had penetrated the walls he'd so carefully constructed, molding him into someone new. For the first time, he gave a shit about people who actually gave a shit about him too, even if they were goofy and misguided and borderline codependent.

Which is what made this whole ordeal devastating.

Troy leaving had been the beginning of the end. The memory of the group sitting around the table, polygraph and all, had played vividly in the back of his mind when he read that news story about a ship that capsized off the coast of Florida, resurfacing every time he'd catch the end of an Inspector Spacetime re-run while flipping through channels. But it wasn’t Troy agreeing to the insane terms of Pierce’s will and testament that haunted him the most. It was the way they had all looked at him, eyes wide, waiting for him to say something that would make Troy stay. Just one of the countless times Jeff had let the group down when they’d desperately needed him to follow through.

Shirley’s farewell the next year had been especially hard on Jeff. Despite the points of contention in their friendship, she had been with him longer than any of the others and there was something to be said for that. The logical side of him knew that she had to go; Shirley’s father needed her as a caregiver more than the group did. But the selfishly emotional side, the Greendale side, couldn’t stop looking for reasons to convince her to stay. Days after her going away party, Jeff still couldn’t shake the pang of sadness that echoed inside his chest when he looked across the study room table and realized that everyone he loved was slipping through his fingers.

There were little moments of happiness and fulfillment worth noting, too. Frankie joining the group had been a stroke of good luck otherwise unforeseen at Greendale. She filled a vacuum that no one before her could, serving as a grounding force they desperately needed. Things felt good again for a while. The dust of Shirley and Troy’s absence was finally settling and, looking around the study room, Jeff felt like he could finally exhale. The group was solid and he was going to do absolutely everything in his power to hold them together.

Abed must have sensed this, observant as he was. Maybe their conversation in the frisbees had tipped him off, made him realize that Jeff would talk him out of moving on if given the chance. It was hard enough to come to terms with the fact that he was never getting out of Greendale without having to say goodbye to more of them. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

And then Annie got her interview.

He remembered the sense of foreboding that filled the room when she told him. How she'd seemed so nervous to bring it up, like he was a child she was protecting from the truth, maintaining the innocence and proximity-based simplicity of their friendship as long as possible. 

“It’s just a phone interview, I’m sure they’re talking to a lot of people. I’m not really expecting anything to come from it, but it’s good to network, I guess.” Annie had said, smiling half-heartedly. Jeff could tell she was trying hard to play nonchalant, but the incessant stirring she was doing with her straw gave her away. A pit began to form in his stomach.

“They would be lucky to have you.” He’d replied, taking a sip of his bourbon to look busy.

“It’s the FBI, Jeff, it’ll be a miracle if I even make it past the first round.”

But she said the same thing as he and Frankie helped her pick out what to wear to the next interview.

And again as they helped her prep for the final one.

Annie shuffled her pink note cards in between questions, refusing to meet his eyes as she insisted, “It’s basically the most prestigious forensics internship in the US, there’s no way I’m going to get it!”

He would be lying if he said he hadn’t seen it coming. He’d known from the day she applied what was going to happen, how this would pan out. As Jeff watched her walk out of the study room on the last day of the semester, he started preparing for doomsday, trying to find ways to come to grips with the timeline they were in and the realities he wished were different.

But none of that, none of the self-loathing or the wallowing or the compartmentalizing… None of it could ever have prepared him for Abed.

The news came so suddenly and knocked the wind out of Jeff so forcefully that it was unlike anything he had felt in years. It was bad enough that, a few minutes before, Annie had traipsed into the bar with the news that she had gotten the internship. Jeff had been just about to leave, off to drown the sorrows associated with teaching a full year at Greendale—a horrifying fact of life he had yet to come to terms with—in a bottle of scotch alone in his apartment. If he didn't know better, he would've thought Annie had somehow clocked this, picking the most inconvenient moment possible to show up.

“I got the internship! I’m gonna intern for the FBI!”

The whole table erupted into cheers. Frankie rushed to hug her, Britta clapped wildly, and Jeff stood frozen in place, consumed by unparalleled numbness. 

“I leave in a week, I’ll be in D.C. all summer!” She said, grinning widely. 

“You’re leaving the nest!” Britta exclaimed, swelling with pride. “Can I have your bedroom? If you don’t come back,” Jeff shot daggers and she quickly backpedaled. “If you don’t come back!”

“Well, I’m definitely coming back.” Annie said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. But then a moment passed. “Probably,” Another moment. “Maybe…”

Jeff didn’t hear anything that came after that. He was stuck fixating on an image of himself sitting at the study room table, surrounded by strangers and nobodies and Leonard, coming to terms with the realization that he would be the only one left. Eventually, they were all going to leave.

“Jeff, are you okay?” Annie asked, concerned, snapping him out of his waking nightmare.

“Huh? Oh—uh, I was taken aback. It’s… big news.” He stated matter-of-factly, trying to mask any emotional nuance in his voice. She nodded back at him, still smiling, and he felt the massive pit in his stomach deepen.

It was the first time Jeff had really understood Abed. Why he used TV as a coping mechanism, basing everything he knew to be true around the idea that things have structure and purpose and meaning. In moments like this, it was better to escape to an idealized season 7 than it was to accept the inevitability of reality. So Jeff succumbed, pitching a season where Annie commuted back and forth from DC to Greendale to the group.

“Let me get this straight—” Britta turned to Jeff. He leaned back against his chair, satisfied with what he’d come up with. “You’re proposing a version of the show in which Annie comes back, and it hinges on the murder of my parents?!”

In retrospect, he probably should have picked a different plot line.

“It’s a placeholder! I’m just saying there’s always gonna be a need for law at Greendale.”

But people weren’t going for it. Britta pitched hers and it was, unsurprisingly, political, anarchist garbage.

“I don’t even own a TV and I wouldn’t watch that.” Frankie grinned.

“Oh yeah? What’s your pitch?” She snapped, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, well I—I mean it’s not that complicated, is it?” They all stared at her expectantly.

Frankie’s was just as terrible, if not worse, than Britta’s. So terrible that the group pelted her with balled up napkins and booed after she finished explaining the Chang fart joke that had closed it out. “It’s possible there is more skill to this than I thought,” She conceded.

“Yes yes yes!” Britta pumped her fists in victory, eliciting a smile from Jeff, who was finally starting to feel better. All he had to do was remind them how fun these nights at The Vatican were; convince them that staying made more sense than moving forward. It was selfish, but he would come to terms with that later. 

“There is skill to it,” Abed said suddenly. “More importantly, it has to be joyful. Effortless. Fun. TV defeats its own purpose when it’s pushing an agenda, or trying to defeat other TV, or being proud or ashamed of itself for existing. It’s TV... It’s comfort. It’s a friend you’ve known so well and for so long you just let it be with you,” Jeff could feel Britta watching him. He let himself meet her eyes and they shared a brief, heavy moment of understanding.

Abed continued, getting lost in his own words. “And it needs to be okay for it to have a bad day, or phone in a day… And it needs to be okay for it to get on a boat with LeVar Burton and never come back.”

Heavy silence washed over the table as they all stared at him. Troy’s absence, which had at times managed to fade into background noise, was now blaring like a french horn, impossible to ignore. They had no choice but to let it linger for a moment until it subsided on its own.

“Because eventually it all will.” Abed finished, his eyes dropping off to stare at the table. There was only a second or two of silence before Britta started crying, playing it off like she was attached to her pitch. Jeff, seeing right through the excuse, decided to throw her a bone by jumping in.

“Well, I agree with Abed. And I have an effortless pitch.”

It was the best one by far. All of them worked at Greendale, with Britta as the school shrink and Chang, Annie, and Abed as teachers. If Jeff had just an ounce more self-awareness, though, he would have stopped himself as the others took it in, expressions of pity coloring their faces. But the words just kept tumbling out. As he finished, he noticed everyone was staring, unsure of what to say.

Craig broke the silence first. “In this version, would you tell me what to do a lot?”

“Am I on meds in it?” Chang questioned. “I’m mellow and relatable. I like it!”

Annie piped up from her side of the table. “I would love to teach at Greendale. And I do miss wearing skirts!”

“Once you swallow the horse-pill sized contrivance, it’d open up new areas and dynamics,” Abed noted. “And it’s evergreen.”

“Great!” Jeff exclaimed, admittedly a bit too enthusiastically. “That’s settled! How do we make it real?” His tone was urgent, desperate. “Annie, maybe you should start looking into education classes. You too, Abed.”

Abed looked at him for a moment, expression unreadable. Then...

“Well, I should probably tell you guys that I’m moving to Los Angeles.”

And just like that, the reality Jeff had built up for himself, the coping mechanism he had suddenly become so reliant on, came crashing down.

Jeff had had panic attacks before. He'd suffered the effects of anxiety throughout most of his whole childhood, but he'd somehow managed to get a handle on it before coming to Greendale. Unfortunately, meeting the study group had opened him up to a brand new spectrum of emotionality, one he had (for the most part) not yet gotten comfortable with. As Abed explained himself and the rest of the group showed unbridled support, Jeff sat paralyzed, trying to control his breathing and get a grip before he said something embarrassing or, god forbid, started crying right in the middle of the bar.

“But you’re coming back, right?” Jeff asked amidst all the celebrating.

The seconds that passed felt like hours. Abed looked around at everyone, a sad smile playing on his lips. “Maybe,” It wasn’t until he saw the look on Jeff’s face, one of pure resentment and anguish, that he continued. “Probably… Maybe.”

Jeff was getting frustrated. “But six seasons and a movie." He pressed.

“Jeff, I know it comforts you to look at things through that meta-lens but this is reality," He said, a small smile turning the corners of his mouth up. "TV’s rules aren’t based on common sense, they’re based on the studio wanting to milk their properties dry.”

Jeff looked at Britta expectantly, waiting for her to back him up or chime in with something, anything. She caught his eye for a second before dragging her gaze back to Abed and picking up her glass.

“Hear, hear! Cheers to that and cheers to Abed!”

And with that, Jeff was up and out the door.

He needed to get out of there, to get some air and just breathe. He hated all of them for their indifference—hated Britta for letting this happen instead of standing with him, hated Abed for giving him no warning—but mainly he hated himself for how far gone he was from the old Jeff, the Jeff who never would have let himself get attached in the first place. He had convinced himself it didn’t matter that he was changing because he was better off for it, but how could he say that now, with everyone abandoning him? Leaving him alone to rot, teaching at a school that meant nothing to him without Abed’s pillow forts and Annie’s study sessions and the knowing glances he and Britta would exchange as they looked out at the others and felt a sense of pride in who they were all becoming.

As he strode towards his car, gasping in air like his life depended on it, a voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Hey!”

Britta was standing in the middle of parking lot, staring at him with a mixture of incredulity and sadness on her face.

Jeff tried to feign irritation. “I’m not in the mood to be psychoanalyzed, Britta. Go examine Chang.” He turned on his heel to walk away.

“They’re leaving me too, you know,” She said suddenly, crossing her arms. He stopped in his tracks, contemplating her words before turning back around. The two of them stared at each other in silence for a moment.

“Hard to believe you give a crap considering how you were acting in there.” Jeff said finally.

Britta pressed her lips into a line. “That’s not fair and you know it.”

He pushed forward anyway. “I understand the others but you? You and I are the only ones left from the study group after Annie and Abed leave. They’re leaving, Britta. Doesn’t that bother you?”

“It’s our job to support them, Jeff.”

“That doesn’t mean you push them out the door and move into their room!” He exclaimed.

“I was just trying to—”

“I know what you were trying to do, but clearly—”

“It kills me, okay?” She yelled, cutting him off as she boiled over. “It kills me that they’re leaving. You think I want to watch them all walk out of here and move on with their lives when I can’t? When we can’t? You think I want to move again? I don’t even know where I’m going to go and—” She stopped short, trying to bite back the tears pooling in her eyes. Jeff just stared, absolutely dumbfounded. 

“You know what? It doesn’t matter,” She said simply, inhaling a shaky breath. “This isn’t about us. It’s not our world anymore, it’s theirs. So we either have to be their friends and support them or… say goodbye to them for good.”

The air was quiet with thick tension and emotion. Jeff let the words sink through his skin, deep into his bloodstream. She was right, of course. Unfortunately, it didn't make any of this easier.

“You’ll probably never hear me say this again, but that was some damn good therapizing.” He said quietly, still slightly astounded by the monologue.

Britta laughed through her tears. “What can I say, I’m an amazing psychologist.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” He rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched up into a smirk.

She exhaled softly after a moment, looking around at the nearly empty parking lot. “Kinda crazy to think how much had to happen for us to end up here right now.”

“Yeah. Crazy.”

They locked eyes for a moment and six years of memories flashed through Jeff’s mind like a slideshow.

“So… you coming back inside?” Britta jabbed her thumb back towards the bar. “Next round's on me.”

As enticing as the offer was, Jeff shook his head. “I don’t think so. Feeling pretty confident that I'll just bring everyone down.”

Britta scrunched up her face. “So, what, you’re just gonna go drink by yourself at home? Fuck that, I’ll at least slip out with you. We can be sad together.”

Jeff sighed, choosing his words carefully so that he didn't sound as lame as he felt. “Actually, I think I have some unfinished business to take care of at Greendale.”

She shot him a weak smile. “Well, we’re right behind you. Annie still has the spare key.” A moment of brief awkwardness passed between them. “Anyway… Call me if you need me.” She turned around to head back inside.

“Doubtful!” He shouted back after a second. She glanced over her shoulder with a smirk and pointed at him sternly.

“I’m serious, Jeff!"

“So am I!”

He could tell she was grinning as she pulled the door open.

-----

Britta followed through on her word and gave him some time to say goodbye to the study room, as they’d known it, by himself. Glancing around at the empty chairs, the table they’d built themselves, Jeff felt a heaviness he couldn’t describe if he tried. The fluorescent bulbs flickered ominously overhead and he made a mental note to add it to Annie's committee to-do list before remembering that Annie wasn't part of the committee anymore.

The group's goodbye played on an endless loop in his mind for weeks after that night, making it impossible to focus on anything else. It played as he helped box up Annie, Abed, and Britta’s apartment. It played as he moved Britta’s boxes into Frankie’s place, transferring her from one couch to another. It played as Abed hosted one last movie night for all of them—a Star Wars marathon, of course. But worst of all, it played as he drove Annie and Abed to the airport with no idea of when they might be coming back.

The days that followed were his own personal hell on earth. The combination of Greendale’s summer vacation and the craziness of Britta and Frankie looking for a bigger place allowed Jeff to slip through the cracks unnoticed and unquestioned. He holed up alone in his apartment, eating just enough to survive and filling the rest of his stomach with scotch. The hours passed at an agonizing pace as he waited miserably for calls that never came, turning his phone on and off aimlessly in one hand and clutching his old Blackberry in the other like a lifeline. 

It wasn’t until Craig came knocking a week later, claiming he needed to borrow something, that the rest of the group understood how badly Jeff was taking things. When he never came to the door, Craig pulled the spare key he’d had made and practiced some light breaking and entering. The apartment was pitch dark and reeked of stale booze, and Jeff was sprawled out on the couch, asleep and unshaven. The scene was unsettling at best, so Craig slipped back out into the hallway and quickly dialed Frankie, the known problem solver of the group.

“I don’t know what to do. He’s alive—thank god—but it’s bad.” He winced, glancing over his shoulder at Jeff's door.

Frankie sighed on the other end of the line. “I’m not sure there’s much we can do, Craig. He has to want our help. We might just have to let this run its course.”

“Run its course?!" He exclaimed, indignant. "Frankie, no one knows Jeffrey better than I do and I have never seen him like this!”

“Well, I—" She paused, Craig's words spawning an idea. “That’s not necessarily true.”

Chapter Text

Britta couldn’t stop kicking herself for missing all the signs; for being so wrapped up in her own bullshit that she had forgotten to check in on Jeff and make sure he was doing okay, or at least not drinking himself to the verge of death. When she walked into his apartment, the gravity of the situation really started to sink in. Jeff needed help. And not just friendly support or positive words or a night out as distraction, he needed psychological, confronting-your-demons help. Figuring out how to actually get him this help, though, when he was so hell-bent on refusing it, would be its own battle. 

After waving Craig off (much to his displeasure), Britta closed the front door, locking herself in with the sour smell of days old Glencallan scotch and stuffy, humid air that didn’t bode well for her gag reflex. She managed to shake him awake after about three minutes—quite possibly the scariest three minutes of her life. As soon as his eyes fluttered open and registered her face, he panicked.

“What’s happening?” He asked, jolting upright. The skull-splitting pain in his head smacked him with the force of a freight train.

“Oh, thank god.” Britta breathed out, hands flying to her cheeks in shocked relief.

Jeff slowly started registering reality after a moment, his brow furrowing. “Are you in my house? What's going on?”

“I could ask you the same question,” She remarked pointedly. “Do you even know what day it is?”

“Does it matter?” He asked, agitatedly pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Jeff—”

“Can you just get me some aspirin or something?” He snapped, cutting her off.

Britta stared at him for a few seconds, concern and pity all over her face, before standing up and heading towards his bathroom. The bitterness in Jeff’s chest swelled.

“What have you eaten today?” She shouted from the other side of the apartment.

He winced. “Can you just— don’t yell, my head is fucking killing me.”

“That’s what happens when you put off a hangover for a week. Happened to me when I was in Amsterdam back in ‘08. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.” She smirked, striding back out into the living room.

Jeff suppressed a slight chuckle at the thought of the Britta he’d met in Spanish class running around Europe, utterly obliterated. “Your worst enemy, huh? Who's that, Vaughn?”

She pursed her lips and handed him the bottle of pills. “You know, Jeff, sometimes we’re our own worst enemy.”

“Are you serious right now?” He stared up at her, eyebrows raised. “That’s how you want to segue into this?”

“So you agree we’re going to talk about it?” 

“I never said that.”

“But you know we have to, right?”

“No one has to do anything, Britta. I choose to drink water to stay alive, I choose to pay rent so I have somewhere to live–”

“Could you maybe choose to take a shower so I don’t have to breathe out of my mouth anymore?” She said, scrunching her face up.

“Wow.”

“I’m kidding! Mostly.”

He chucked a throw pillow at her head but, unfortunately, she dodged it expertly.

“In all seriousness, though… What the fuck happened?”

Jeff sighed and shut his eyes, hoping that maybe Britta—along with all of her questions—would just disappear and he’d be alone again. At least he was used to how that felt now.

“Fine, I get it. You just woke up from the open-bar-delusion in your mind. I can take a hint.”

“So you’re leaving?”

It wasn’t until he said it out loud that he realized how much he hoped the answer was no.

“Are you kidding? I’d have to be the shittiest friend on earth to leave right now. Go clean up, I’m gonna… open a window or something.”

-----

Jeff had to admit, he felt about ten times better once he got in the shower, cranking the water up to the hottest setting and letting it scald his back until he couldn’t take it anymore. It took all the willpower he had to get out and get dressed so he could rejoin the world. By the time he came back out, Britta had tidied up both his living room and kitchen. An impressive feat, considering he had never once seen her old place even remotely clean before.

“You look better.” She smirked, her eyes scanning him up and down as she washed a cup out in the sink.

“Thanks for… cleaning.” He said, suppressing a chuckle.

Britta rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to act surprised. I am capable of putting shit away and doing some dishes.”

He shrugged, shuffling over to the couch. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She asked, eyes narrowing.

“It means that I stayed over at your place like a thousand times and never once saw what the bottom of your sink looked like.” Jeff remarked, pressing a hand to his temple to ease his lingering headache.

Britta dried her hands off and shot him a look. “Why do you care what the bottom of my sink looks like? It’s a sink.”

“I'm just saying, you’ve never given me a reason to believe you were capable of doing dishes, so forgive me for being surprised.”

“Ha ha.”

She moved to join him on the couch, and they sat there quietly for a minute, Britta studying her hands and Jeff staring blankly at the wall.

“Want to watch something?”

He glanced at her. “Like what?”

“You pick, you always hate what I pick.” She grumbled.

“You’re the one who brought it up, just pick.”

“You seriously don’t have anything you want to watch?”

Jeff huffed, exasperated by the line of questioning. “Not really.”

“You were incapacitated for how many days? You probably missed a ton of stuff. What shows are you watching right now?”

“Britta, I don’t know."

“Seriously?"

“Oh my god you’re so loud, my head is going to split open.” He groaned.

“Wow," She scoffed. "If I’m so annoying, I should probably just go.”

He shot her a look. “You know what, that's fine with me."

“Great."

Britta grabbed her bag and made her way towards the door, but sudden panic surged through Jeff at the prospect of being left alone. “Britta, wait.”

She stopped and turned, eyebrows raised. “What?”

“Just— can you just stay.” He mumbled.

She studied his face for a moment. “I’ll stay if you apologize for snapping at me.” All he could muster was a groan in response. “Look, I’m not gonna hang around if I’m not appreciated, man—”

“I’m sorry I snapped at you.” He said, cutting her off before she could launch into a rant.

A self-satisfied smirk slowly curled up her lips. "Thank you. Was that so hard?”

“Don’t push your luck, Perry.”

They settled on watching MasterChef Junior, a show both of them enjoyed—Jeff because he was a fan of Gordon Ramsay and Britta because she appreciated how talented the kids were (and how funny their reactions were when they lost). Britta sat patiently, waiting for the right moment to come along so she could put some psychological moves on him. Jeff hadn’t told anyone how he was feeling about Annie and Abed leaving, or even how he had felt about Pierce, Troy, and Shirley, for that matter. The more she supported him in piling it all up, directly or indirectly, the more complicit she would be if something irreversible happened.

Britta chose her moment at around nine o’clock, once they’d both finished their pizza and Jeff’s headache had nearly disappeared.

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

Jeff turned to look at her, a knowing expression on his face. “You can ask, I might not answer.”

She chewed on the inside of her cheek for a second before continuing. “Have you talked to either of them since they left?”

He tried to contain the anxiety bubbling in his chest. “Have you?”

Britta shook her head. “Nope. Other than both of them texting the group chat to say they made it in okay, it’s been radio silence.”

Relief flooded through his body; they weren’t ignoring him. Annie was probably just busy getting things together in DC and Abed was probably working long hours on set, maybe where he wasn’t able to access his phone. They hadn’t forgotten about him. Not yet at least.

“I haven’t talked to them either," He admitted. "I texted Abed to say good luck for his first day but didn’t get anything back.”

Britta nodded, taking this information in. “Was that maybe… a contributing factor to this?”

He sighed. “Can’t we just watch TV with no questions? No strings attached?”

“Sure, we could do that; but I didn’t come over to watch TV, Jeff. I came over to pull you out of a major depressive episode,” She said pointedly.

He knew he couldn’t argue with that, so he grabbed the empty pizza box and brought it to the kitchen counter instead, trying to look busy.

Britta watched him carefully. “I’m going to find out what happened sooner or later, so you might as well just tell me what’s going on.”

“Well it sounds like later is an option, so I’m going to go with that.”

“Come on, I’m not fucking around.” She huffed.

“I never said you were." He countered.

“Then take me seriously for like five minutes and talk to me!”

“Britta, all due respect, but you’re not a psychologist,” She opened her mouth to respond, but he kept going before she had the chance. “And even if you were, you couldn’t be mine because that’s a massive conflict of interest. So, please, just leave it alone.”

“Do you understand what you’re asking me to do right now?” She said, eyes wide with earnest intensity. “You’re asking me to look at you, my best friend, and ignore the fact that you could have died this week. To put aside everything we’ve been through together and let you destroy yourself. And, not only that, but you won’t even tell me why. I’m supposed to just wait around until I get another call from Frankie saying that you’re unconscious and unresponsive in your apartment? You realize that if I ‘leave it alone’ I’m complicit in the shit that’s happening here, right?”

Jeff rolled his eyes. “You’re not responsible for anyone but yourself, don’t put your guilt on me.”

“Bullshit. That’s 2009 Jeff Winger talking," She stood, meeting him at the counter. “We look out for each other, that’s how it goes and how it has gone for years, even when we all graduated the first time and went our separate ways. Why are you reverting back to the old, shitty version of yourself?”

“Because, if I hadn’t started reverting I— goddammit, Britta.” He cursed through gritted teeth.

“What, Jeff?” She pressed, leaning forward onto the granite.

“I wouldn’t be here right now."

Tense silence rang throughout the apartment, Britta staring at him in painful shock.

Jeff sighed heavily, avoiding eye contact. “If I let myself feel everything, all the way… I can’t cope with that. I just can’t. And I appreciate your concern but I’m not ready to talk about it right now. I don’t know when I will be.”

She nodded, finally conceding. The dark revelation of Jeff’s mental state hung over them like a raincloud, the finale of MasterChef underscoring their collective silence. When the credits finally started rolling, Britta slowly began gathering her things.

“What are you doing?” Jeff asked, stomach twisting unexpectedly.

“I was gonna head back to Frankie’s, try and get some sleep.” She replied simply, fishing through her bag for her keys. 

“Oh.”

Britta paused, straightening up to look at him. After a moment, she added, “Unless you want me to stay.”

Jeff tapped his fingers idly on the countertop. “I mean, you’re sleeping on a couch at Frankie’s anyway, right?”

She raised an eyebrow “Yeah.”

“Well, it doesn’t make a lot of sense to drive all the way back to her place just to sleep on another couch.”

A smirk slowly crept up onto Britta’s face. “You want me to stay.”

He feigned indifference. “I don’t care either way.”

“Mhm.”

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Looking at me like you discovered some dumb secret or something.” He huffed, walking over to grab his phone from the coffee table, Britta at his heels.

“Admit it,” She teased, poking him in the arm. “You like having me around.”

“Ugh. I’m going to bed. You know where the pillows and blankets are.”

She gasped. “You’re not even going to grab them for me? What kind of a host are you?!”

“The hungover, exhausted kind.”

That elicited a chuckle. “Goodnight, asshole!”

He flipped her off over his shoulder as he disappeared into the bedroom.

-----

It didn’t take long for Jeff to backslide, although, for a couple of weeks, it really did seem like he was finally past the worst of it. Britta put together a new group chat, lovingly titled “Greendale Prisoners”, with the other four suckers who managed to get left behind: Chang, Frankie, Ian, and Craig. Frankie and Britta started inviting the group over every week for Friday night dinners, a thinly veiled excuse for Britta to make sure Jeff got out of his apartment for something social, but one he appreciated nonetheless. Truth be told, he and Britta were spending more time together now than they had in years. She’d tag along when he went grocery shopping, come over for weekend-long movie marathons—and do shots with him around the sink before the shitty ones. She had even managed to get him to open up a little bit. It was surprising how good of a 'therapist' Britta could be when she actually gave it an honest effort, although Jeff had never known her to fail at anything she actually gave a shit about.

Craig had taken it upon himself to check in on Jeff every couple of days, which annoyingly kept him (mostly) sober and productive. Chang showed up unannounced a few times, too, the two of them actually hanging out once or twice. At first, this served as an ice cold bucket of rock-bottom to the face, but the guy was trying to improve himself so Jeff felt that the least he could do was support him by not immediately kicking him out of his apartment. Chang even given him the name and number of his new psychiatrist, a gesture Jeff quickly dismissed but still strangely appreciated. Spending time with Ian proved to be the most difficult, since he was deep in his own alcoholism and, ever since the incident, Jeff was trying to tackle his demons in ways unrelated to liquor. When he did drink, it was strictly for fun and almost always with Britta, who he knew would keep an eye on him and jump at the chance to pull him out of the abyss if he slipped into it.

And then there was Frankie. Spending time with Frankie was like moving to the adult table at a wedding after being stuck at the kid’s table for six years; he finally had another sane person to level with. She never pestered him to talk about how he was doing the way Britta did, but she was always willing to listen if he had something to say. They mainly sat together and ate lunch. Sometimes they played cards or bonded over stories of Craig’s insanity. It helped Jeff feel like things were more normal than they had been in years.

A few weeks after Jeff’s depressive episode, Abed finally texted him back to say thank you. He mentioned how busy he was, between moving into his new place and starting as a PA at FOX, and apologized for the late response. The two only exchanged a few messages, mainly about Greendale and how the group was doing back home, before Abed had to sign off for the night. He said he had an early morning on set the next day, but that he promised to call soon and catch up.

It had been two weeks since the conversation and they hadn’t spoken once.

Jeff’s new reality was starting to fully sink in now, and the form it took was suffocating. Abed was too busy for him. In a couple months, he’d have to go back to teaching. The most exciting part of his week was Friday night dinner at Frankie and Britta’s place, but even that was usually just spaghetti and casual banter about news and pop culture. And then there was Annie, who he hadn’t heard from once since she landed in DC. Annie who, by all accounts, could be dead in a ditch somewhere and he would have no idea. Annie, who had moved up and moved on without so much as a glance back at where she’d moved on from or the people she had left behind.

And then, at 9PM on the last Saturday of July, Jeff’s phone rang.

As his eye caught the name lighting up the screen, immense anxiety swelled in his chest. Her contact photo taunted him as he stared at the phone, buzzing away on the table in front of him. Fighting the urge to pour himself a drink, Jeff forced himself to take a few deep breaths and ignore the pounding of his pulse in his ears before answering.

“Jeff?”

Hearing her voice sent him years into the past; he sprang up off the couch and started pacing, trying desperately to put the energy coursing through his veins to use somehow.

“Jeff, are you there?” She said awkwardly.

“Uh, yeah, sorry. Shitty reception," He sputtered. "Hey! How’s it going?”

“Good! Sorry I’m calling so late, I probably should have texted you first to make sure you weren’t out or something.”

He suppressed a laugh at the assumption he would have any plans worth staying out this late for.

“Nah, I’m home tonight. Friday night dinners have gotten so wild that I need a full 24 hours to recover.” Jeff remarked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Frankie told me you guys have been doing that, I can’t believe I never thought to plan something like it while I was still there!”

At the mention of Frankie, Jeff froze in place. “Oh, really? When did you talk to Frankie?” He tried his best to sound nonchalant.

“We’ve been texting a bunch since I started my internship. I guess she has a friend from the Quantico base who’s down in DC for the summer, so she’s been helping me network a little.”

Jeff faltered for a second, unsure what to say. So Annie had been reaching out, just not to him. And Frankie had never said a word—not that it was their obligation to keep him looped in, but still. He feigned nonchalance.

“Wow, small world. How are you liking things there?” He tried to hope for a positive answer but just didn’t have it in him. Say you hate it. Say you can’t wait to come back and that you made a huge mistake.

“I love it! It’s really demanding but so rewarding,” Annie gushed. She must have sensed his reaction, though, because she quickly backtracked, adding, “But I really miss Greendale! Especially the committee, it’s just not the same without you guys.”

A lump formed in Jeff’s throat. “We miss you too. But I’m glad you’re happy.”

She changed the subject. “What about you? I feel like we haven’t talked in so long, how’s your summer vacation been?”

“Oh, you know, same old same old.”

Drinking myself into oblivion, waiting for anyone to call, watching old videos for the sake of morbid nostalgia… 

“That’s all I get? Give me the good stuff! I want to hear what you’ve been up to!” Her tone was sickeningly saccharine.

As he processed the question, Jeff realized that it was probably time to have the conversation he’d been planning—and dreading—in his head for over a month.

“Annie… come on.” He said, exhaling heavily.

“...What?”

“You have to know there’s no ‘good stuff.'”

“I don’t—”

“Annie. Come on.”

Silence.

“Are you still there?” He asked hesitantly.

She paused. “Yeah, I’m here.”

More silence.

“I— I just don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Well… what are you thinking?” He asked softly.

Annie sighed on the other end of the line. “Do you want me to be one hundred percent honest with you?”

His heart plummeted deep into his stomach. “Always.”

“Did you really think that everyone was going to stay in Greendale forever? That we all would just take classes until we were old and senile?”

“Well, it’s been done before.” He joked.

“Jeff—”

“I don’t know, Annie. To be honest, I hadn’t thought that much about it.”

“Jeff, these last few years have been so special to all of us—”

“Don’t do that," He said, cutting her off, his tone pleading. "Please don’t do that.”

“I’m not doing anything."

“We’re losing everyone. Shirley’s in Atlanta, Troy is in the middle of the fucking ocean, Abed’s in LA, Pierce is–”

He cut himself off before things went too far, silence screaming loudly between them.

“It’s not my fault.” She said quietly into the receiver.

“Well you’re not exactly here either, are you?” He snapped. It came out as more of a statement than a question, and Jeff knew he shouldn’t have said it as soon as it landed. “Fuck. I— That was out of line.”

Annie pursed her lips. “It’s how you feel. Isn’t it?”

Silence. Horrible, gut-wrenching silence.

“Except that it’s not really fair," She continued, more edge to her voice now. "Because you never said any of this before we left. You just let us go without a heads up that we’d be blamed and resented forever as soon as we walked out of the study room.”

Jeff rolled his eyes. “And be the asshole holding you all back? I didn’t want to be that. I couldn’t be that. Don’t you think I know that you all need to get the hell out of Colorado and live your life?”

“Then pick one, Jeff. You can’t be the guy who’s pissed we left and the guy who supports us at the same time.”

“Just— tell me what you want from me and I’ll figure it out.” He huffed in retaliation.

“That’s not how it works!" Annie was clearly frustrated now. "Tell me how you feel, communicate with me like an adult.”

“It's not that easy. I don’t know—”

“'I don’t know' isn't gonna get you off the hook, Jeff—"

“I feel trapped," He admitted finally, exasperated. "I feel like I hate myself more and more every single day because you and Abed and everybody else have amazing lives ahead of you and I’m not going to be a part of them anymore.”

“Why can’t you be? That doesn’t make any sense.” He could hear the tears pooling in her eyes.

“Annie—"

“You keep acting like you have to ‘let us go’ but you don’t. It’s an internship, Jeff. It’s three months! I’ll be back in Greendale by September!”

“Annie,” He sighed, bracing himself. “You and I both know you’re not coming back.” 

Deafening, earth-shattering silence.

She let his words hang there in the open for a minute, as Jeff tried to hold back the wave of grief that threatened to overtake him. It was a thought that had plagued him for weeks, Annie moving away permanently. One that he had been too afraid to say out loud. But now there it was, out in the open. Reality.

“When did they offer you the full-time position?” He asked, his voice hoarse and quiet.

“Yesterday.” She whispered.

“Is that why you called me?”

She didn’t have to answer for Jeff to know it was true.

“So you’ll call Frankie and the others to catch up, but you won’t reach out to me until you have bad news?”

Annie sucked in a breath. “I promise it’s not like that.”

“I can’t see how it’s anything but that.”

“I didn’t think it would be good for you if we talked.” She said gently.

“Annie, all I’ve wanted for the past month is to hear from someone.”

“I’m sorry.” Her words were almost inaudible.

Seconds dragged on before Jeff finally conceded. “Congratulations on the job.”

He was just about to end the call when she said it.

“Tell me not to take it.”

In that moment, Jeff could have sworn his stomach dropped 20 stories.

“No.”

“I’m serious, Jeff.”

“So am I.”

“Tell me to come back to Greendale, that I’ll find a job in Colorado and everything will be okay," She pleaded. "Tell me that the group is the most important thing and that it’s selfish to not put them first.”

“Why are you doing this?” His words were filled with pure misery. “You know I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Because I love you guys more than some stupid job!” She choked out.

“Annie… I want to hold onto this group more than I’ve ever wanted to hold onto anything. But I know when I’m an anchor.”

Excruciating, agonizing silence.

“So that’s it?” She whimpered.

“I guess that’s it.” He responded, his voice catching slightly in his throat.

After a moment, she said, “I should probably go.”

“Sure.”

“Jeff?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve wanted to call every day since I got here.”

“Yeah, well. I really wish you had.”

-----

An hour after he hung up the phone, Jeff was still standing in the middle of his living room, a bundle of dazed confusion and pain. It was all he had wanted for weeks, to talk to one of them; to make sure they were happy and healthy and safe. But, now that he had, that yearning was replaced with an emptiness unlike anything he’d ever felt.

The voice inside of his head berated him for letting Annie take the job, but the voice inside of his head was wrong. Maybe Annie hadn’t let go of the group, but telling her no was the only option. He would never be able to live with himself if he was what pulled any of them out of orbit and away from their dreams. It didn’t matter if Annie made a million promises to never resent him, he would resent himself.

The longer he stood there, the deeper he spiraled, and the deeper he spiraled, the greater the urge to numb himself became. He contemplated calling Frankie, since he trusted them the most to swoop in, free of judgment, and talk him off the ledge. This thought disappeared almost as quickly as it came, though, as he was reminded of the fact that she'd been keeping her chats with Annie under wraps for so long. Ian was obviously out of the question. Craig would get there the fastest, but then Jeff would have to face the fact that he had invited Craig into his apartment at 11pm. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to call Chang.

This left Jeff with only one option: Britta.

He begrudgingly scrolled through his contacts to find her number, preparing himself for the lecture and the thousands of questions that would come with inviting her into this situation. She would, of course, want to know what happened…but as much as the prospect of having to relay it was irritating, could he really blame her? Jeff had been such a broken mess of a person lately and Britta’s most well-documented trait was her endless tirade to help every broken mess she came across. It was even something he had appreciated (not liked, but appreciated) about her when they first met, even if it had turned into a sore spot over the years. As he caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the microwave, though, eyes bloodshot and dark circles more pronounced than ever, Jeff was struck with a horrifying thought. Maybe, after everything, there was some validity to all her poking and prodding and checking in on him. Maybe Britta was right.

The phrase “Britta was right” sent a shudder through his whole body. Maybe I do need a drink. He glanced at the cabinet that housed all of his booze, the nagging in the back of his mind growing harder to ignore with every passing second. Eventually, Jeff settled on a compromise; he could pour himself some whiskey if he called Britta and invited her over to drink with him. It was the responsible thing to do and, if he was honest, he couldn’t handle being alone tonight, drinking or not. He hit the call button and headed into the kitchen for his reward.

She picked up after only a couple of rings. “Go for Britta.”

“Why are you answering your phone like a 90s sitcom character?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Just trying something out. What, does it not work?” He could hear Frankie’s laugh ring out in the background.

“Not unless you want me to immediately hang up next time.”

“Dammit.” She muttered under her breath.

“Pay up, Perry!” Frankie shouted.

“I will, just give me a minute! Sorry, Jeff, what’s up?” 

His heart sank slightly in his chest. “I didn’t know you were busy tonight, nevermind, it was nothing.”

“Oh my god, Jeff, no. Frankie is just forcing me to watch some documentary about stamps, I have never been more bored in my life.”

“Come on, it's critically acclaimed!” Frankie exclaimed.

“That means nothing to me, you should know that by now!"

Jeff sighed, pouring himself a double. “Do you want to come hang out? I have this whiskey I’ve been saving–”

“Yes, god yes, I’m grabbing my keys right now.”

“What about roommate movie night?” The sound of Frankie’s voice grew more distant with every word.

“We’ll reschedule!” Jeff heard the click of a doorknob.

“I’m holding you to that!”

Britta sighed. “Okay, Jeff, I’m on my way.”

“Great. See you soon.”

-----

He had finished three glasses by the time Britta knocked on the door. As he stood up to let her inside, the feeling of weightlessness hit him, a distraction from the ache in his chest. Britta slung her bag onto the table and went straight to the kitchen to grab a glass, making herself at home as she usually did. It didn’t take long for her to down a few shots and catch up to him, especially since Jeff purposefully failed to mention anything about the phone call. He decided that keeping Britta blissfully unaware anything was wrong would be the smartest move, unless things came to a point emotionally where he absolutely had to explain himself. This way, they were just two friends drinking—minimal pestering, minimal wallowing.

One hour turned into two and, before long, both Britta and Jeff were wasted. Not incoherent, let’s-graffiti-Greendale wasted; more messy, nothing-is-embarrassing wasted. Britta had plugged her phone into his speaker system, shuffling a steady queue of Natalie is Freezing and other alternative indie bands from the early 90s as she danced around the couch. Jeff watched, both annoyed and amused by her seemingly endless energy. It wasn’t until her phone rang that something inside of his brain clicked back to Annie, snapping him into a panic.

Britta reached across him to grab it. “Hold on, let me just—”

“Who is it?” He asked, tense.

Britta stared at him for a beat, confused, before glancing down at the screen. “Frankie. Should I answer?”

Jeff exhaled deeply and tried to decide what to say, his brain fuzzy. “It’s your phone.”

She gave him a confused look before picking up the call.

“Hello?” A brief moment passed. “We’re fine, but if you want to come—” More panic surged up inside of him and he shook his head as aggressively as he could to get Britta’s attention, eyes wide. “Oh, er— you know what, Frankie, it’s fine, we’re probably gonna crash in a few minutes anyway. Okay. Yes, we will be very responsible. See you tomorrow. Okay, bye.”

Jeff exhaled, leaning back into the couch cushions as Britta set the phone down, eyes boring into him incredulously. “Any particular reason you don’t want Frankie to come over?”

“I plead the fifth.”

She frowned. “I thought you guys were getting along.”

“It’s not about not getting along, it’s not about anything, I— just wanted to hang out the two of us tonight.” He replied. It’s mostly bullshit and, judging by the look on her face, Britta can sense it from a mile away, but for some reason she chooses to be very unlike herself and not to push the subject any further.

“C’mon, let’s do one last shot.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet.

“One last shot? You sure? I can keep going.” But he swayed as he took a step, giving himself away.

Britta snorted. “Yeah, I think cutting us off after this is a good plan.”

They headed into the kitchen and Britta grabbed the bottle of liquor off the countertop, holding it high above her head, a grin plastered across her flushed face. “Let's cheers to something.”

Jeff groaned. “Can’t we just drink it and be done?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” She asked, pouting.

“The alcohol is the fun part. What is there to cheers anyway?” He snapped, just a little too bitter in execution.

Britta eyed him. “If you can’t think of even one thing to cheers to then maybe I shouldn’t have encouraged you to drink tonight.”

“Fine,” He sighed, pausing for a moment to think. The longer he went without immediate distraction, the more intensely his mind pushed him to dwell on the phone call, so he chose the simplest answer he could think of. “Let’s just say… cheers to being alive.”

“To being alive!” She smiled. They clinked their glasses and downed the whiskey in one swift motion, tossing the empties into the sink.

“Do you ever think about where you’d be now if you had never come to Greendale?” Britta asked, turning to face him.

Jeff considered this change of subject for a moment, trying to decide if he was walking into a trap by answering. It seemed like Britta was too inebriated to launch into a full therapy session in the middle of his kitchen, so he deemed it safe territory and gave a genuine response. “Honestly? Yeah, all the time.”

“What would you be doing right now if you were still a lawyer?”

“You know I am a lawyer, right? I passed the bar.”

“Technically, you’re a law professor. Gotta accept it sooner or later, Mr. Winger.” She said, smirking.

“Really? Last time I checked, I don’t have to accept anything. Especially if you’re the person telling me to.”

Britta shot him a look. “And when has that ever worked in your favor?”

“Almost always, actually.” He said with a grin.

“Ugh, whatever, you never answered my question.” She remarked, jabbing at his chest with her finger.

“Fine. If I was still a lawyer… I’d probably be out celebrating a win on a case or something.”

“So you’d be drunk?" She tilted her head. "Not that much has changed, I guess.”

“Yeah, well. Your turn.” He replied, sliding down against the wall to sit on the floor.

“Well,” She moved to join him as she considered the question. “I don’t know.”

Jeff gave her a flat look. “'I don’t know’ isn't gonna get you off the hook.”

As soon as the words left his mouth he realized they were Annie’s, catching him in a crossfire of emotions that he scrambled desperately to repress. Britta didn't seem to notice.

“I just mean I could be literally anywhere. I was bouncing around the country like my life depended on it before I came to Greendale. I could also be in jail,” She added, snickering. “Hey, maybe you would have ended up representing me in court!”

He smirked down at her. “In this hypothetical scenario, what would you have been defending yourself against?”

“Well, let’s say I hypothetically burned down a Jamba Juice in San Jose…”

“What?!”

“I said it was hypothetical!” She exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air.

“Britta, that is way too specific to be hypothetical,” He said, trying to suppress the grin creeping onto his face. “Did you actually burn down a Jamba Juice?”

“...Maybe?”

“Holy—”

“I know, I know, I’m the worst.” She grumbled.

“That’s not what I was gonna say,” And maybe it was the alcohol, or the lonely, empty feeling in his chest, or some dangerous combination of both, but the words tumbled out before he could push them down. “Honestly, it’s kinda hot.”

She laughed, her eyes lingering on him for a moment. “Do you have an arson kink you never told me about? Because I have a lot of stories for you if you do.”

“Wow, okay, instant regret.” He shook his head.

“Oh, come on, do we really have boundaries about this kind of thing? It’s not like it’s… unfamiliar territory.”

“That’s… true.”

They sat in silence for a moment before Britta jumped on the chance to change the subject. “So what happened tonight?”

“What do you mean?”

She shot him a knowing look. “Jeff.”

“What?”

“You called me for a reason, what happened?”

“I just wanted a drinking buddy, that’s it.”

She examined his face before responding. “You’re a liar.”

“I’m not lying, Britta, you’re so paranoid.”

“Please, I’m not paranoid. You are the king of lying, Jeff.”

He shot her a sarcastic smile. “Thank you."

“God, I should have known you’d take that as a compliment.”

Another moment of easy silence settled over them before Britta said the thing he had been dreading she would say since she arrived.

“I talked to Annie.”

Jeff tried to ignore the sudden ringing in his ears and feign nonchalance. “Really? What did she say?”

“She said she loves it in DC and that she misses everyone, the usual.”

“Well, that’s good.” Jeff said, standing to find something that could occupy his hands.

Britta followed. “Yeah, she sounded… happy.”

He paused, looking back at her. “Why are you saying that like it’s a bad thing?”

“I'm not.”

Holding himself back from the brink of collapse was growing more and more difficult with every passing second. Jeff was officially in desperate need of a new distraction, something big enough to occupy all of his brainpower for a while.

As if on cue, Britta jumped in to make things worse. “Oh god, it’s 1am. Maybe we should go to sleep?” She asked, glancing at the couch.

“Never say that again. Do you know how old you just made us sound? 1am is nothing, 1am is child’s play.” His tone was urgent, intense, but Britta was too drunk to pick up on the nuance.

“Jeez, fine, Mr. Youth Culture. What do you suggest we do while we’re awake then?”

He considered this. “Well it seems like you have experience with setting things on fire.” 

“Hey, only for a worthy cause!” Britta exclaimed.

“Okay, what constitutes a worthy cause?” Jeff asked, brows raised.

“A political statement in the name of anarchy.”

He couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the look of pride on her face.

“What statement were you making the day you burned down a Jamba Juice?”

“It was anti-capitalist, duh doy.”

“Fine. What else?”

“Well, I usually make all my decisions based around helping people—”

“I know," He interrupted. "It’s the reason you have such a track record for failure.”

Britta rolled her eyes. “Funny you say that, considering I never would have stayed in your fake little study group if it wasn’t for that rule.”

“You were trying to help me?” He asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Oh, definitely. You were so sad and desperate, I thought I’d throw you a bone.”

“I was not 'sad and desperate.' I seem to remember one of us having a psychotic break and shouting ‘I love you’ at the transfer dance, and it sure as hell wasn’t me.”

“You wore a sweatpants-sports-coat combo to class every day. Every day, Jeff.”

“How did that make me desperate?”

“The desperation came from other aspects of your behavior, that made you sad.”

“And yet, you still slept with me.”

“Call it community service.” She countered with a wink.

He chuckled. “Come on, admit it. You were super into me.”

“As if I would ever admit that.” She said, scoffing.

“I’ll admit it.”

Britta’s eyes widened. “You’ll admit you were super into me?”

“No, I’ll admit that I was super into me.”

“God, I hate you so much.”

“No, you don’t.” Jeff grinned.

She sighed, admitting defeat. “No. I don’t.” 

Jeff felt a familiar twinge, one he ignored almost every time it reared its ugly head, which was more often than he’d care to admit. It was an impulse that needed just the right amount of insanity as a catalyst to act on it.

And suddenly, he had his distraction.

“I might be about to do something really stupid,” He mumbled, his eyes traveling down to her lips. “But I’m just drunk enough that I don’t give a shit.”

“I don’t…” Britta said, trailing off as she stared back at him.

“You said you like helping people, right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Help me by not asking questions.”

“What do you—”

Before she could finish her sentence—and before he had the chance to think better of it—Jeff was pulling her into him and crashing their lips together in a mess of unbridled hunger and chaos. It was almost shocking how quickly Britta gave in to instinct, her hands finding the back of his neck as she relaxed into his arms. He noticed that her lips tasted like alcohol and cigarettes and the spearmint gum she always kept with her, a thinly veiled attempt to hide when she'd been smoking. Kissing Britta was familiar and comfortable and safe in a completely unexpected way and, through all the passion and need, something just… clicked.

He let everything else go as they stumbled into his room and collapsed onto the bed, something sparking in his gut as she tugged at his shirt to pull it off. When their lips came back together, Jeff was brought back to the day she’d told him to kiss her outside the library. To when she’d announced, with determination, that she loved him in front of the whole school, scaring the shit out of him. To every random hook-up sophomore year, when they would swear, skin on skin, that all of it meant nothing, and he would ignore the pang of narcissistic hope that she was lying.

Britta was all fire, no hesitation, a worthy distraction if there ever was one. But, even so, Jeff's mind slowly began to drift to other things. The booze was loosening its grip, and he couldn’t help it when the emptiness started seeping back in. After everything was said and done and they were lying there, tangled up in his sheets, Jeff felt a thousand times worse than he had to begin with.

They laid in silence for a while, neither one really knowing how to address what had just happened. Could he just blame it on the whiskey and write it off as a mutual mistake? Was it wishful thinking to assume they could agree to never mention it again and just move on?

“So. I’m thinking we should talk.” Britta said, snapping Jeff out of his trance.

Shit.

He sighed, conceding. “I’m thinking you’re right.”

“Can you say that again really quick? I want it for my records.”

“Ha. Ha.”

She rolled onto her side to face him. “Explain.”

“I don’t know.”

“Jeff.”

“Britta.” He said, mimicking her tone.

“Come on, that was the least present you have ever been during sex. And that’s saying something, considering we once fucked while you were actively watching the World Cup.” She retorted, raising an eyebrow.

“It was a live match. There’s no point in watching it after it’s already aired.”

“Totally missing my point.”

“What is your point?”

“My point is that you’re insanely checked out right now and you’ve been acting weird all night. You flipped your shit when Frankie called and wanted to come over, you got more tense than usual when I mentioned Annie… We can do this the easy way or the hard way, but in both scenarios I find out what you’re hiding. It’s better for everyone if you just tell me.”

And so he did. He gave her the details, relaying the gut wrenching phone call, Annie's news about her new job, the issue with Frankie… he even told her in certain terms what he was thinking when he drank himself into oblivion the week he had dropped Annie and Abed off at the airport. Britta listened attentively, hugging the blankets to her chest and chiming in every once in a while to give her two-cents or react to what he was saying. It was the most serious conversation they had ever had and, when he finished talking, he realized how good it felt to finally confide in someone; like he was ten pounds lighter.

“Wow,” Britta said, a deep sadness in her eyes. “I had no idea all of this was as… intense as it is.”

“How could you? It’s not like I said anything.”

“Still. I mean, of course I sort of knew that everything happening a few weeks ago had to do with them leaving… I just feel like I could have helped more. I’m a shitty friend.”

He looked at her like she was insane. “Britta, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but that is the dumbest thing you’ve ever said."

She shot him an annoyed look back.

“I’m serious. You have to know by now that you have no control over me unless I explicitly give it to you.”

She scoffed. “That’s definitely true.”

“You’re not a shitty friend for not knowing. I didn’t want anyone to know. I still don’t even really want you to know but considering…” Jeff trailed off, gesturing to the two of them naked in his bed. “I kinda felt like I had to explain myself.”

“Well, I’m glad you told me," She said, taking it all in. "And just think about the progress we’ll be able to make when I give you therapy now!” She grinned, sliding out of bed and shuffling through his dresser to find a shirt.

“Um, I’m one hundred percent sure I never consented to that.”

“You need it, Jeff.”

“While that might be true, you aren’t a therapist.”

“Then I won’t bill you.” She shrugged.

“You were going to bill me?!”

“Great advice doesn’t come free, Winger.”

“Well, if I ever receive any great advice from you I’ll keep that in mind.” He remarked, rolling his eyes and pulling on a pair of sweatpants.

“When are you gonna drop the act and admit that I’m a good therapist?” She asked, climbing back into bed.

“You want the tough talk, Britta?” He asked, tossing his discarded clothes onto a chair. She nodded, expectantly. “You could be a good therapist.”

“Ha! I knew it!”

“Emphasis on could be.”

Her face fell. “What does that mean?”

“What the hell happened to grad school? What about your master plan to actually become a psychologist and get a real degree from a real university?”

“It’s… in motion.” Britta retorted, an air of defensiveness to her tone.

“Look,” Jeff said, sitting back down next to her. “You care more about things that don’t matter than anyone else I know. But even I have to admit that you also care more about really important things than anyone else. If you put as much effort into actually trying to get a degree as you put into your failed attempts to ‘fix’ me you could, someday, be a great therapist. You just have to stop self-sabotaging.”

It was good advice, and advice Jeff knew he also needed to take. Self-sabotaging had become his M.O. as of late but, as much as he knew he needed to reevaluate, that part was much easier said than done.

“Do you really think I’m self-sabotaging?” She asked quietly, scrunching her nose up in embarrassment.

“I think for being one of the smartest people I know, you sure have been in community college for six years.” He replied pointedly.

“I’m one of the smartest people you know?”

It was a sincere question. There was no subtext of trying to con an admission of praise out of him or turn his answer into a punchline; it was Britta at her most vulnerable.

“Let’s just say there’s a reason I stuck around after you rejected me so many times, and it’s only partly because of a deep-seated need to be liked,” He joked. “Lately, it’s like… you’ve been downplaying your intelligence because you’re scared of actually doing well and graduating and having to face reality. But you’ve gotta stop that shit if you ever want to actually be a therapist, get the hell out of Greendale, and fulfill the study group destiny of leaving me behind to rot.” His words presented themselves with an air of sarcasm, but there was a bitter truth underneath that stung.

“Please, what makes you think I want to get out of Greendale? You’re stuck with me for the long-haul, Jeff, don’t try and pawn me off.” She smiled. “But thank you. Really.”

“Anytime,” He glanced at the door and then back at her. “Goodnight, I guess.”

“Yeah, goodnight.”

They stared at each other for a second before Britta gasped. “Oh my god, you are not going to make me sleep on the couch, Jeff," He shrugged. “Are you serious?!”

“We have to have some boundaries!” He exclaimed.

“Then take back my key, don’t make me sleep on the couch!”

“Britta, isn’t sleeping in the same bed a little... intimate?”

“You were literally inside me 20 minutes ago!”

“Well—”

“I’m not sleeping on the couch, Jeff.”

“Fine, but if you hog the blankets you’re dead to me.”

She smirked. “I can live with that.”

-----

It was, at first, the only time in Jeff’s life where sex had made things less complicated. The events of the night had led to a level of emotional intimacy Jeff firmly believed would never have been reached without the physical elements that preceded it, and the conversation had ultimately been a success and a huge weight off of his shoulders. 

That was, until they started falling back into their old patterns.

What Britta and Jeff had both sworn up and down would be a one-time thing snowballed into two and then three and then seven, until it reached a point where Britta saying “okay, that was the last time” afterwards sounded like an overused punchline in a cheesy sitcom. It wasn’t until classes started up again in August and Chang walked in on them making out in the study room that Jeff realized how absolutely fucked he was.

Using sex to repress complex emotions wasn’t exactly new territory for him. It was the combination of this repression (and the spark between them that never did seem to burn out) with his newfound reliance on Britta for emotional support that created a concerning dynamic. Because Britta was the only person who knew about everything he’d been bottling up, she was the only person he could talk to about it. It started out innocently enough; he’d call her and ask if she wanted to come over, they’d talk, maybe drink, and soon enough both of them would get to a place of vulnerability that embarrassed them just enough to use physical attraction as a distraction, a tool to deflect and forget about the demons that were haunting them.

It was like an addiction. Every time they mutually agreed to cut it off, they ended up back in bed; a vicious, never ending cycle. And although neither of them had ever agreed to it, they’d somehow adopted the dynamics of a relationship without even realizing. It was when he accidentally referred to the two of them as a “we” when talking to Craig that Jeff was slapped with the harsh reality of his situation: he was filling the void in his chest with feelings more complicated than he’d care to admit, pretending he wasn’t getting attached all over again. But what more could he do? They were all leaving him, but Britta? Britta was a constant. 

Days turned into weeks that turned into months, until so much time had passed that Jeff was convinced that everyone who’d left would never come back. Annie never reached out to him again and the texts from Abed grew more and more sparse. He wondered if the two of them had talked, if Abed knew the spiteful things he’d said. In his heart of hearts, Jeff knew they had. He wished he could get on a plane and show up on Abed’s door step, explain himself and beg him to come back to Greendale. But he knew, even if handed the opportunity on a silver platter, he couldn’t handle it. He’d survived a lot, but Jeff knew himself well enough to know that he wouldn’t survive that.

So he hung on, coasting through life in a constant and incurable depression. He went to Friday night dinners and taught his law classes and had movie nights with Britta, but he was never happy, never fulfilled. The more he sank into this new life the more he hoped for death; never planned for it, but hoped for it, like maybe fate would be kind enough to end his suffering and save him from the guilt that would come with doing it himself. It seemed like there was no light at the end of the tunnel, no turning point where things would go back to how they were before, or at least get better than they were now. It really seemed like this was it.

Until Troy's letter came.

Chapter Text

Halloween and Thanksgiving came and went, with Greendale getting up to its usual hi-jinx. Everyone else on campus seemed to be enjoying the season but, unsurprisingly, it all played out in black and white for the Greendale Prisoners, proving especially painful for Jeff and Britta. Being the only two original study group members left, their triggers were more plentiful and their cuts ran deeper. There was nothing Jeff was looking forward to less, though, than Christmas. Visions of holidays past cycled over and over again in his head; he even started keeping his WWBJD bracelet from Shirley in his pocket. Not as a reminder of god, but as a memory of the friend who had made him give a shit about being a good person. Jeff really couldn’t care less about religion but, after a few days of feeling the beads clash against his keys, he decided he would go to any Sunday service Shirley wanted him to if it meant she would come back.

Finals week was also ramping up now, and he had planned a multiple choice exam that required the least amount of effort to score as possible. The last thing he wanted was to be stuck grading papers while all his students, who already had the privilege of unbridled possibility ahead of them, got to go home for winter break. He reminisced on being one of them and then wondered if he would always have to look back and remember the best days of his life, rather than chase the idea that they were still ahead of him.

The words “Why don’t we do it at Jeff’s place?” snapped him out of his trance. 

“I missed what we were talking about, but I’m going to play it safe and go with no.” He said, leaning back into the booth and taking a sip of his water.

“Have you been paying attention at all?” Frankie asked, folding her hands over her binder.

“If I say no, are you going to give me a slap on the wrist or let me off with a warning?”

“Jeff, I would never slap you.”

“Then no.”

She pondered this for a moment. “I see. Britta?”

Britta smacked him hard on the side of the arm. “Ow! What the hell, Frankie, that’s cheating.” He grumbled, rubbing the spot she’d hit. 

“No, that’s just good sense. Britta does all my dirty work for me,” They high fived across the table right as a frisbee flew overhead. “Speaking of…” Frankie said, watching it glide by, eyebrow raised.

“I am on it,” Britta said, saluting and scrambling out of the booth. “LEONARD! NO FRISBEE IN THE CAFETERIA!”

“Try and stop me!” He shouted back, blowing a raspberry. At this show of defiance, Britta took off towards him and chased him right out the door.

“Remember when she was an anarchist?” Jeff said in disbelief, watching her go.

“Yeah, I tend to have that effect on people.” Frankie smirked.

“Am I late? Did everyone else leave?” Craig said, jogging up to the booth out of breath.

“Nope, we’re still waiting on Chang and Duncan. Britta… will be right back.” Frankie glanced at the door as she said it.

Craig slid in next to Jeff, bumping him over then reaching across the table to steal one of Britta’s unattended french fries.

“Alright, let’s make this quick,” Duncan’s voice appeared behind them, followed by the sound of him tossing his bag on the ground. “I have a lecture to teach in an hour and I am wildly unprepared.”

Craig winced. “That’s not what you want to hear from a tenured professor.”

“Did someone say tenured professor?” Chang danced over to the table, Britta trailing behind him, shaking her head. He dragged a chair over to the head of the table between Frankie and Craig.

“I found him out in the quad talking to the squirrels.” Britta said with an eye roll. 

“Duncan, don’t tell us if you fail to do the bare minimum your job requires of you and Chang, you are not a professor.” Frankie remarked, barely looking up from her notes.

“I’m allowed to have ambitions!”

Britta collapsed into the booth. “Okay, so where did we leave off?”

“Well, just before the others got here, I proposed Christmas at Jeff’s.”

“That’s what you were proposing? I stand by my no.”

“Well we can’t do it at my place, it’s barely big enough for me.” Duncan said, opening up a bag of potato chips.

“Chang, where are you living now?”

“Teacher’s lounge.” He replied nonchalantly, also snatching one of Britta’s fries and earning himself a slap on the hand.

Frankie did a double take. “That’s some kind of joke I don’t understand, right?”

They all looked to Chang expectantly but he just stared vacantly back. “Joke?”

“Okay, we’ll deal with that later.” She sighed.

“Frankie, why don’t we just do it at our new place?” Britta offered. “We’re pretty much finished unpacking and it’s closest to the school.”

“I… suppose that could work. As long as Chang promises to leave his hermit crabs at home.”

“Was that not going to be a condition if it was at my place?” Jeff asked incredulously.

“Hey, I only brought Mike and Melissa with me twice, and you didn’t even know until I accidentally confessed .” He added air quotes to the end as flourish.

“Regardless, this is a crustacean-free holiday, alright?” Frankie said, looking around at all of them. “All in favor of Christmas at the Perry-Dart household say ‘aye’.”

After a resounding chorus of aye’s, Frankie added, “And please don’t forget you’re all on decoration duty for the dance next Friday. With Annie gone, planning this thing has been a nightmare.” Jeff felt a dull ache pulse in his chest.

“I’m sure it’s gonna be great, Franks.” Britta said encouragingly, placing a hand on their shoulder.

“And if not, kegger in the parking lot!” Duncan exclaimed. Jeff shot him a look. “Secret kegger in the parking lot.” He corrected in a whisper.

“Alright, my final order of business…” Frankie said, flipping through her to-do list. “Secret Santa. Are we doing one this year?”

“As long as I can have Jeffrey. I already have a gift for him.” Craig said with a wink, nudging Jeff’s arm.

“Hey, no fair, you don’t get to just call someone, that's not how secret Santa works.” Britta pouted.

“I’ll agree to Secret Santa if you can promise that Craig won’t get me.” Jeff said.

“I’m going to assume that your bickering means we feel strongly about the idea so I’ll go with yes.” Frankie scribbled a note into her binder. “Anything outstanding?”

“The Vatican is buy one get one tonight for anyone who promises to be part of the psych survey I’m doing!” Britta added.

“What if someone couldn’t participate because they would be grading said assignment?” Duncan asked.

“I’ll extend the discount to you if you promise to bump my grade up 10%.”

“Deal!”

“As your Dean, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Craig said, standing to let Jeff out of the booth. “But as your friend, Britta, way to be resourceful!”

-----

“So what did you get me for Christmas?” Jeff asked as Britta fell into step with him, a smirk painted across his face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She replied cooly.

“Sure. Then why do you want me for Secret Santa so badly?” They turned the corner towards his office.

“I don’t!”

“Mhm.”

“I just… felt it was unfair of the Dean to take you out of the running. It was about the principle.”

“You do love a cause.” Jeff moved to pull the keys out of his pocket, accidentally knocking the WWBJD bracelet out onto the floor in the process. He rushed to grab it, but Britta was faster.

“You have your Shirley bracelet with you?” She asked softly, turning it over in her hands.

“Yeah, I— yeah.” Color rushed to his cheeks.

“Jeff, that’s—”

He cut her off, yanking the door open. “Can we talk about this inside?”

Britta rolled her eyes and slipped past. As soon as they were alone, she perched herself on the edge of his desk and shot him a knowing look.

“What?”

“Jeff, the holidays can be a difficult time for everyone.”

“Oh my god.”

“But you’re making it worse by keeping your feelings bottled up!”

“Britta.”

“This is what I’m here for, Jeff, let me help!”

“Actually,” He said, walking over to her. “This is what you’re here for.” Jeff pressed his lip to hers, softly at first, then escalating. His hands slipped around her hips, drawing her in closer, and Greendale melted away into the background.

“We can’t do this here...” She mumbled into his mouth, sounding only half convinced.

“Not with that attitude.” He whispered, moving to her jaw, then her neck, and then her collarbone.

“What if someone walks in?”

“Then that would be a first.”

They continued for another minute or so, Britta very close to abandoning reason they way Jeff clearly already had.

Then, as if coming to her senses, “Okay, seriously, we shouldn’t.”

He pulled away, feeling strangely embarrassed by the rejection. “Fine. Sorry.”

She paused. “Are you pissed at me?”

“No, I’m—” He stopped himself, taking a deep breath. “I’m not. I’m sorry. I think I’m just in a weird headspace today.”

“That’s okay.” Britta said hesitantly, carefully thinking through what to say next. “I did get you a Christmas gift.”

A smile crept up onto his face. “Did you now?”

“Mhm.” As she played with the buttons on his shirt, an unfamiliar feeling swelled inside of his chest.

“Well? What is it?”

“I’m not telling you that, it’ll ruin the surprise!”

“Come on, you know I hate surprises.”

“Nope, you’ll find out on Christmas morning like all the other good boys and girls.” Britta smirked, pulling him down to her by his collar and planting a lingering kiss on his lips. He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath, praying she was oblivious to how badly he wanted her.

“Does this place have any doors that lock?” Jeff mumbled, playing with the hem of her sweater as a distraction. She chuckled. “What?” He asked, tilting his head.

“Nothing, it's just— there’s one room that we know has locks on its doors.”

It only took him a moment to realize. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Too bad it’s way too conspicuous and has walls made of windows and there are a million students everywhere trying to study.”

Jeff shook his head in defeat. “God, I hate this place.”

“No you don’t.” She grinned.

“No,” He sighed. “I don’t.”

-----

Britta was of the opinion that things had been going fairly well. Was it difficult to navigate a sensitive time of year while also grieving the loss of her friends and the stability of the study group? Of course. But it was nothing she couldn’t handle, right? 

She made it her mission to use the emotional unrest as motivation. In five months, she would finally be finished with her psych degree and in nine she would be starting her Master's. That is, if they accepted her to the program she’d applied to—but she was trying to not think about that part. Her grades were decent, Duncan had written her a strong letter of recommendation, and the school had a pretty reasonable admittance rate (plus, the online degree she was counting on was in far lower demand than the fancy, in-person one). This way, she had better odds of going through with the whole thing and she could learn virtually at Greendale. It was a win all around.

Not only that, but Jeff had been improving, slowly but surely. Britta was proud of the progress he’d made and tried to focus solely on that aspect of their relationship. She was helping a friend in need and it was paying off. There was no reason to think about the fact that she was sleeping at his place more than she was sleeping in her own bed, or that Frankie had started assuming she wouldn’t be home for breakfast most mornings, or that important articles of her clothing had taken up residence in Jeff’s dresser. She refused to consider whether their dynamic was healthy or whether their emotional codependency was destructive. Britta didn’t want or need anything more than he was giving her, that wasn’t really the problem. It was more the fact that they both adamantly avoided acknowledging that anything had changed. The two of them had gone years without crossing the boundary into intimacy, and now she woke up lying on his chest every day.

They were fairly certain that the group knew what was going on. She and Jeff were careful to never confirm anything and always brushed them off if it came up in conversation, but there had been slip-ups here and there. Most importantly, Frankie was still in the dark, which for some reason felt vital to Britta. She couldn’t deny that she had to be at least slightly suspicious, and in truth it was getting a little exhausting sneaking around, but every time the voice in the back of her head said maybe you should talk to Frankie about it, a gut instinct shoved it down. She wrote it off as a fear of judgment or rational reflection but, whatever it was, Britta continued to hold onto the pipe dream that Frankie would never find out, and she held on tight.

Finals week had been hellish, with every one of her psych classes assigning a trio of projects, papers, and exams. At the start of the semester, she’d figured that balancing her schedule with a couple of Duncan’s classes would be in her best interest, but she had failed to consider that he was using a curriculum he’d written when he was stone-cold sober. It was a far cry from Anthropology 101. Thankfully, as of that morning, it was over. Nothing sounded more enticing than burning all of her assignments and sleeping in until noon every day of winter break.

Their final order of business, though, was impending. With only 12 hours until the holiday dance, Frankie was a stress-case. Understandably, she had been on edge all week, trying to approve decorations and oversee the execution of everything the committee had planned, on top of all her usual work. It was clear to Britta, as soon as she ventured downstairs that morning, that Frankie was at their breaking point.

“Oh good, you’re up,” They said, prepping something in the blender. “Do you want a smoothie? I think I added too much fruit to this one but I’m not really sure—Wait, are you allergic to pineapple? Is someone allergic to pineapple? I feel like that’s probably something I should commit to memory, right?”

Britta stared at her, eyes wide in amusement. “I’m not allergic to pineapple. I’m actually not sure any of us are. And yeah, I’ll have a smoothie if you end up with leftovers.”

“Okay, I just have to—” Frankie switched the blender on mid-sentence, the lid lying forgotten by the sink. Before Britta could run over and stop her, frozen fruit and juice went everywhere, splattering across the cabinets and her clothes. Frankie moved frantically to turn it off and Britta, in shock, stood frozen at the counter with her mouth gaping.

“Frankie… I think you need a nap. Or a vacation day.”

“How did I…” She said, looking around at the mess helplessly.

“It’s okay, I’ll fix it, you go change.” Britta headed over to the sink to grab a towel.

“No, no, I’ve got it—”

“Frankie,” She grasped onto both of her shoulders. “You have a million things on your to-do list, let me do this.”

Looking overwhelmed and on the verge of grateful tears, Frankie conceded, nodding their head. “Thank you. I’ll be right back.”

Britta managed to successfully clean up the kitchen and finish blending what was left of their breakfast by the time Frankie emerged from her room in fresh clothing. She slid the glass across the counter like a shot and they caught it, chuckling and taking a seat on one of the stools.

“Who knew living with a bartender would have benefits?”

“Oh, I’m full of surprises," Britta smirked. "So, what do you need from us today? We’re at your beck-and-call.”

She glanced at her list. “I put you and Ian on streamers.”

“Ugh, seriously? Duncan?” As much as he had started growing on Britta, Duncan also had a habit of shamelessly hitting on her. He seemed to think it was funny and endearing—she just found it incredibly unnecessary and mildly annoying.

Frankie raised an eyebrow. “I would have put you with Jeff—”

“Yes! Put me with Jeff!”

“But I was afraid you would get… distracted.”

“What do you mean?” She tried her best to play dumb but could feel the warmth rushing to her cheeks.

“Seriously? We’re going to do this?”

Britta, who was sure her face was getting pinker by the second, focused her attention on a little piece of fruit stuck to the ceiling. “Do what?”

“Don’t tell me you think I’m that stupid,” Frankie deadpanned. “You and Jeff have been dating since the summer.”

Britta snapped to attention, eyes widening. “Jeff and I are not dating.”

“Okay, sleeping together.” Silence hung between them. “Wow, what a defense, you’ve never been more convincing.”

“We’re not dating.”

“Well, you’re not sleeping over every night for ‘emotional support’, and you’ve stopped complaining about your back hurting so I’m assuming when you do, it’s not on the couch.”

“It’s not every night, I didn’t sleep over last night.” She pointed out.

“Not really my point.”

Britta wasn’t sure what to say. Part of her had been dreading this conversation a little bit more every time she woke up across town, like there was a running tally of the nights she was away, keeping score. It was only a matter of time before Frankie was unable to ignore it and, since the two of them had gotten closer over the past few months, want to ask her about it. Plus, Britta knew they had been getting sloppy. Maybe Frankie had seen them on campus, or in her car, or maybe Chang had blabbed after he walked in on them in the study room. Whatever the reason, the charade was up.

“Listen, Britta, it’s none of my business, but in my experience, this won’t end well.” They stated matter of factly.

Britta frowned. “You’re right, it’s none of your business.”

Frankie studied her face for a moment, choosing her words carefully. “I try not to get too involved in everyone’s… personal affairs, but please be careful. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

This sentiment caught Britta off guard. She was used to people fully inserting themselves into her relationships. When she and Jeff started hooking up Sophomore year, everyone cornered them and said they were ruining the fabric of the group. When Troy ended things with her, it was Abed who first delivered the news, pretending they had switched bodies Freaky Friday style. Hell, both times she dated Rick, two different multi-billion dollar corporations got involved to break them up. Frankie was showing polite concern while also minding her own business and it was refreshing, but something destructive inside of Britta wanted her to be upset and reveal that this whole time she had been emotionally invested in their situation.

“Franks, I’m not going to get hurt because it doesn’t mean anything to either of us. It’s just sex. We’ve done it before.”

Frankie's expression fell into a sad smile. “For what it’s worth, I hope you’re right.”

-----

Thankfully, the dance kicked off without a hitch. The Dean had hired a great band to play who showed up on time (and were given strict directions to never let Chang take the mic), the decorations the group had made looked solid, and the cafeteria was packed with students; Star-burns even brought his lizard dressed up in a tiny holiday sweater. More than anything, Britta was just grateful that Frankie finally had a chance to breathe and enjoy it.

“What the hell is this?” Frankie winced, taking a whiff of the flask she’d been handed.

“It’s a mixture of vodka and spiced rum," Britta explained. Upon seeing Frankie's horrified expression, she added, "We were running out.”

Frankie braced herself and knocked back a few gulps. “God, that is fowl.”

“That’s how you know it’s working.”

“Frankie, Britta,” Jeff sidled up, nodding a greeting to each of them. “I heard you’re holding.”

“If by holding you mean Britta brought the worst concoction of alcohol I’ve ever tasted then yeah, she’s holding.”

Jeff held out his hand for the flask and Frankie passed it over. “At this point, alcohol is alcohol,” He took a swig and choked, pounding a fist to his chest. “Jesus christ, Britta.”

“Hey, it gets the job done.” She grumbled with an eye roll.

“Everything seems to be going smoothly.” Frankie said, surveying the crowd.

“You did a great job, Frankie.” Jeff said, a small peace offering as a step towards mending the awkwardness that had been caused by the Annie situation months prior. They’d spoken about it briefly, but both seemed to be in agreement that the best course of action was to try and move past it.

“Thank you, Jeff, I appreciate that. I haven’t— Star-Burns! There’s no smoking in here!” And just like that, she was off.

Britta looked over towards Jeff, nodding to the music. “Pretty great dance.”

“As great as a community college dance can be in your 30s.”

“God, that’s depressing," She winced. "Give me my flask.”

"Let me take a couple more sips."

"It's my flask. You should've brought your own."

“Too bad, I’m not done with it yet.” He smirked, taking another painful swig.

Britta pouted. “Screw you, give it back!”

Jeff grinned, enjoying pushing her buttons. “Come and get it.” He raised the flask above his head, out of reach.

“Congratulations, you have the comedic stylings of an 8th grade boy," She shot him a look. "Now give it to me, you know I'm not that tall.”

“That’s what makes it so fun.” He quipped, refusing to fold.

Britta rolled her eyes and grabbed at it, feigning irritation. “You’re a dick.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Just as her fingers brushed it, Jeff’s arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her in.

The kiss wasn’t hesitant—it was inevitable. Neither of them had ever felt time stop like that before, like the universe had just exhaled and left them weightless. It was a paradox of sensation: soft and familiar, electric and shattering. The kind of moment that doesn’t just happen—it rewrites everything that comes after.

When they pulled away, the shift between them was undeniable. A line crossed, a door opened, a reality neither of them was ready to face.

Above all else, it sparked fear.

The two stood frozen for a second, until Britta finally came to her senses and took the flask back. Jeff let his hand drop off away from her waist and cleared his throat awkwardly. “I think I’m going to go see if Duncan needs help—”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

Jeff, suddenly filled with the sensation that everyone was looking at him, tried to conceal the blood rushing to his face by turning to exit. As he did, Britta’s gaze shifted to something behind him. In a split second, he watched her expression shift from unreadable to pure shock. As he finished pivoting around, he was met with the reason.

Abed Nadir was standing in the doorway of the Greendale Cafeteria.

Jeff was at a loss. He desperately tried to comb back through their exchanges in his head. Had he known Abed was coming and forgotten? Absolutely not, he would never. It would have been the thing that kept him going through finals. But there he was regardless, standing 5 feet away and picking the worst possible moment to show up.

“Abed?” Britta squeaked. He could hear the tears welling in her eyes.

“Surprise.” Abed said with a smile.

“Oh my god!” She ran to him and wrapped him up in a hug. He held her gently, glancing at Jeff, who still stood expressionless, over her shoulder. “How are you here right now? I thought you had to work!”

“We wrapped early, so I’m here through Christmas. My cousins invited me to celebrate with them, but I also wanted to see you guys.”

“This is amazing! Jeff, isn’t this amazing?” Britta exclaimed, holding Abed’s hands in hers tightly.

Somewhere deep inside him, that untamed, reflexive urge to be stubborn clawed its way up. He could already tell, even before the words left his mouth, that he didn’t mean them. But that never stopped him before.

“You couldn’t have dropped us a text?” Jeff said, the edge in his voice sharper than intended and impossible to take back.

“Jeff, he said he wanted it to be a surprise. And you probably didn’t get a lot of notice from work, right, Abed?”

Abed ignored her and instead studied Jeff’s face, his eyes narrowed in concentration. “What’s going on with you?” He asked.

“What?” Jeff said, defenses up.

Britta waved him off. “It’s okay, Abed, just ignore him.”

Jeff took a step towards them. “No, I’d like to know what he means.”

Abed stared back at him. “Jeff, I may not be great with emotional cues but something is definitely off.”

“How would you know?”

“Because I know you.”

“People change.”

Abed considered this. “I’m not really a believer in that.”

“Maybe if you’d been around for the last six months you would be.” 

Britta gasped, shooting daggers at him. He refused to meet her gaze.

“Jeff. This isn’t a good look for you.” Abed stated matter of factly, scanning him up and down.

“Thanks. I’ll file that feedback away and let you know if it ever comes in handy.”

Abed’s expression was growing more severe by the second. Britta, sensing tensions rising, grabbed each of them by the arm and pulled them out into the hallway.

“First of all,” She turned to Jeff. “Frankie worked really hard on this dance, and I’m not about to let it get ruined by you picking a fight. She doesn’t deserve that, so show some respect. Second of all, we’re clearly on the verge of some conflict here so, as a psychologist, I’m going to mediate.”

“Britta, you’re not a psychologist. Abed, you seriously thought that you could come back into town and it would make up for the fact that none of us have been a priority for the past six months?” Jeff snapped, feeling thoroughly gaslit by everyone he cared about. They had all sworn up and down they would come visit regularly and call weekly—was he the only person who had taken that seriously? And what did that say about how sad his life was if that was true? He was exhausted by the frustration and resentment he harbored, but there was a very persuasive part of him that told him if he let it go, he was accepting the situation and letting them go too. And he couldn’t do that yet.

Abed shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t get it. I thought you’d be excited to see me.”

“Why? It’s not like we know this Abed.” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Britta staring at him, incredulous.

“Jeff, you’re spiraling.”

“Yes, Abed, he is. I think you should take a walk.” She said, giving Jeff a pointed glance.

“Britta,” He tried to keep his voice measured. “All due respect, but you’re not my therapist. Or my girlfriend. So can you stop trying to control how I react to this?”

It was vindictive and mean and mostly untrue, but Jeff was past the point of logic. His words were shooting to kill.

She scoffed in wounded disbelief. “You think I’m being controlling? Seriously?”

“Is the sarcasm necessary?”

Before she could respond, Abed jumped in. “Britta’s right. You’re spiraling because you no longer have control over the group. We moved away and we’re not behaving and reacting exactly the way you want, so you’re acting out," He paused. "It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Exactly, thank you, Abed.”

Jeff rolled his eyes. “This is not my fault.”

“Maybe you should focus on your own problems before playing dictator,” Britta snapped.

“And maybe you should actually finish your degree before playing therapist,” He snapped back.

Her laugh rang harshly through the hallway. “I am so tired of this! You’re always one tiny little problem away from ruining everyone’s day. Abed is here! You can’t even pull yourself together for five minutes and just be happy? You have to make yourself the victim?”

“What’s going on out here?” Frankie pushed through the doors. “All I could hear was people yelling, and— Abed?!” She gasped, walking over. “What are you doing here?”

Britta continued. “It’s been six months, Jeff. At some point you’re going to have to accept that this is life now. Not just make peace with it, accept it.”

“I’m not sure what the context is here, but given the past year, I’m inclined to agree with Britta.” Frankie affirmed.

“Shocker.” Jeff rolled his eyes.

“Trust me, I get it,” Abed jumped in. “But anyone you ask will say this isn’t healthy.”

“How could you possibly ‘get it’? You’re moving on. You left us behind, nobody left you behind.” Jeff’s voice echoed angrily through the hallway.

Earsplitting silence washed over them, underscored by the muffled bass pumping from the cafeteria.

Abed stared back at him in disbelief. “How could you even say that to me?”

Jeff was filled with immediate remorse. Abed had come to him too many times to count since Troy had left, sometimes to talk, sometimes to wallow. He’d been trusted with details about their friendship that the others probably didn’t know—namely that it wasn’t a friendship at all. And although everyone had speculated from time to time, usually in good fun, the confirmation was a different thing entirely. Troy was Abed’s other half, and Jeff had not only invalidated that, but violated his own relationship with Abed in the name of bitterness and spite. Britta had never looked so disappointed.

“Abed, I’m—” But before he could apologize, Abed turned on his heel and walked out the door.

“You’re such a tool.” Britta sneered, shaking her and running off after him.

“What the hell did I miss?” Asked Frankie, staring in disbelief at the door as it slammed closed behind them.

“Me fucking up. Again.” He said quietly.

“Do you think we should…?” They pointed to the exit. He nodded.

Before they reached the door, Frankie touched his his arm, stopping him in his tracks. “Jeff, before we... get involved in all that, I need to ask you something. Personal. Which you know I hate to do, but it's important.”

He pivoted to face her, morbidly intrigued. “Okay.”

“What is all of this to you?” He must have looked lost, because she clarified. “This thing with Britta.”

The question caught him completely off-guard. “Frankie, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not sure that’s for you to know.”

She sighed. “Fair enough."

They stood in silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them as Frankie carefully chose how to say what came next.

"As your friend, I just don’t want either of you to self-destruct— separately or together." She met his eyes, steady but earnest. "I love you, Jeff. You’re one of my favorite people. But I swear to God, if you hurt Britta—” She shook her head, cutting herself off like the thought alone was too frustrating to finish.

Glancing around at the students passing by, she lowered her voice, but her words still hit with precision.

“The two of you in the cafeteria just now… That wasn’t nothing.”

-----

By the time Jeff and Frankie reached the pair of them, the quad was deserted. Everyone on campus was inside for the dance and the temperature was dropping significantly. He spotted Britta first, her blonde hair reflective under the light from the lampposts. She sat on a bench, one arm around Abed’s shoulders and one holding his hand, deep in conversation. At the sound of them approaching, Britta looked up and met Jeff’s eyes with an expression he couldn’t quite decipher. After whispering something to Abed, she stood up and walked to them.

“Frankie, if you want to take a minute with Abed, I need to talk to Jeff.”

Frankie nodded and placed a hand gently on Jeff’s arm before heading over to the bench. Britta pointed to a concrete planter a few paces away and they sat down quietly.

After a moment, Britta exhaled softly, shivering slightly in the cold air. “Sometimes you make it so hard for me to like the person you’re becoming,” She couldn’t meet his eyes as she said it, instead focusing on her shoes. Jeff felt his stomach drop. “You never would have said those things to Abed a year ago. I know that people change and whatever, but honestly I’ve been more understanding and given you more leeway than anyone else has. And don’t get me wrong, you can be great a lot of the time, but every once in a while… you’re just mean.”

He nodded, unsure of what to say. She was right, but that didn’t make him any less stubborn or that fact any easier to vocalize.

“You have to make things right with him. Tonight.”

Jeff sucked in a breath. “I know.”

“Good,” She turned to face him. “I’m going to tell you something no one else is willing to say. You’re self-sabotaging in a way that lets you put the blame on everyone else so you can justify your anger. You’re so scared of losing the group forever that you’re destroying it before it has the chance to fizzle out. Abed came back into town to see us, and you pushed him away. That’s you doing that. Not anyone else. And I’m done letting my fear for your well being outweigh my concern about the group’s. It’s not fair.”

Jeff nodded again, his insides feeling heavier by the second. “Britta, I’m really sorry. About everything, but especially about… what I said tonight.”

“Nothing I haven’t heard before, right?” 

The weight he felt was immeasurable.

Frankie approached them carefully. “Abed’s ready to talk if you are.”

Jeff stood up but, before heading over, slipped off his jacket and draped it around Britta’s shoulders. It was the least he could do.

As he took a seat next to Abed, he considered his options. He could start with an apology and hope that it came across as sincerely as he meant it, or he could try to explain himself. Normally, Jeff would jump straight to an explanation, but this time he wasn’t really sure he had one. Before he could decide, Abed interrupted his train of thought.

“You really don’t deserve her.”

Jeff followed his gaze over to Britta, and watched as Frankie, who was rubbing her back supportively, gently tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. He felt a twinge of unjustified jealousy. “I know.”

“I don’t understand a lot of people, Jeff. But I always thought I had a pretty good handle on you.”

“Well, don’t let that discourage you. Even I don’t have a good handle on me,” He said, exhaling heavily. “Abed… I’m really fucking sorry.”

Abed nodded. “I know. It’s nice to hear you say it, though.”

“Yeah, I’m trying to be better about that.”

“I do understand how you feel.”

“I know you do. I never should have said any of that.”

“You tend to say things you don’t mean when you feel attacked,” Jeff looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “No barrel of monkeys.” Abed remarked in response.

“When you showed up, I think I was in shock. At first I was happy, but after a second this… this voice in the back of my head just kept telling me to get angry. To make you feel shitty because my life feels shitty. And it’s not your fault or Annie’s or Shirley’s or Troy’s, logically I know that, but it’s just easier to blame you guys then it is to accept that I’m the reason I feel stuck.”

“That’s some intense self-reflection.” Abed said.

“Would you believe me if I said I came up with it myself?”

“Maybe. If Britta hadn’t said almost the exact same thing about you before you came over here,” He said, glancing back over at where she was sitting. “You know, the first thing she said when she sat down was, ‘Jeff cares about you more than he cares about anyone’? You tear her down every chance you get and her first instinct is still to defend you. I don’t get it.”

“Honestly? Neither do I.” Jeff sighed, guilt hollowing out his stomach.

Abed paused for a moment, looking between them. “Love is weird like that.”

Jeff dragged his eyes away from Britta and looked at him, bewildered. “Britta doesn’t love me.”

“Jeff, don’t waste our time together by lying to yourself or to me. It’s unproductive.”

They sat in silence for a minute, Jeff filled with the sensation that all the blood was draining slowly from his body.

“Listen, are you and I…” He trailed off.

“Yeah, just give me a couple days.”

Jeff nodded in understanding, and then, before he could think better of it, wrapped his arms tightly around Abed. They sat like that for a while, Jeff blinking back tears and trying to commit the moment to memory with as much detail as possible, burdened with the knowledge that eventually it was going to end. Abed was going to get on another plane and go back to Los Angeles because that was his home now. And Jeff didn’t want to forget how it felt to have him there and not take it for granted.

-----

“Abed’s ready to talk if you are.”

Britta turned her head to see Frankie in front of them, looking down at Jeff, who stood up in response. He started to move towards the bench but then stopped for a moment, slipping off his jacket and draping it around Britta’s shoulders. As she watched him walk away, she felt a mixture of confusion and dread.

“How are we doing over here?” Frankie asked, taking a seat beside her.

Britta wasn’t exactly sure how to answer that question. What she had said to Frankie this morning had been true. But that was also before Jeff decided to throw everything through a loop by kissing her out of nowhere in the cafeteria. A kiss that wasn’t about sex or distraction or anything besides the fact that, evidently, he had just... wanted to. Sure, it terrified her in a way that she couldn’t quite describe, and sure, her gut wanted her to cease all contact with him and move back to New York (or anywhere in a new time zone, really), but there was also something about it that she had sort of liked.

On second thought, maybe that was the terrifying part.

And then, in true Jeff fashion, he did something to take it back. In this case, the something being the sniping he directed her way when she was just trying to help. Britta was not so naive as to think that Jeff could be considered 'relationship material.' She had known it as long as she had known him, and that fact had never changed, not even when they almost got married three separate times or spent all of sophomore year hooking up. Britta had dated enough people in her lifetime to know what category he fell into, and yet there was still always something inside of her that whispered, you never know.

Regardless, it didn’t matter. Britta didn’t believe she particularly wanted to be in a relationship, at least not right now. She knew she didn’t want to get married or have kids, and the intensity of long-term commitment still felt suffocating. So, that was that.

“I think they’re going to be alright.” Britta responded, gazing off at Abed and Jeff sitting on the bench across the courtyard.

“I don’t mean them,” Frankie said, leaning forward slightly to catch Britta’s eyes. “How are you? ”

Britta pressed her thumb nail into the tip of her pointer finger and sucked in a deep breath. “I’ve… been better.”

Frankie nodded, reaching over to gently tuck a piece of hair behind Britta’s ear, causing a bit of her tension to dissolve.

“What did he say to you?” They asked gently.

“In the hallway? Nothing you haven’t heard him say before.”

“And just now?”

“I told him I didn’t like the person he was becoming. He apologized. I psychoanalyzed him, which I’m sure he hated,” Britta hugged the jacket tighter around her arms. The forecast had predicted snow, but the sky looked fairly clear tonight. “What did you say to him when you guys stayed back?”

Frankie glanced over at Jeff before locking eyes with Britta. “I told him not to hurt you. I guess I was a little late.” She joked with a sad smile.

“He didn’t hurt me, I’m fine,” Britta said, brushing her off. “You can’t really be hurt by someone you’ve known for seven years being predictable.”

“You know, I don’t think that’s true…" They replied. "I think when we put guidelines on our pain and get into the business of defining what is and isn’t allowed to damage us, we’re just doing ourselves a disservice. If you’re upset, let yourself be upset. Don’t invalidate how you feel because you’ve deemed the source of your pain unreasonable. So, with that being said, I’ll ask you again. How are you feeling?”

Britta took a moment to consider the question. “I’m tired. Of feeling unappreciated when all I do is try to help. And of never having any idea what I want. It’s exhausting. I’ll think that I have everything under control, but then it feels like I’m proven wrong every time something in my life is finally stable. Part of me wants to just give him what he wants and leave so he can be the victim. At least then I could have a fresh start.”

“Britta,” Frankie reached out and slowly interlocked their fingers with hers. “Hear me when I say this: you have value here. Not just because you are an incredible friend and a vital member of this team, although seriously, I think if I was left alone with this group of men I would lose my sanity,” She chuckled. “But because you are smart and empathetic, and your point of view is incredibly unique. I love Jeff, and he’s also smart— in a way that’s slightly horrifying. But your strengths are his weaknesses. Remember that next time he throws a tantrum. As for what you want, I can’t tell you that. For what it’s worth, I think you already know. Now it’s about deciding if that’s the right thing or not. That's the tough part.”

Britta stared at her, dumbfounded. “Frankie, have you ever considered becoming a therapist?”

She laughed. “Believe it or not, I don’t think that’s my calling,” She paused for a moment before adding. “You’re going to make a great one, though.”

-----

Things never fully resolved themselves after that night. Britta began spending more time at the condo with Frankie, who took it upon herself to teach Britta how to cook. The only meal Britta currently had in her wheelhouse was frozen pizza (although she was known for being pretty good at mixing multiple kinds of chips in one bowl at parties), so she accepted the help, but begrudgingly. She had always avoided cooking and baking like the plague because it filled her with the sense that some man somewhere would be a little too glad to know she was participating in something so traditionally feminine. Women of the past didn’t have the choice to cook for their families or not, so Britta chose not to in protest. Anything else felt like squandering years of progress.

Frankie, however, had known Britta long enough to hear her rant, so they had approached the situation with a plan. Now when they cooked together, it was just two “unmarried, childless women preparing food for their own enjoyment”, and therefore a big middle finger to the patriarchy and traditional gender roles. Suffice it to say, when the rest of the group came over, they ordered takeout.

Jeff knew he’d drastically fucked up that night but had no clue how to make it right. He was back on fairly good terms with Abed and the others, but Britta was keeping him at arm's length. It was understandable, although, as someone who was used to easily putting the puzzle pieces back together and redeeming himself, also incredibly frustrating. He tried to apologize a couple more times, but she always brushed him off, claiming that there wasn’t anything more to talk about and that they were fine. They would still get together, she would still stay over, but everything about it just felt… off. He wondered if it would always be this way now, if they would never get their rhythm back. The thought that he’d done irreparable damage to their friendship made him feel sick.

And then there was the kiss. The kiss in the cafeteria that stopped time. Up until that point, Jeff had always thought that that kind of connection was a myth; a fantasy dreamt up by writers of romance novels and perpetuated by reality tv. Now that he’d experienced it for himself, it was all he could think about when he looked at her and it was becoming a problem. He hadn’t even planned on kissing her that night, especially not so publicly, but the urge had reared its ugly head so he succumbed, assuming the desire was driven by alcohol or hormones. Abed’s voice rang out in the back of his mind, repeating “Love is weird like that” over and over again on a loop. 90% of him was absolutely certain that Britta didn’t love him and that he didn’t love her, but that 10%... that was dangerous.

This newfound dilemma took up a lot of his mental and emotional energy, pushing the grief and resentment he’d been cultivating to the back burner. Jeff wasn’t sure if this was a positive advancement or just more shit to deal with on top of the massive pile of crap that already existed in his brain. Normally, he’d ask Britta, but that was completely out of the question, and he didn’t feel particularly cheery about his other options so he kept it quiet.

One thing he’d let slip through the cracks was Christmas. Jeff had drawn Frankie for Secret Santa and was majorly behind on holiday shopping. Frankie was notoriously hard to shop for, since she never really seemed to want or ask for anything, and didn’t let a lot of people in on the details of her life outside of work. The one person who would probably be able to help him, unfortunately, was Britta. He’d noticed that the two of them had gotten much closer lately, possibly as a result of his outburst at the dance. A lot of the time that Britta would before have spent with him, she now spent with Frankie. 

When Jeff let himself think about this too hard, he felt a knot form in his stomach, even though he knew he was being ridiculous. The idea that Frankie and Britta would ever devolve into the same dynamic he had with Britta was silly. What he had with Britta only worked for them; they’d struck the perfect balance. It couldn’t be replicated, and that hadn’t been for lack of trying. And anyway, he didn’t care what Britta did or who else Britta went out with, and he certainly didn’t care that she seemed to be slowly phasing him out. He didn’t care. And if he kept telling himself that, it would eventually become true and things would go back to normal.

Christmas Eve fell on a Thursday that year, so Jeff offered to pick Britta up from her early shift at The Vatican as a peace offering. His olive branches hadn’t made much progress so far, but he figured that maybe the holiday spirit would turn his luck around. As Jeff walked into the bar, his eyes quickly found her, pouring a glass of bourbon for some guy in the corner. The place was fairly empty, a product of the snow that had been coming down hard for a couple hours now. It flurried and settled gently on the tops of cars and buildings in a way that was inexplicably beautiful. However, it also made driving an ordeal, and Jeff glanced at his watch before taking a seat on one of the barstools. They had about forty five minutes until Frankie was expecting them back at the condo and the condition of the road was going to slow them down more than usual.

Britta didn’t see him at first, busy grabbing a receipt from the register, probably to close out someone’s tab. When she turned around, his presence had the effect of a jump-scare, and she nearly dropped the bottle she was holding.

“Jesus christ, I didn’t expect you here for another ten minutes!” She said, breathless.

“I left early, the snow is really starting to pile up and I didn’t want to be late.”

Britta raised an eyebrow. “Huh. How very out of character. You want anything? I’m still on the clock.”

“That depends, are you going to charge me?” He asked, glancing at the shelf of scotch behind her.

“Well, did you get me a good Christmas present?”

Jeff chuckled. “You’ll have to find out.”

“Hmmm,” She studied his face carefully. “Yeah alright, one scotch neat on the house. It is Christmas after all.”

“How very Shirley of you.”

“Hey, Christmas isn’t inherently Christian, plenty of people celebrate it with no ties to religion. And anyway, Jesus was born in the middle of April, the church moved his birthday so they could—”

“Steal the solstice from the pagans,” He finished for her. Britta gave him a contented look of surprise. “Not my first rodeo, kitten.”

“Impressive. Keep it up and you might not have to sleep on the floor with Chang tonight.”

Jeff grinned. It was the best he’d felt in weeks. Maybe his efforts to win her over had been working after all, and if so, cheers to that.

Britta started wiping down the counter. “What did Frankie assign you to bring for the potluck again?”

“Take a guess.”

“Booze?”

“Five bottles in my trunk.”

“She’s smart, the last thing we need is for you to try and cook something.” She snickered, pouring a double shot of vodka over some olives and taking a steady sip.

“You’re one to talk. I seem to recall you setting pre-made soup on fire and almost burning my apartment down a couple months ago.”

“For your information, Frankie is teaching me to cook and I am getting much better.”

Jeff studied the edge of his glass. “Oh, yeah? How’s it been living with her?”

“Great, Frankie’s the best. I mean, sure, the only movies she watches are documentaries, and not the fun political kind, but other than that we get along surprisingly well.”

“I’ve noticed you guys have been spending a lot of time together.”

Britta paused, clearly trying to determine his motive for asking before giving an answer. “Yeah, we have.”

“That’s… cool.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just painful how jealous you are.” She teased.

Jeff shot her a look. “Don’t ‘Britta’ what has so far been a great conversation by saying something stupid like that.”

He’d touched a nerve. Britta’s face froze slightly and, after a second, she downed the rest of her drink and moved to the register to close out.

Great job, Jeff. It was going well and you fucked it up. You Britta’d it.

He finished the rest of his drink in silence, pretending to text someone while Britta kicked everyone else to the curb and clocked out. As she ran into the back to grab her stuff, Jeff slipped behind the bar to put his glass in the tub of dirty dishware.

“You didn’t have to do that, I would’ve done it.” Britta said, walking through the door and sliding into her coat.

“I’ve closed up with you enough times to know where it goes.” He paused. “Plus, I was a dick. I owe you. I guess that’s kind of becoming a trend these days.”

She smiled half-heartedly. “Well, thank you.”

Awkward silence washed over them as they walked to the door and Britta fished around in her bag for her keys, the few lights that were still on casting dull flecks across her face. The urge to kiss her suddenly appeared again, nearly knocking the wind out of him with shock. Get a grip.

Britta noticed him staring and looked up at him, keys in hand. “Are you okay?”

He snapped out of it. “Yeah. Fine. Let’s go.”

-----

As soon as they stepped inside the condo, the energy shifted drastically. According to the group chat, Frankie and Craig had spent the afternoon decorating, and it surpassed all expectations. They’d even put a tree in the corner of the living room, which Ian was arranging gifts around for the next morning. Chang sat on the couch, watching The Year Without a Santa Claus with what can only be described as a sense of childlike wonder, Frankie stood stationed at the stove, mashing a pot of potatoes, and Craig was by the counter, supervising and drinking a soda. When Jeff and Britta walked in, everyone cheered.

“Thank god you guys made it over alright, that storm is really picking up!” Craig said, rushing to meet them at the door and help them with their things.

“You’re telling me, we had to drive like 15 miles per hour under the speed limit, I felt like I was going insane.” Britta remarked, slipping out of her coat.

“Well, it’s a good thing everyone is staying over, I don’t think you could get home tonight even if you tried.” Frankie said.

“And it’s a good thing you invited me because…” Jeff held up the bag of alcohol, the bottles clinking together inside.

“Jeff Winger, my hero!” Duncan exclaimed, rushing to take it from him.

“Duncan, aren’t you in AA?”

“It’s Christmas, Britta. Don’t start with me.”

As far as celebrations went, Jeff couldn’t argue that this one was pretty damn great. Even though Abed had turned his invitation to join them down every time they’d hung out over the past few weeks, insisting he couldn’t cancel on his cousins, the Greendale Prisoners managed to produce a Christmas special that rivaled years’ past. Britta and Duncan got drunk and choreographed a dance to Santa Baby, Chang brought supplies to decorate cookies and challenged the group to a competition (only to lose every round because he wouldn’t stop making them into penises), Craig debuted a sexy elf costume that he predictably claimed was his sister’s, and Frankie’s dinner was genuinely delicious. Britta had even come up with festive cocktail recipes to choose from. As stupid as Jeff felt drinking out of a glass rimmed with white glitter and a miniature Santa hat, even he had to admit he was having fun.

It was nearly midnight by the time they finished their hate-watch of Jingle All the Way. A tradition that had been started by Troy and Abed, the group always gathered to watch a terrible holiday movie on Christmas Eve, shouting expletives at the TV and making dumb jokes at inappropriate moments. As the movie neared its credits, Jeff's mind wandered to what might happen when Frankie powered everything down and they all turned in for the night. Duncan had apparently called the bed in the guest-room-slash-Frankie’s-office the second he’d walked through the door, Craig would be joining him on an air mattress, Chang was taking the couch, and Britta and Frankie had their own rooms to go back to. He tried not to be presumptuous, but a month ago Britta would have expected him to tell the others he was taking the floor of her bedroom and then climb into bed with her once the door was closed. Now, the next course of action was unclear.

He glanced over at Britta. The sectional sofa fit them all easily, but she sat close to Frankie, their shoulders just barely touching. A month ago that would’ve been him. They would’ve shared glances when Chang said something insane and high-fived over especially funny roasts during the movie and tried not to be too obvious about how badly they wanted to go back to her room and lock the door. Instead, they were distant.

Everyone gathered their stuff and started breaking off to their respective sleeping assignments. Jeff had just walked over to the door to grab his own bag when he felt someone approach him from behind.

“If you don’t want to be stuck out here with Chang, you can always come sleep in my room.” He turned around to face Britta, who was giving him a sheepish smile. “On the floor, of course.” She added cheekily. 

“Of course.” He smirked, following her up the stairs.

Her room was exactly how he remembered it. Pixies posters and a Greenpeace flag hanging from the wall, a chair in the corner with a massive pile of discarded clothing stacked on top of it, a cat tree by the window. She must have read his mind because she chuckled and said “I haven’t evolved much have I?”

“Let’s just say I’d expect nothing less.”

Britta shimmied out of her jeans and slid into bed, wearing just an old t-shirt and her underwear. Jeff, unsure of what to do, decided to play it safe and grabbed a pillow from the bed, making a spot for himself on the floor. She watched, bemused.

“What are you doing?”

“Sleeping on the floor.”

“Did you think I was serious?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t want to be presumptuous.”

“Just get in bed, Winger.”

So he did, matching her choice of attire. They laid next to each other, quietly facing the ceiling for a minute or so before Britta broke the silence.

“Tonight was fun.”

“Yeah, it was.”

“Pretty good Christmas.”

“As far as Christmases go, I wouldn’t say it was the worst.”

“So not the Britta of Christmases, then?” Awkward quiet washed over them again. “Sorry. I’ve been—I don’t know.” She whispered.

He shifted onto his side to face her. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“I might have some unresolved feelings about… you know. That I’ve been ignoring.”

“That’s okay. Have I mentioned I’m sorry?”

“Maybe once or twice.” She suppressed a smile and that same strange feeling swelled in his chest. Love is weird like that.

“Do you… want to talk about it?”

“God, you sound like me.”

“I know, we’ve spent way too much time together this year.”

“Tell me about it. Did you know the other day when I was working I poured myself scotch? I hate scotch!”

He laughed. “Did you drink it?”

“I tried. Got about two sips in and couldn’t stomach it.”

“What a colossal waste of good alcohol.”

“I know, I should’ve called you.”

A moment passed between the two of them; one infantesimal second of connection where their eyes met and they locked into one another. He tried to understand what she was thinking, hoping that it matched what had been on his mind since they’d slid under her covers, their bare skin brushing up against one another with every movement. Britta’s eyes darted to his lips and back.

“Are you tired?”

“Not really.”

“Hm.”

“You?”

“Not really.”

Pause.

“The house is pretty quiet.”

“Seems like everyone went to bed.”

Britta met his eyes again and he felt his breath hitch. “I guess we’ll have to be careful.” Her hands grasped onto Jeff’s shirt and she pulled him down, kissing him hard and fast. He folded immediately, pressing into her and dragging his own hands up her neck and into her hair. 

It didn’t take long for things to intensify. Within seconds, his tongue was in her mouth and she was reaching for his waistband. He let a hand slide down her chest and suppressed a smile when she let out a predictable moan against his jaw. It was all so familiar, the way she felt against him, the way they touched each other. He’d missed that.

It was only a few minutes before things went south. Britta’s shallow breathing was the only sound in the room as he clasped his mouth around the skin of her breast, until she whispered, raspy, “I think we should tell the others.”

He pulled away, staring at her incredulously. “What?”

“Let’s just tell them.”

“Right now?”

She shot him a look. “Obviously not right now, tomorrow.”

“Why?”

It became clear that she hadn’t expected to have to defend herself. She stumbled over her words as she replied, “I mean… they all pretty much know anyway. What’s the point of being so secretive?”

“Well, for one, it’s hot,” He’d meant it as a joke, but it came out cynical and harsh. “And two, I mean, it’s not like we’re dating.”

Britta pursed her lips together. “Huh. Okay.”

Jeff’s heart dipped into his stomach. “What?”

“Forget it.”

“Are you pissed at me? I thought we both knew what this was.” He asked, sitting up.

“Things have been different lately, Jeff.”

“If by different you mean you icing me out and replacing me with Frankie, then yeah, I guess it’s been different.” He snapped.

Britta scoffed, shaking her head. “I knew you were jealous.”

“No shit I’m jealous! You’d practically moved into my apartment a month ago and then out of nowhere you just completely switched course?”

“It wasn’t out of nowhere and you know it.”

“Britta, we fight all the time. I know I was a dick, I’ll admit that it’s a problem I have, but you knew that going in. Why are you choosing now to hold a grudge?”

“Because you kissed me in the cafeteria for no reason!” She hissed, in a clear effort to keep from yelling.

Jeff clamped his mouth shut. There was nothing he could say in response that would fix things. It was a shitty situation between two shitty people who never knew what the other person wanted, let alone what they wanted themselves. He had run things through in his head a million times and it never ended well. They never got a happy ending or grew to understand each other. Never figured their shit out and became whole separately before coming together. Never truly learned to communicate without sniping or fucking or drinking. There was nothing he could say.

Britta stared at him. “Why did you do that?”

Jeff sighed, head in his hands. “I don’t know.”

“I think you do.”

Jeff did know. He’d known for a while. There was a reason Abed’s words were always in the back of his mind and why he felt his chest swell when Britta said something endearingly stupid. It was the same reason seeing her with Frankie was painful and feeling her against his skin was intoxicating. But the thought of it horrified him down to his core; the potential of rejection, or even worse, reciprocation. It was paradoxical, how badly he wanted her to tell him she wanted to be with him,  immediately followed by the sick feeling that came when he imagined actually saying yes. He may have known for a while, but he’d be damned if he was ever caught dead admitting it.

“What do you want from this, Britta? Are you actually telling me you want to be in a relationship?”

“No! Although, I didn’t think that that door was glued shut and padlocked.” She grumbled.

“So then what?”

“Let’s tell the others.”

“I still don’t understand what that’s actually going to change.” He said, shaking his head.

Britta hugged the blankets to her chest. “So you just want to keep sneaking around.” She said it like a statement.

“If it ain’t broke…”

“Even though telling them would change almost nothing.”

“If it changes nothing then why do we have to do it?”

“What is your deal?”

“Britta. If we tell them eventually we’re going to have to un-tell them when it goes south. It’s easier this way.”

Silence.

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this.”

Jeff froze. “What?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you being serious?”

“Jeff...”

“I don’t understand.” He said, his mouth going dry.

“I think I’ve known it for a while,” She whispered, tears welling in her eyes. “That this was unhealthy. But I wanted to help you so badly I brushed it off.”

“Britta—”

“I can’t, Jeff. Not after everything, not after—” Her breath hitched.

“Please just think about this for a second.”

“I’ve thought about it a lot. I wouldn’t be saying this if I hadn’t.”

After a moment, it hit him. “Is that why you’ve been pulling away?” She refused to meet his eyes. “Because you wanted to… break up?”

“Can we really break up?” Britta asked, finally looking up at him with deep sadness. “We’re not together.”

-----

Jeff stared at the ceiling, conflicted. He wanted to scream or move to a new country and change his name or rewind 4 years, stay in therapy, and give it an honest effort. Instead, he sunk into himself and watched Britta slip out the door, hollowing his stomach out deeper with every step. Paralyzed by his confliction between going after her and letting everything fall apart, he chose a secret third option instead: getting as far away as fucking possible from that house.

It only took him two minutes to put on his pants and shoes and head quietly to the kitchen for a bottle. Chang was passed out on the couch already, and thankfully was known for being impossible to wake up, so Jeff could leave undetected. He had no plan, no idea of where he was going or if it was even safe outside, but his attitude remained as it had been all year: if he was going to die, so be it. 

The conditions outside were what he deserved—below freezing, flurries of snow coming down, his feet sinking deep into the 6 inches that had already settled. This unfortunately made it almost impossible to walk, and even less possible to drive. After about five minutes of trying to push through, Jeff resigned himself to sitting on the curb, drinking straight from the glass bottle of whiskey he’d snatched. Christmas lights glistened on all the houses lining the street, mocking him. He had never felt so low in his entire life.

Britta had wanted him to tell her he loved her, but that didn’t make any sense. She didn’t make any sense. He wished he could go back to the night of the dance and do everything differently. He would have given her the flask after she asked for it, been excited when Abed showed up, and spent the rest of the night having fun with his friends. He and Britta would have slipped out early and fucked in his car for nostalgia’s sake, or snuck into Duncan’s office to put shaving cream in his desk drawers, or just gone back to the apartment and fallen asleep skin on skin, talking and laughing until their voices turned to mumbles and they faded out of consciousness. She would have made him order breakfast the next morning and spent half an hour trying to convince him to try her vegan eggs (which really weren’t that bad). He would have kissed her only when the moment warranted it and they would have been fine. They could have done that dance forever. 

Probably. 

Maybe.

Chapter Text

Jeff spent the rest of his winter break aimlessly lying in bed. Christmas morning had been tense at best, but luckily everyone had seemed oblivious to anything happening the night before. Everyone, that is, except Frankie. It’s not like Jeff hadn’t wondered where Britta disappeared when she left, and it’s not like he hadn’t assumed that she’d probably slept in Frankie’s room. This was all but confirmed, though, when the two walked into the kitchen, Frankie’s supportive hand on Britta’s arm. Jeff mostly kept to himself that day, sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room and giving half-hearted responses whenever anyone addressed him. Britta hardly even glanced his way.

As the weeks went on, Jeff couldn’t stop obsessing over the fact that she didn’t seem angry or indignant about everything that transpired between them. She was some secret third thing. Some mixture of disappointed-but-not-surprised and better-off-without-him. And sure, she could be pretending, putting up a front to make him feel shitty, but he swore that she looked ten pounds lighter once everything was said and done. As terrible as it was, he desperately wanted her to mourn what they’d had the way he couldn’t help but do himself. Instead, Britta was being mature in a way he hadn’t seen since she was 28 and rejecting his advances like it was nothing; it was getting a little too invasion-of-the-body-snatchers for his taste.

February was usually the coldest month in Colorado, and 2016 was no exception. It was becoming a pattern for snow to fall two or three days every week, making it increasingly difficult to justify leaving the house. Whether Jeff liked it or not, though, being on campus was helping him. He’d been thinking a lot about what Britta had said and Abed had echoed to him at the dance—about accepting his new reality and making peace with it instead of just existing in it. Although he was stubborn, and hated doing something Britta of all people had prescribed him to do, he’d exhausted his options. All fighting it had done was leave him lonelier than ever, stuck spinning his wheels while the rest of his friends built out their lives.

So, he was going to try. If he hated it, he could go back to sulking and moping and isolating himself. No harm, no foul.

Greendale threw a Valentine’s Day dance every year but, since 2011, when Britta kissed a girl she incorrectly assumed was a lesbian and Pierce overdosed on a park bench, they’d all sort of steered clear. Unfortunately, Frankie put Jeff and Duncan on chaperone duty, meaning there was no getting out of this one. If he was honest, it sounded marginally better than drinking alone at home and could work for his whole turning-over-a-new-leaf thing, so it wasn’t the worst thing to happen. Frankie had looked undeniably shocked when he didn’t fight the assignment.

But something sank inside Jeff’s chest when Britta didn’t show. They hadn’t really talked, and he hadn’t heard from anyone that she’d be there, but the rest of the committee was so he stupidly kept waiting for her to stroll in, grab the mic, and monologue about how Valentine’s Day is a misogynistic greeting card holiday. He was itching to ask where she was, to get any bit of information he could use to convince himself that she wasn't with some random dude at a bar. Not that it mattered. Jeff had absolutely no claim over Britta at all. In fact, he never had. It was the only thing that had been consistent over the past eight years.

It was 1am by the time he got home, tossing his keys onto the counter and heading straight for his bed. He didn’t even bother to flip the lights on, just shuffled over to the dresser using muscle memory until his eyes adjusted. The dance hadn’t been half bad, but school events always made him miss everyone a little extra. He thought about texting in the group chat, breaking the weeks-long silence that had settled. He wondered if it would change anything. It wasn’t like him to text first, and it definitely wasn’t like him to play into a holiday like this, but the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like a good excuse. So he grabbed his phone and tried to ignore the embarrassment he felt typing something so sentimental out.

Happy Valentine’s Day, knuckleheads. Today’s as good a day as any to say I miss you guys. Have a drink for me.

Jeff hit send and slumped against his headboard, suddenly exhausted. It took him all of five minutes to start slipping into sleep, his mind hazy and ready to rest. It took his phone ten minutes to start ringing.

He ignored it at first. Whoever needed him would still be there tomorrow. But then it started again. And again. On the caller’s third try, he groaned, only half awake, and rolled over to grab his phone from the nightstand.

“Hm?”

“Jeff Winger!”

He shook himself alert and sat up. The background was loud, like, sports-bar-downtown loud, but Britta’s voice was clear as day, slurred speech and all.

“Britta??”

“Guess who! Oh, wait.”

“Where are you?”

“Denver.” She sang out, clearly wasted beyond belief.

Jeff cleared his throat slightly. “You went all the way to Denver to get drunk? You know there are bars in Greendale, right?”

She scoffed like it was the dumbest thing she’d ever heard. “Bars in Greendale mean running into people. Duh doy.”

An awkward silence washed over them for a moment, although Jeff was sure Britta was too drunk to realize it was awkward. Britta was probably too drunk to even remember this conversation at all.

“Is there a reason you called me at 1am?” He asked, his tone a mixture of amusement and irritation.

“Just wanted to say… hi.”

“Oh. Yeah?”

“And you texted me.”

His brow furrowed for a moment before he realized what she meant. “Technically, I texted everyone. In a group chat.”

“Yeah, but I’m in the group chat.”

The background noise started to fade as Britta pushed through a crowd and out the door.

“You good?”

“I’m just going outside to smoke.” He heard her lighter click open as she said it.

It was then that Jeff realized this conversation was a freebie; a chance to talk to Britta openly, without constantly worrying about the implications and overthinking the fact that they’d been on-again-off-again fucking and fighting for months.

“I guess I’m just surprised to hear from you. We haven’t really been…” He trailed off for a moment, choosing his words wisely. “Reaching out.”

Britta paused before changing the subject completely. “How was the dance?”

“Not the worst. Frankie did a good job, but what else is new.”

“Frankie’s the best.” Britta sighed.

“Yeah, she is.”

“And honestly? Hot,” She stopped herself suddenly and then giggled, a surefire sign that she was practically blacked out. Britta never giggled if she could help it. “Oops. Pretend I didn’t say that.”

Jeff’s stomach twisted. “Frankie, huh?”

“No.” He could practically hear her face turn bright red.

“You know it’s a bad idea to date your roommate, right?” Jeff asked, trying to sound neutral.

“Tell that to Troy and Abed.”

“They never actually dated.” He pointed out.

She snorted. “Yeah, but that’s like saying we never dated.”

“I don’t think Troy and Abed ‘never dated’ the same way we ‘never dated’.”

Britta laughed, genuinely laughed, at this and something swelled in Jeff’s chest. “That’s true. It was, like, the opposite of whatever we were doing.”

She was right. Troy and Abed loved each other and they professed that love, albeit under the guise of platonism, constantly and in a way that was borderline sickening. After all of the hugging and communicating and spending every waking moment together was said and done, though, they never managed to push things further before Troy shipped off to sea.

Jeff and Britta were different—they did everything backwards. The two didn’t really become close friends until after they started sleeping together in their sophomore year, but by then it was too complicated. There was too much going on. They’d agreed on what they would be upfront: friends with benefits, nothing more nothing less. If either one of them communicated any feeling outside of the boundaries of that arrangement, it would ruin what they’d cultivated so carefully with months of emotional repression and bickering. So, instead, they pretended Jeff hadn’t spent their freshman year chasing after her in a way he’d never chased anyone before. They pretended that Britta hadn’t professed her love for him on stage at a dance in front of the whole school. They pretended it was totally normal to spend every weekend together and leave toothbrushes and clothes at each other’s houses and wake up curled into each other in a way that felt pretty fucking far from platonic.

“So, did you seriously drive all the way up to Denver to get drunk?”

“Yup.”

“Then what’s your plan?” He asked, fingers absentmindedly fiddling with the edge of his sheets.

“What d’you mean?”

“Denver is, like, an hour and a half away.”

“So?”

“Britta. Please tell me you realized you wouldn’t be able to drive home tonight.”

“I’m not an idiot, Jeff,” She slurred. “I was sort of just planning on finding someone to crash with.”

“...You’re gonna sleep with a guy for housing?”

“I never said I was gonna sleep with him! Just… next to him.”

“Oh, come on,” He joked. “If the poor guy’s letting you stay over…”

“Are you saying I’d owe him sex?” He could practically hear her eyes narrowing as she said it.

“No, I guess I’m just shocked that your master plan is ‘find an apartment to sleep in.’”

“I’m just passing out for a couple of hours! No big deal.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. Just chill with some guy in Denver in the middle of the night. I’m sure that’ll end well. Did you at least bring mace?” He remarked sarcastically.

“What, you think I’m gonna end up on some true-crime podcast? Please. I’ve got instincts, Jeff. I lived in New York, remember?”

“How could I forget? You’ve only mentioned it every day for the past eight years.”

“Ha ha, very funny. Very original.”

“Thank you. Do I get a shoutout in your obituary?”

Britta sighed. “Sure. What do you want it to say?”

Jeff thought about it for a moment. “‘Britta Perry: Could start a revolution or just yell at a barista for no reason. Jeff Winger was inexplicably always nearby, mostly confused.’”

She burst into a fit of laughter and he found himself grinning like an idiot, a little too pleased by the reaction. 

“Deal.”

“Do I need to remind you there shouldn’t be an obituary to plan for?”

“It’s just a crash pad, Jeff. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to make sure you don’t end up in a situation where you need rescuing. Or worse— a ride from me.”

“Okay, okay. I get it,” She chuckled. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll text you when I’m safely going to sleep on the couch. How’s that?”

“It’s a start.” He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “But knowing you, you’ll forget and then I’ll be forced to file a missing person’s report.”

“Pfft. If I go missing, it’ll be on my terms.”

“Yeah, you’d stage your own disappearance just to make a point.”

“Exactly. And you’d be, like, the third or fourth person I’d leave a cryptic note for.”

“Wow. Honored.”

“You should be. I’d put effort into it. Something ominous like ‘Winger knows the truth.’”

“Great, so I get brought into the investigation and framed for your disappearance. Really paying me back for all the good times.”

She snorted, and for a second, it was easy. No weirdness, no tension. Just them.

Then Jeff cleared his throat. “Listen, uh… I know things have been—” He stopped himself, his fingers tensing against the comforter. “Messy.”

Britta hummed in vague acknowledgement, but it was the kind of noise someone makes when they’re not fully lucid, only half-processing words. He could stop. Let her head back inside. Go to sleep and forget about it. But instead, he found himself saying, softer, “I didn’t mean for it to get that way.”

Britta didn’t respond right away. For a second, he thought maybe she hadn’t heard him at all.

“‘S fine,” She hesitated. “Things are always messy.”

He let out a quiet huff of laughter. “Yeah. Guess they are.”

There was a long pause. “I’m still not… I haven’t changed my mind.”

Jeff pressed his lips together, fingers tapping idly against his thigh. “Didn’t think you had.”

Britta exhaled, a little uneven. “Good.”

She was still out there, cigarette probably half-burnt between her fingers, the night air keeping her sharp despite the alcohol. He could hear the distant hum of traffic, the occasional burst of laughter from inside the bar. For a second, he thought about telling her he got it now. That she was right. That he’d handled things like a dick, and he probably deserved worse than a few weeks of silence. 

Instead, all he said was, “For what it’s worth… I’m glad you called.”

He wondered if she was rolling her eyes, smirking to herself. After a beat, she let out a breathy chuckle. “God, this is so stupid, I’m wasting valuable apartment-hunting time on the phone with you.”

“Is that what the kids are calling it now? How romantic.”

“Shut up.” He could hear the smile in her voice.

“So what’s the plan now? Keep drinking? Or have I inspired you to make slightly less terrible choices?”

She sighed, flicking ash off the end of her cigarette. “I dunno. Might just stay out here a little longer.”

He nodded to himself, even though she couldn’t see it. “Alright. Just… text me when you get wherever you’re crashing.”

Britta made a noise somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “Don’t get used to this, Winger.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She didn’t hang up right away. Neither did he. But eventually, she let out another quiet laugh, and he took that as his cue.

“See you Monday.”

She hummed something indistinct in response. Then the line went dead. Jeff let his head fall back against his pillow. He was pretty certain Britta would only remember about 5% of the conversation in the morning. But for the first time in a while, it didn’t feel like they were standing on opposite sides of something too wide to cross. And maybe that was enough.

-----

Britta never did text him that night. He didn’t ask about it. She turned up, alive, on campus like nothing happened. He considered the bullet dodged.

But somehow, that phone call had cracked something open. They weren’t back to normal—not that ‘normal’ had ever been particularly stable for them—but the silence between them had loosened. A few casual texts. A joke exchanged in passing during committee meetings or at the bar when the group went out for drinks. Nothing meaningful. Nothing that acknowledged what had happened between them.

And then, in March, Britta got into grad school.

She hadn’t planned on making a big deal out of the whole thing but, as soon as she opened the envelope, it was like her body went on autopilot. Like her car somehow drove itself across town, at midnight, to his apartment and her reflexes forced her to knock on his door. When Jeff finally opened up, he was expecting a random neighbor or Craig or some other annoyance. Instead, he was faced with Britta, wide-eyed, holding up some ambiguous packet. He did his best to be nonchalant about the whole thing.

“What the hell is that?”

“Read it.” She shoved the papers into his hands.

Jeff took the stack, somewhat reluctantly, and shook his head. “You know it’s like 1am, right? You sure this couldn’t have been a text?” He stopped short, though, as he read the words printed neatly across the top. After a moment of processing, he looked back up at her in shock. “You got into grad school?”

Britta nodded, still stunned and speechless. They stared at each other for a solid ten seconds before Jeff spoke again.

“You got into grad school. For psychology. This is—”

“What? Stupid? Pointless?”

“Amazing.”

Her brow furrowed, his support clearly catching her off-guard. Ignoring her confusion, his eyes flicked back down to the letter, scanning further. Then, suddenly, his mouth pulled into something halfway between a smirk and genuine excitement. “Wait. This program is online?”

Britta blinked. “Uh… yeah?”

Jeff let out a short laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “So you’re telling me you got into a real, accredited grad program for psychology—”

“Jeff.”

“—and you don’t even have to move? You can stay at Greendale, still bartend, still—” He hesitated, but then just nodded at her. “Be here.”

Britta stared at him. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this.

Jeff standing in front of her, hair a mess, T-shirt wrinkled, still holding the acceptance letter like it was the most interesting thing in the world. And he wasn’t sulking or making fun of her, he was happy. This realization hit harder than it should have and, suddenly, Britta felt like she couldn’t breathe. Jeff noticed the shift in her expression, his amusement softening into something quieter, more careful.

“Britta?”

She blinked. “I— I don’t know.”

His smirk faded entirely. He took a step back, opening the door wider. “Come in.” For once, she didn’t argue.

Inside, she sat on his couch, staring at the letter like it might start making sense if she looked at it hard enough. Jeff disappeared into the kitchen for a moment and came back with two glasses of scotch, setting one in front of her before dropping into the chair across from her.

“Drink.”

Britta grabbed the glass closest to her and took a sip without looking. As the liquor hit her tongue, she scrunched her face up and gave him a look. “Really?”

Jeff shrugged. “I’m out of vodka.”

It didn’t seem to matter much, considering the circumstances, because she sighed and downed the rest, sliding the glass across the coffee table to him.

“Hit me.”

Jeff raised an eyebrow and reluctantly poured her another. “You’re spiraling,” He observed.

“No, I’m not.”

“Uh-huh.”

She exhaled sharply, gripping the letter like a lifeline. “It just doesn’t feel real. I mean, I barely got through Greendale. What if I suck at this? What if I fail out in the first semester? What if—”

“Britta.”

“I’m serious, Jeff. What the fuck was I thinking?”

He sighed. “I don’t know, maybe that you don’t want to make mixed drinks until you’re 70?”

She groaned, sinking into the couch cushions and covering her face with her palms.

“Britta,” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on hers. “You got in. Not by accident, not as a joke. You earned this.”

She swallowed.

“And yeah, it’ll be hard, and yeah, you might have to actually study, but you can do this. I know you can.”

Britta searched his face, trying to find the sarcasm, the teasing. But there wasn’t any. He meant it. And that terrified her. Because if he believed in her, that meant she didn’t have an excuse not to try.

“I expected some pushback.”

“Yeah, well, I’m turning over a new leaf.”

She studied his face for a second, waiting for the punchline, but it didn’t come. Instead, he just sat there, quiet, waiting for her to say something else. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“About what?”

“About all of this,” She motioned vaguely between the two of them. “This whole… being supportive thing. Being, I don’t know, not a jerk.”

Jeff leaned back in his chair. “You’ve been pretty adamant that I’m an asshole for the last eight years. Guess I’m tired of being predictable.”

Britta snorted softly, shaking her head. “Lucky me. As soon as I need you to reaffirm my insecurities you decide to be nice.”

“Gotta keep you on your toes.”

“Well, mission accomplished. Now you’ve got me second-guessing everything I thought I knew about you.”

“Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

For a long moment, neither of them said anything. The air between them seemed to hum with something unspoken. Britta wrung her hands out, almost like she was trying to shake off the tension.

“I might reject the offer.”

Jeff shot her a deadpan look. “Then you’re an idiot.”

She pointed at him, excited. “That’s the guy I’m looking for, give me more of him!”

“You seriously want me to talk you out of this? After seven years of a four-year degree?” He asked, completely incredulous. 

“Yes!”

“Well, tough.”

Britta launched to her feet, a low, frustrated growl escaping her, and started pacing. “What, I’m gonna go do two more years of school? Go into debt and owe money to the federal government? Education should be FREE anyway, don’t even get me started on that,” This elicited a heavy sigh from Jeff as he took a long sip of his drink. “And do I really seem like the kind of person who would have a master's degree? If I do this am I selling out every belief I hold sacred?”

Jeff groaned, closing his eyes. “It’s too late for ethical philosophical questions.”

“Too bad. You invite me in, you listen to me rant,” Britta snapped, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “And let’s say I do graduate, then what? I just… enter the workforce? Become a boring psychologist who has a boring life and a 401k and says things like ‘circle back’ and bills people for sessions? Do I even believe in that? Oh my god…” A look of horror contorted her face.

“Britta,” Jeff stood up abruptly, grabbing her by the shoulders. “Do you want to be a psychologist?”

She stared at him for a long time, eyes wide. Then, finally, “Yes.”

“Can you do that without a degree?”

“...No.”

“Then, there you go.” His hands dropped awkwardly from her arms.

She averted her gaze, frowning slightly. “Well, when you put it like that…”

“It’s okay. You can say it. I’m always right.” He smirked.

“I hate you.”

Jeff half-heartedly clutched his chest. “I’m wounded.”

As she cracked a smile, it seemed to suddenly become apparent to both of them how close together they were standing. Britta took a quick step back, like it finally clicked that she was still supposed to be upset with him. Jeff resisted the urge to ask her how much of their conversation she remembered from Valentine’s Day, and how much of it informed her choice to get in her car and come to him with the news instead of Frankie or somebody else. It all felt very… old Jeff and Britta. New Jeff and Britta were cordial but not close. Friendly, but not friends.

Against his better judgement, he took a deep breath and then said, “I’m gonna say something and I need you to not make fun of me for it.”

This seemed to catch her attention. “Okay.”

“I’m… proud of you.”

Britta sucked in a breath. “Oh.”

“And I think this is going to be good for you.”

“Okay.”

“And… I’m glad you’re staying.” It came out quietly, more under his breath than his other sentiments. Which is how Britta knew it held more weight.

Her face softened slightly, despite her efforts to conceal the effect his words were having on her. They were in dangerous territory—it didn’t matter how insistent her inner monologue was that she was over everything. Jeff’s moments of sincerity, rare as they were, could slice through her exterior like it was nothing. Even if she’d built it with concrete.

So, she just smiled weakly back at him and then glanced awkwardly at the door. “I guess I should probably get out of your space. Since it’s… late.”

Jeff nodded, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweats. “As long as you’re not going to reject that acceptance you can do whatever you want.”

Britta buried a grin, grabbing her bag and her admissions packet. “How about I just promise not to do anything yet? I have a few weeks to decide.”

“Sure. Neutral works too.”

He walked her to the door, the whole thing feeling strangely formal for two people who were so used to coming and going as they pleased, to the point that Jeff was pretty sure she still had a key. Not that he’d ask for it back.

There was a beat of silence before Britta reached for the handle. Just as she grasped it, she paused. “Thanks, Jeff,” She said quietly, her voice softer than usual.

“Anytime.”

Her hand hovered at the door for a second longer, like she was about to say something else, but then she just gave him a small smile and set off for the parking lot.

Chapter Text

Time moved forward, the way it always did, without asking permission. The more Britta thought about what Jeff had said, the more she settled into the idea of grad school. Although, admittedly, some days it felt more like an elaborate prank she was pulling on herself than reality. It took her a couple of weeks to fully come around but, by the last week of March, she was sitting at The Vatican with her laptop open, furiously filling out a registration form while Jeff and Duncan watched her with mild amusement.

“So, you’re really going through with it, huh?” Jeff teased, taking a sip of the diet coke he’d opted for over his usual. Baby steps.

Britta didn’t look up. “No, Jeff, I’m just pretending to fill out paperwork for fun.”

Duncan raised his glass. “I, for one, am supportive of this development. Grad school was the best four years of my life!”

“Don’t you mean two years?” She asked, furrowing her brow. 

“Technically, in the UK it’s only one. They just couldn’t get rid of me.” He winked. Britta snorted and returned to her screen.

“Well, I hope you enjoy your inevitable transformation into a debt-ridden academic. Soon, you’ll be lecturing people about Freud at parties. Oh, wait, you already do that.”

She tossed a dirty rag at him to shut him up.

Before Britta had time to second-guess the decision, financial aid applications were submitted, tuition deposits were paid, and emails about registration dates and orientation requirements were piling up in her inbox. It was final. She was doing this. And somehow, life went on as usual—bartending shifts, aimless nights at the same spots with the same people, Jeff making some dry remark from the other side of the bar whenever she complained about university bureaucracy. The two fell slowly back into their rhythm (mocking, teasing, pushing) but at the same time, floated in a liminal space. The same one they’d ended up in back in 2010, between paintball and the last day of school, where neither of them knew what to do when they were left alone in a room together.

If Jeff was honest with himself, he was okay with the new status quo. Mainly, he was just relieved she wasn’t leaving. The possibility of Britta getting her shit together had always haunted him, figuring that, like everyone else, it meant moving somewhere with more possibility and less… Jeff. But she had applied to an online program without even telling him. Maybe it was cheaper, or maybe having to find a new job somewhere else would have taken too long or been too inconvenient.

Or, he considered, maybe she’d had reasons to stay when she’d applied. Maybe he was one of them.

May arrived, and with it, the Transfer Dance. Another Greendale tradition that had somehow survived, like an especially resilient cockroach. In reality, it was just another excuse to gather in a poorly decorated cafeteria and pretend things weren’t lightyears away from how they had been before. Britta really hadn’t planned on going. In fact, she’d planned on doing exactly what she did every year when the event rolled around: drink a bottle of cheap wine on the floor of her living room, watch terrible reality TV and knit something for her cats, reaffirming to them that dances are stupid and love is a myth. They’d blink back at her confused and she’d feel like she did something for herself.

This plan was derailed when Jeff strolled into the study room the day before, looking a little too smug for her liking. The rest of the group had already set up shop at the table, discussing the final details for the dance, though Britta was only half-listening. Her role in this, she figured, was mainly to nod occasionally and make sure no one put Chang in charge of anything too important. Jeff dropped a folded-up piece of paper onto the table in front of her, then slid into his seat, an infuriatingly self-satisfied smirk plastered proudly on his face.

“Congratulations.” He said, his voice dripping with amusement.

Britta stared at the paper suspiciously before slowly unfolding it. The moment her eyes landed on the words, her stomach sank.

Transfer Queen Nominees

Britta Perry

Jenny Adams

Stacy Lambert

Linda Greene

She groaned. Loudly. “Oh, come on.”

Dean Pelton, who started paying attention when he noticed Britta’s mood shift, jumped in. “Is that what I think it is?”

Britta tossed the paper onto the table like it was physically offending her. “If you think it’s a cruel, sick joke, then yes.”

Frankie winced slightly, a smile betraying her intentions. “I forgot those were coming out today.”

“You knew?!” Britta exclaimed, indignant.

Chang, who was upset at being left out of the loop, whined, “Knew what?”

“Britta’s nominated for Transfer Queen.” Jeff grinned, enjoying this way too much. She smacked him hard on the arm and he flinched away, but all it did was prove that even violence couldn’t kill his mood.

“Again? Is that a record?” Duncan asked.

The Dean clasped his hands together, beaming. “This is a big deal, Britta! I always say it’s an honor just to be nominated.”

She shot him a glare. “You would say that.”

Jeff, meanwhile, was still watching her with an insufferable expression, arms crossed over his chest. “You know, most of the people that were here the first time have graduated. So feel free to profess whatever you want up there, it’s all new to them.”

Britta groaned, folding over onto the table and burying her head in her arms. “This is my nightmare.”

“Look on the bright side, at least you’re actually transferring this year.” Duncan said.

“And the competition’s not exactly stiff. I’d say there’s a pretty high chance that you win.” Frankie chimed in, flipping through a clipboard of logistics. 

Britta groaned again, even louder this time. Chang gasped in realization. “Britta redemption arc!”

She lifted her head to look at him. “Excuse me?”

“Redemption arc! You get to go up there and totally nail it this time.”

Britta stared at him, horrified. “You think I want to relive that? Seven years ago, I got up on that stage, made a complete idiot of myself, and then had to wait months for everyone to forget about it.”

The group launched into a mumbled chorus of ‘I didn’t forget' and ‘I don’t know if anyone really forgot…’ before Frankie interrupted.

“Wait, what did you do?”

Before she could defend herself, Jeff’s smirk stretched into a grin. “She professed her undying love for me in front of the whole school.”

Britta shot up from her seat. “It was not undying love!”

“Mm, I don’t know,” Jeff mused, tapping his chin. “It was pretty dramatic. There was yelling. Some wild hand gestures. A very public rivalry with a professor.”

“It was not about you,” Britta insisted, pointing at him. “It was about winning.”

Jeff leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice just enough for only her to hear. “Yeah? How’d that work out for you?”

Britta narrowed her eyes at him. “I will strangle you to death.”

Frankie cleared her throat. “Well. That’s certainly… one way to lose a vote.”

She slumped back into her chair, rubbing her temples. “I’m not doing it. I’m not going. Not after that.”

Jeff clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “That’s too bad.”

“Why?” Britta eyed him warily. 

He shrugged, all faux-casual. “Well, for one, I’m stuck chaperoning this thing, and it’d be nice to have someone there who won’t make me want to throw myself off the DJ booth. But hey, if you’d rather stay home with your cats and a bottle of Shiraz, be my guest.”

Britta raised an eyebrow. “That’s your sales pitch? ‘Come suffer with me’?”

“It’s worked on you before.” Jeff pointed out, leaning back against his chair. “Besides, if you don’t show, you’re just letting Greendale rewrite history. If someone else wins, that’s it. The world forgets you were ever Transfer Queen material.”

“Yeah, because that’s been my life goal, Jeff. To be crowned queen of the most pointless event at the most ridiculous school in existence.” She scoffed.

“Hey, watch it!” Dean Pelton exclaimed, offended. They ignored him.

“I’m just saying, this could be your legacy.” Jeff said smoothly. 

She stared at him. “You are so full of shit.”

“Yeah, but you’re considering it now, aren’t you?”

Britta folded her arms, glaring at him. He wasn’t wrong.

She turned to Frankie. “Do I have to go?”

Frankie adjusted the stack of papers in front of them. “You’re not legally obligated, but it would be good for morale.”

Britta groaned for the third time, but she knew she was going. They all knew she was going.

Jeff just grinned, leaning in slightly. “See you at the dance, Your Majesty.”

-----

Britta spent the rest of the day pretending she wasn’t thinking about it. She sat through committee meetings, wandered aimlessly from class to class… she even considered skipping Pysch 452 to avoid Jeff and whatever smug remark he’d have locked and loaded when they inevitably crossed paths in the hallway where his office was. But no matter how much she tried to push it aside, the thought kept creeping back in; not just the dance itself, but what it meant. What it had meant before.

The last time she was up for Transfer Queen, she’d thrown herself into a mess of her own making. She let herself get caught up in some ridiculous, ego-driven competition and, in the end, Jeff walked away, leaving her standing there like an idiot. And then—well, then he’d kissed Annie. And all of them found out the hard way that rock bottom actually had about fifty more feet of crap underneath it.

Jeff wasn’t that person anymore, she knew that. And neither was she. But Greendale had a way of always making her feel stuck in old patterns, like no matter how much time had passed she was still the same confused, overcompensating, emotionally repressed mess she’d been at 29. And, yeah, sure, Jeff had shown a lot of growth since then. But if the last few months had taught her anything, it was that he was still very capable of letting her down.

By the time Britta got home, she was exhausted by her brain running itself ragged, overthinking everything. There was no one she could talk this through with. Frankie wasn’t around the first time it all kicked off, so she lacked context that Britta was reluctant to rehash. Plus, she was stuck on campus setting things up anyway. And it’s not like she was going to ask Craig or Duncan or Chang. She threw her bag onto the couch, collapsed next to it, and sighed up at the ceiling. She could just not go. That was still an option. She could just not put herself through it.

And yet.

She sulked for another minute, but then something clicked, something so obvious she couldn’t believe that she didn’t think of it earlier.

The line rang twice before she picked up, voice bright and excited and so unmistakably Annie.

“Britta! Oh my god, hi! This is a surprise!”

Britta exhaled through her nose, regret steadily building. “Yeah, hey, sorry. Is this a bad time? Are you, like, analyzing crime scene fibers or something?”

Annie laughed. “What? No, I’m just at home. That sounds way cooler than what I was actually doing.”

“Color-coding your planner?”

“...Maybe.”

Britta chuckled under her breath, but as soon as the moment passed, the awkwardness set back in. It had been a while. And things hadn’t exactly been business as usual between the study group members over the past year.

There was a beat of silence before Annie spoke again, gentler this time. “What’s up, Britta?”

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Okay, so… this is dumb, and I don’t even know why I care, but—I got nominated for Transfer Queen. Again.”

A pause. Then, “Oh.”

Britta winced. “Yeah. Oh.”

“Huh.” She could practically hear the memory hitting her. 

“I know, it’s stupid—”

“No! No, it’s just—” Annie hesitated. “Wow. Full circle moment, huh?”

She sighed. “I’d probably say full circle disaster-waiting-to-happen.”

Annie hummed in the way she did when she was carefully choosing her words. “Well… are you gonna go?”

“I don’t know.” Britta shifted on the couch, fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. “I wasn’t planning to. I mean, what’s the point? It’s not like I need to relive the embarrassment.”

“You don’t,” Annie paused. “But you don’t have to run from it, either.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, great. More of the same advice. Is there some Dr. Phil watch party every week I don’t know about?”

Annie ignored the jab. “I just mean… you’re different now, Britta. So is Jeff. I mean, you saw what he texted everyone on Valentine’s Day. It’s not the same situation, and you don’t have to treat it like it is.”

She scoffed. “Okay, but let’s not pretend it’s not at least a little weird.”

“Yeah,” Annie admitted. “Of course.”

For a second, neither of them spoke. The past sat between them, heavy but not suffocating, like an old book neither of them had opened in a long time.

“We’ve never really talked about that, huh?”

Annie frowned. “Not really.”

“Probably for the best.”

“Maybe,” Beat. “I guess I just didn’t know how to bring it up after the whole thing in the study room…”

“When you hit Jeff?”

“Yeah…”

“Great punch, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m not just saying that, either, it was really solid.”

Annie chuckled slightly. “Britta…”

“Fine, fine,” She conceded. “I mean, I think we know the gist. I made a scene, Jeff walked out, kissed you, and then the whole thing blew up in our faces.”

Annie exhaled, thoughtful and cautious. “I always regretted never telling you how sorry I was. That it happened like that.”

“Oh, Annie, come on, it wasn’t your fault. That’s all on Jeff.”

“Don’t do that, it was both of us. And I meant what I said back then. I only kissed him because I wanted to be cool like you. The whole thing was so stupid.”

Britta smiled sadly to herself, memories resurfacing in her mind. Before everything kicked off, Annie had been one of her best friends, her little sister. But the conflict was never completely resolved, and it took years before they got to that place again. Unfortunately, once they finally did, life got in the way and they were forced to part ways. It all sucked.

“You know what I also remember from back then?” Annie adds, somewhat hesitant. “You doing a lot of damage control afterwards, trying to convince everyone you didn’t mean what you said.”

Britta froze for a second, fingers tightening slightly on the fabric of her sleeve. “Because I didn’t .”

“Didn’t you?”

The question was light, almost teasing, but Britta still felt her stomach flip. “Annie—”

“I’m just saying!” She rushed to add, clearly picking up on Britta’s tone. “Look, I get why you’re apprehensive. But I also think this could be a good thing. Maybe going back, standing up there again—not to prove anything, but just because you can —maybe that’s kind of… powerful?”

Britta huffed, leaning her head back against the couch. “You sound like a TED Talk.”

“Okay, rude! But also, not denying it.”

Britta sat with that for a moment, her knee bouncing as she considered it. “So what, you think I should just put on a dress, waltz in there, and pretend that any of this matters in the grand scheme of life?”

“No,” Annie said simply. “I think you should show up and remind yourself that it doesn’t.”

She snorted. “Now that sounds like a TED Talk.”

“Then take my advice and apply it!” Annie laughed, insistent. 

Britta was quiet for a second, staring at the ceiling. She still wasn’t sure she wanted to go. But at least now, she wasn’t sure she didn’t want to, either.

“God, I miss you, nerd.”

“Miss you too, dummy,” Annie said warmly. “Now go win a crown or something.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t tell anyone I called you, okay?”

“My lips are sealed.”

-----

For all the crap he gave Britta about not wanting to go, Jeff found himself looking around at the balloons and decorations and punch bowl wondering why he was even there himself. Chaperoning, technically. Killing time, mostly. He was learning that’s what life seemed to be. Killing time. Jumping from classes to meetings to dances to home, rinse and repeat.

His new-year-new-Jeff mentality had been going mostly well, except for the part where it felt excruciating. Turns out, it’s a lot easier to slip into oblivion and give up on everything and everyone important to you than it is to get out of bed and try. There was something of a honeymoon period when he first committed to turning things around, but as time stretched on, the day-to-day got infinitely more difficult. And yeah, he always felt better after pushing through. But he was also right to assume he would grow to kind of hate it.

Which is why it felt so good to time travel a little bit. To stroll into the study room and tell Britta she’d been nominated for queen, getting in a few sarcastic quips that made her kick him under the table and scrunch up her face. When he’d looked back at her in amusement, she was suddenly the girl who insisted her ‘deal’ was honesty and then promptly turned around and gave him a fake number. They existed, for a minute, in a bubble that reminded him of how it felt to be 33 and scamming his way through life. It was glorious while it lasted; until he looked around the table and realised that none of the other seats were occupied by the people who had sat there in 2009.

His mental health was steadily improving, which was a win. Not that it could’ve gotten much worse than it had been. Still, how do you escape the feeling that you’re just always waiting for something to… happen? Something had to be coming to shake him fully out of whatever this was, but at the same time, he had no clue what he was even expecting. Life wasn’t TV; there wasn’t going to be some galvanizing event to get things back on track. Maybe this waiting feeling was just what actually growing up felt like.

It had become a tradition for Duncan to attempt to spike the punchbowl, so Jeff was tasked with guarding it. Which honestly seemed like bad judgement on Frankie’s part because, if Duncan tried anything, he would almost certainly let him. Hell, he might even help. And it wouldn’t even be that hard, since Craig was barely paying attention, flitting around the cafeteria like he was organizing the goddamn Met Gala, wearing a sash that read Master of Ceremonies like that meant anything.

Jeff sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. This was fine, he reminded himself. This was normal. He was here, he was pushing through, he was—

The doors swung open.

For a second, nothing moved. Or maybe everything did, except for her. He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that one moment, he was bored out of his mind, contemplating the meaning of life, and the next, everything around him had faded into white noise.

She wasn’t dressed up, not really—Britta rarely tried for things like this—but she somehow blended right in and stuck out like a sore thumb at the same time. Effortlessly thrown together in a way that wasn’t quite casual but definitely wasn’t formal. Like she’d wandered in on a whim, even though Jeff knew for a fact she’d spent the last 24 hours agonizing over whether she should show up at all.

She entered with her shoulders squared, her chin up, that defiant sort of posture she had when she was daring someone to start something with her. But he saw right through it. The way her fingers twitched at her sides, the way her gaze flickered too quickly around the room before landing on him. Britta wasn’t afraid of much, but she was afraid of this—not the dance itself, but what it meant. What people were thinking and whispering and texting behind her back. She could pretend she didn’t care, but it wouldn’t change the fact that Jeff knew her better than he knew anyone else on earth. Then, before he could process it, her eyes locked onto his.

And just like that, the moment snapped.

The noise of the cafeteria filtered back in, the movement, the clatter of plastic cups and cheap shoes against the vinyl flooring. Jeff smirked, raising his glass slightly in greeting. Britta rolled her eyes, but he caught the way her mouth twitched like she was fighting back a smirk of her own. And, before she could talk herself out of it, she was already walking towards him.

Jeff leaned against the punch table, watching her make her way across the room, pretending she hadn’t just momentarily thrown him off his axis. He schooled his expression into something easy, something detached, but the closer she got in that mini-skirt, the harder it got to maintain.

Britta stopped in front of him, folding her arms. “Well?” He blinked back at her, confused. “Go ahead, get it out of your system.”

Jeff raised an eyebrow. “Get what out of my system?”

She gave him a look. “The smug comment. The joke at my expense. The whole ‘wow, Britta, I can’t believe you’re here, I think I saw Slater in the parking lot, you better watch out’ spiel.” She said, doing a terrible impression of his voice.

He took a slow sip of his drink. “Wow, Britta, I can’t believe you’re here, I think I saw Slater—” She smacked him with her clutch. “What! I’m just following orders!”

She huffed, scowling. “You’re hilarious.”

“I try,” He glanced down at his cup, swirling the punch idly before looking back at her. “You look good, by the way. For someone who claims she doesn’t care about this.”

Britta blinked, caught just slightly off guard. “I—well. Yeah. Thanks.”

Jeff smirked at how quickly she recovered. “So what made you cave? Some great moral enlightenment about how tradition is important? Or did you just realize you’d miss me too much?"

She scoffed. “Let’s go with the first one,” She grabbed a cup off the table and inspected the punch suspiciously. “So what, you’re just a willing chaperone now? Letting the youth bask in the glory of your wisdom?”

“I’m here to make sure Duncan doesn’t poison anyone. And to look pretty, obviously.”

“Ah. Noble work.” Britta, still looking visibly anxious, took a sip of the punch and winced. “Jesus christ, this tastes like cough syrup.” 

“Yeah, I think that’s how it was made.”

They stood there for a second, the hum of the dance moving around them, the music distant enough that it wasn’t completely intrusive. Jeff studied her, tilting his head. “You nervous?”

Britta exhaled heavily, shaking her head. “Nope. Not at all.”

“Liar.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

Jeff tapped the rim of his cup against hers. “You’re gonna be fine, Perry.”

Britta looked up at him, something flickering in her expression—something he couldn’t quite place. Then, finally, she smirked back. “Yeah. I know.”

The dance unfolded like every other Greendale event: half chaotic, half weirdly sentimental. They drifted between conversations, between bad music choices and barely-functioning decorations but, somehow, they kept orbiting back to each other. It wasn’t intentional. At least, that’s what Jeff told himself.

But it was also the most they’d talked one-on-one in months. And that had to amount to something. 

At one point or another, he found himself standing in the same spot as he had years before, smack in the center of the audience, staring down the barrel of the stage. He hadn’t thought about that night in a long time and that had been a very conscious decision. But standing here now, it was pretty impossible not to.

Seven years ago Britta had stood up there and announced to the entire school that she loved him. He vividly remembered the way she’d done it—not with quiet sincerity, not with some grand romantic flourish, but with sheer, unrelenting defiance. Like she was proving a point, screaming into his face that he was wrong about her. It had been about winning. About proving something to everyone, but especially to Michelle. In the end, all it proved was how spectacularly they could both make a mess of things.

Jeff wasn’t proud of walking out. Leaving her standing there. When he turned the memory over and over again in his mind like a penny, he always came back to the thought that, in nearly every important moment of his life, he had made the easy choice. Sometimes he got lucky and it was also the right one. Sometimes it wasn’t. Sometimes it ruined everything.

Either way, he was still here. And so was she.

A voice crackled over the speakers, snapping him out of it.

“Alright, Greendaliens!” Craig’s words rang through the gym, way too enthusiastic. “The moment we’ve all been waiting for!”

Jeff turned his head just in time to catch Britta making her way back towards him, arms crossed nervously. “You ready for this?” He asked, arching a brow.

Britta shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

“Relax. It’s just a stupid crown.”

“Tell that to 2010 me.”

“Oh, I would. But I’m pretty sure she’d just yell at me about capitalism and then try to make out with me to prove a point.”

Britta gave him a look of annoyance, but it was clear she was pressing her lips together to avoid cracking a smile.

Craig cleared his throat dramatically. “Your 2016 Transfer Queen is…”

She inhaled sharply, bracing herself.

“Stacy Lambert!”

The room erupted into scattered applause and cheers and Britta froze.

Jeff raised his eyebrows. “Huh.”

Britta slowly let out a breath, something unreadable flickering across her face. “Well. Okay then.”

“Disappointed?”

“No. Of course not. Why would I be? This is stupid.”

Jeff hummed. “Mmhmm.”

She turned to him. “I mean, come on. Stacy Lambert? She doesn’t even go here anymore. She transferred last semester.”

“Hence the title.”

Britta rolled her eyes. “Whatever. It’s fine. I didn’t want to win anyway.”

He studied her for a moment, then took a slow sip of his drink. “Well, either way, you still get to make your dramatic exit from this place on your own terms.”

Britta glanced at the stage, watching as Stacy fumbled with her plastic crown and Garrett pumped his fist in support from the crowd. The whole thing felt distant, irrelevant. Britta didn’t want the title. She knew that. But there was something about losing that still made her feel slightly sick.

“Yeah. I guess I do.”

Jeff nudged her lightly. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here before any of the Dean’s ‘special guests’ show up.”

Britta huffed a laugh, finally relaxing. “God, yes. Let’s go.”

-----

Jeff had barely stepped two feet out of the cafeteria doors before Britta grabbed his sleeve and tugged him in the opposite direction.

“Where are we—?”

She shot him a look. “Like you don’t already know.”

And, yeah. He did.

The roof had never been their spot officially, but somehow, over the years, it became the default escape route. Somewhere to go when everything inside the building felt like too much, when the noise and the chaos and the sheer absurdity of the place started to close in. And, apparently, some things never changed.

She shoved open the access door and stepped out into the cool night air. Jeff followed, letting it slam shut behind them. The sounds of the dance were muffled and distant, the faint thump of bass barely audible. Britta dug into the pocket of her oversized leather bomber, pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, and shuffled over to the ledge. After tapping one out, she stuck it between her lips and flicked her lighter once, twice, before getting a flame.

Jeff leaned against the concrete, looking down at her as she took a long, slow drag. “You know those things kill you, right?”

“You know you’re annoying, right?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Just checking.”

Britta took another drag, eyes fixed on the parking lot below. A beat passes, then another.

“I really don’t care, by the way. About losing.”

Jeff smirked. “Obviously. Your whole speech about how stupid it was totally convinced me.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t try to argue. He watched her for a moment, then said, more casually than he felt, “You can tell me if you thought about it a little bit, though. I’m not gonna— I won’t be a dick about it.”

Britta considered this olive branch, tapping the ash off the end of her cigarette. “I don’t know. Maybe? I mean, I knew I didn’t want it, but that doesn’t mean I wanted to lose either.” Jeff nodded, because yeah. He got where she was coming from.

She continued, her voice softer now. “Sometimes it feels like no matter how much time passes, I’m still that person. The one who overcommits to some dumb bit and then has to pretend she doesn’t care when it blows up in her face.”

He was quiet for a second. “Nah. You’re not.”

Britta scoffed. “Yeah? Then who am I?”

It was a loaded question, and one Jeff wasn’t sure he was qualified to answer. How could he begin to explain that she was exactly the same as she had been, but also completely different at the same time? This Britta, the one preparing to go to grad school and paying rent on time and studying for tests because she cared about learning what she was being taught, was a far cry from the 29-year-old who left a crib sheet behind for Chang to find because she felt so worthless that she wanted to get caught. But, even so, that Britta, the one who locked herself in a dog crate to make a political statement and discovered Inspector Spacetime for Abed to pull him out of a meltdown and delivered Shirley’s baby in the Anthro classroom (even after she’d puked), was still around. He was staring right at her.

Jeff studied her, the way the orange glow of her cigarette flickered against the dark, the way her brow was furrowed, half-defiant, half-exhausted, like she was daring him to answer.

“Someone who sticks it out,” He said finally. “You’re doing something. Grad school, a real career, an actual plan.”

Britta let out a short, dry laugh. “Jesus. Maybe I seriously have sold out.”

“Yeah, it’s tragic. Next thing you know, you’ll own throw pillows.”

She smirked. “Don’t push it.”

They fell into silence. Britta took one last drag of her cigarette before flicking it over the ledge, watching the embers fizzle out in the air.

“Y’know,” She said, turning slightly to face him. “You’re not that person anymore, either.”

Jeff arched a brow. “Who, me? The person who let you humiliate yourself at a school dance and then walked out and kissed someone else?”

Britta snorted. “Well, yeah, that guy was a dick. But mostly, I meant the guy who never let himself give a shit about anything.”

Jeff’s smirk faltered slightly. “I didn’t not let myself give a shit. There were things I cared about.”

She shot him a look. “Oh, sure. Scotch and looking cool and keeping your condo at a perfect 72 degrees.”

“Hey, 72 is scientifically the ideal—”

“Jeff.”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Fine. Maybe I spent a long time pretending I didn’t care. But it’s not like that’s something you just… switch off.”

Britta studied him for a second, tilting her head slightly. “But you are trying, though. I can tell.”

Jeff shrugged, looking out over the campus below. “Yeah, well. Turns out apathy gets boring after a while.”

Britta smirked. “You always did have a short attention span.”

“It’s why I never got into chess.”

Britta laughed, shaking her head. “You’re such an idiot.”

“And yet, here you are. Sitting on a rooftop with me instead of celebrating your crushing defeat.”

She leaned forward, resting her forearms on the concrete. “Yeah, well, I think I’ve officially reached my limit for humiliating public moments at Greendale. Thought I’d quit while I’m ahead.”

Jeff hummed in amusement. “So what now, Perry? You pack up, leave all this behind, go be a real grown-up?”

“That’s the plan.” She replied after a moment.

Jeff nodded. “You scared?”

“Less than I thought I’d be.”

That answer surprised him.

“What? You thought I’d be freaking out?” She asked after catching the look on his face.

“I mean… yeah.”

“Technically, I guess am. Just… not in the way I used to be."

Jeff watched her for a beat, taking the words in. “Well, look at that,” He mused. “Character growth.”

Britta rolled her eyes. “And they say people never change.”

Beat.

“Are you?”

Jeff turned to her. “Am I what?”

Her eyes met his, sending a jolt of lightning through his veins. “Scared.”

“Please. Have you met me?”

She gave him a flat look. “Deflection. Classic.”

He sighed, rolling his eyes. “Fine. Sure. Maybe a little.”

Britta nodded like she’d already known the answer. “That’s fair. It’s weird, right? How we just… keep going. Even when we don’t know what the hell we’re doing.”

 “Yeah. I keep waiting for something to happen to me. Shake me awake and push me into chaos again. I think Abed and his stupid life-is-TV crap damaged my brain.”

“Real life is so dumb. It would be way better if it was like TV, he was right,” She pondered her statement for a moment. “I feel like I should tell him that.”

Jeff smiled softly to himself and they fell into another comfortable silence, the kind that only comes from knowing someone long enough that words aren’t always necessary. But he wasn’t done talking yet. Not about this.

“Hey… how much do you remember?”

“From when?”

“Valentine’s Day.”

That caught her attention. Her posture shifted slightly, fingers stilling around her lighter.

“Oh,” Britta blinked, her expression unreadable. “Uh. I mean, a little? Not much? I was really drunk, Jeff.”

Something about that answer— kinda? Not really? —didn’t sit right.

“You don’t remember what I said.” It wasn’t a question.

Britta frowned. “You said a lot of things.”

Jeff studied her carefully. “I apologized.”

“Yeah, I remember that part.”

“Do you?”

Britta’s silence answered for her.

Jeff leaned against the ledge, running his tongue over his teeth. “Huh.”

Britta sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. “Look, Jeff. It was months ago. It was late. I was wasted... I didn’t exactly sit down and take notes.”

Jeff smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. Guess not.”

Britta studied his face. “What, do you want a do-over or something?”

He hesitated. Maybe.

But instead, he just shook his head, smug expression slipping back into place. “Nah. Wouldn’t want to ruin my reputation by apologizing twice.”

“I take it back, you haven’t changed at all. Still full of shit.” This elicited a grin.

“So, what now?”

Britta sighed, stretching her arms over her head. “I go home. I sleep. I wake up and try to figure out what the hell I’m doing with my summer.”

“Oh, yeah. Summer.” He said as if he’d forgotten that was what came next in the natural progression of things.

“What?” Britta asked, clocking his contemplative tone.

“I just realized. Now that the semester is over we’re not gonna see each other for months.”

His words shot her right back to Abed’s dorm, sitting on the bottom bunk, beer in hand. A sneaky grin crept up onto her face as she looked back at him.

“Relax, drama queen. It's not a Jane Austen novel. We have cell phones.”

Chapter Text

Britta graduated on the first Saturday in June, the sun beating down relentlessly and baking the rows of plastic folding chairs set up across the football field. The ceremony was long and absurd, as expected. Dean Pelton went off-script at least twice, knocking over the microphone stand the second time as he tried to rip his ceremonial robes off in a flourish to reveal a stylishly cropped version underneath.

Jeff had always found graduations pointless. Too much pageantry, too much forced sentimentality, too much sitting around waiting for something that barely mattered in the long run. But this one was different. He sat in the blistering heat, arms crossed as he pretended not to be affected by anything happening around him. The football field was packed, and the ceremony was dragging, but he wasn’t disassociating completely. Five years ago, he wouldn’t have been here at all. He would’ve found an excuse, kept his distance, and let this be someone else’s moment because it wasn’t his thing. Except now, it kind of was. 

Britta was graduating. With a Bachelor’s degree. Britta. The woman who had spent the better part of a decade refusing to acknowledge authority, rolling her eyes at anything remotely structured, and proudly labeling herself a dropout because fuck the machine, man. And yet, here she was, sweating under a polyester gown, waiting for her name to be called. Jeff wasn’t sure why that messed with his head as much as it did. Maybe because it was undeniable proof that time was moving forward and things were changing whether he liked it or not. He’d spent so long trying to fight that, to keep everything in a holding pattern, because moving forward meant losing people. But Britta wasn’t lost. She was right there.

The whole group turned out for the occasion. Duncan, cracking inappropriate jokes at inappropriate times. Chang, hoarding an extra program like it was going to be worth money someday. Frankie, arms crossed, beaming and nodding approvingly like she had singlehandedly willed Britta’s degree into existence. And, of course, Craig, standing on stage and fanning himself dramatically with a Greendale pennant. Frankie had his Assistant to the Graduate sash in her bag for after his Dean duties were done, because even his priority was to celebrate Britta today.

Jeff’s knee bounced against his chair. A couple of months ago, this would have wrecked him. Too many people with opportunity and possibilities ahead of them, while he’d already wasted his. It was a testament to how well he’d been coping, or at least compartmentalizing, since December, that he could sit there and let it happen. Britta turned her head slightly, scanning the crowd. And suddenly, like she knew exactly where to look, her eyes landed on him.

Jeff didn’t move for a second. Then, slowly, he gave her a nod. A small, simple acknowledgement. Britta smirked, rolling her eyes slightly, like she was trying to play it cool. But he caught the way her shoulders relaxed. The way she seemed lighter, if only for a second.

Yeah, Perry. You did it.

It felt like a thousand names were called before Britta’s finally rang out across the field. They all leapt to their feet, cheering and applauding like it was the goddamn Superbowl. Jeff caught the way she hesitated for half a second before stepping forward, like part of her still didn’t quite believe they said her name on purpose. When she took the diploma, (or more appropriately, the empty placeholder folder Greendale pretended was a diploma) something in his chest did this weird, unfamiliar thing.

Pride.

Which was insane, but there it was.

The ceremony stretched on way too long, the way these things always did. Jeff zoned out somewhere in the middle, only tuning back in when the Dean made an emotional speech about how Greendale was like an oyster and the students were pearls, which didn’t make sense on any level. But then it was over. Caps went flying, the crowd broke apart, and Jeff was swept up in the wave of people making their way onto the field.

Chang got to her first, sprinting across the grass like a lunatic. “You DID IT!”

Britta barely had time to react before Frankie grabbed Chang by the back of his shirt, keeping him from colliding with her. “Let’s celebrate without a hospital visit, please.”

Craig pressed his hands to his chest, practically vibrating with joy. “Oh, Britta, I’m just so proud of you! I always knew you had it in you!”

Jeff watched Britta tilt her head, an amused expression of doubt on her face. “No, you didn’t.”

Craig faltered. “Well, I hoped you had it in you!”

Duncan threw an arm around her shoulders. “You’re gonna go so far in the world of psychology, Britta. And by ‘so far,’ I mean legally required to reference me in any and all journals you may publish, yeah?”

“Absolutely not.” She smirked, slinking out of his grasp.

Frankie, ever the composed one, simply reached over to squeeze her hands. “Congratulations, Britta. Sincerely. You earned this.”

Something in her posture shifted, settled. “Thanks, Franks.”

And then, finally, it was Jeff.

He hadn’t pushed his way in, hadn’t jumped to say anything. He was just there, watching from a few feet away, sunglasses now tucked into his collar and hands in his pockets. Britta glanced at him, like she already knew what he was thinking, and walked over. “You gonna say something, or just stare at me all day?”

He smiled. “Good job, Perry.” Simple. Direct. Just enough.

Britta nudged him lightly with her elbow. “Yeah. I know.”

Jeff huffed a quiet laugh, rolling his eyes.

She adjusted the cap on her head, grimacing. “God, this thing is awful. Who decided graduation caps should be shaped like this?”

“The same people who decided you should sit through a two-hour ceremony just to get a piece of paper you probably won’t even frame.”

“Yeah, well, the joke’s on them. They’re mailing me the paper in, like, six months.”

“Classic Greendale.”

She snorted. “What about you? You surviving all this?”

Jeff shrugged, glancing around at the crowd. “It’s a graduation. No one’s tried to fight me, so I guess I’m doing okay.”

Britta narrowed her eyes slightly. “But you hate graduations.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t hate this one.”

She stilled for a second, something flickering across her face. But then, just as quickly, she recovered. “Wow. High praise.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

Britta grinned, rocking back on her heels slightly. “Too late.”

The music over the speakers changed to some upbeat, overly sentimental song, and Jeff sighed dramatically. “Alright. You got your moment. Can we go now before someone forces me into a group picture?”

She chuckled. “You can head out, but I’m taking a victory lap first. Gotta soak in all the validation while it lasts.”

“Fine. Go bask.”

Britta gave him an exaggerated salute, then turned back towards the rest of the group, already diving into another conversation. Jeff watched for half a second longer than necessary before shaking his head, slipping his sunglasses back on, and following after her.

-----

Frankie had not half-assed the party. There were string lights zigzagging from the fence posts, a table piled high with catered food, and an actual, sub-zero, electric beer cooler—which meant she had either been planning this for weeks or had finally lost all control over her life.

The backyard was filled with Greendale people—students, former students, faculty, and at least three random guys Britta swore she’d never seen before. Duncan had already claimed a lawn chair in the shade, Chang was manning the grill like he had something to prove, and the Frankie was making the rounds with a clipboard like it was a wedding reception. Britta barely had time to take it all in before Craig pressed a drink into her hand and dragged her into a conversation.

Jeff, meanwhile, hung back near the door, watching the whole thing unfold. He had to admit, it was kind of impressive. He hadn’t expected Frankie to go this hard, but then again, she was one of the only people in their circle with a functioning sense of responsibility. It made sense that if anyone was gonna throw a real graduation party, it’d be them. Britta moved through the crowd with ease, her cap long gone, her gown slung over a lawn chair like an afterthought. She looked… happy. Comfortable. Like she actually belonged in this moment instead of just passing through it.

“Frankie, you have got to be on coke or something. How did you get this done without me knowing? I live upstairs,” Britta said, genuinely impressed as she gestured around their backyard.

They adjusted their sleeves, grinning. “Come on, I couldn’t let your graduation go unacknowledged. Someone had to make sure this was done properly.”

“Properly?” Jeff echoed, strolling up with a beer in hand. “Frankie, there’s a bounce house.”

She barely blinked. “Yes, well, I tried to have it removed, but Ben threatened legal action.”

Across the yard, Chang had abandoned the grill to suplex a freshman inside the inflatable castle while a small crowd cheered him on.

“Britta!” Craig exclaimed, jogging over. “I have something important to give you!”

Britta tensed. “Oh God.”

“No, no, don’t worry, you’re gonna love it!” 

She exchanged a wary look with Jeff. He ignored them, pushing forward. “In honor of Britta's academic glow-up , I have taken the liberty of compiling a commemorative scrapbook of her finest moments at Greendale!”

Britta’s eyes widened. “You what?”

Craig dramatically pulled out a giant, spiral-bound scrapbook covered in glitter and stickers that said BRITTA 4EVER!!!

Jeff immediately reached for it. “Okay, this I have to see.”

“Only if you don’t want to live to see another day,” Britta remarked, yanking it out of his hands. She flipped it open and immediately groaned. “Oh my God. These are just unflattering candid photos of me from the last seven years!”

The Dean nodded proudly. “I call it Britta: The Golden Age. I really think it captures your essence."

”She turned a page and grimaced. “Is there a reason I look so angry in all of these?”

Frankie peered over her shoulder. “That’s sort of your… resting face.”

Jeff leaned in to examine the pictures. “Huh. I never noticed that, but Frankie’s right. Look, you’re literally making that face right now.”

They all examined her expression, which was uncannily similar to the photo from the day they performed Annie’s anti-drug play.

Britta shut the book with a snap. “Alright, that’s enough nostalgia for now.”

Craig pouted. “But we haven’t even gotten to the collage section!”

“There’s a collage section?” Jeff smirked.

“Nope, absolutely not, I am shutting this down! Thank you, Dean, it’s a really… nice gift,” Britta smiled and passed the scrapbook to Frankie. “Put this somewhere far away before I burn it.” She mumbled under her breath. Frankie gave her a smug, knowing look.

“Fine. But if I find it in the trash tomorrow, I’m regifting it to you every year on your birthday.”

Britta narrowed her eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

Jeff nodded, impressed. “Wow. Frankie just became my hero.”

Craig, Duncan, and Britta all launched into protest at the same time.

The party carried on around them. The yard buzzed with laughter, drinks clinking, people sharing old Greendale stories like they weren’t all some kind of extended trauma bond survivors. At one point, someone mentioned getting a game of paintball going. Predictably, Frankie shut it down almost immediately.

Most of the guests trickled out once the sun went down, leaving the backyard quiet and secluded. The string lights hummed softly as the ‘new’ Greendale 6 (or, more appropriately now, the Greendale-5-plus-Britta) sat around the patio, nursing the last of their drinks.

“It is 100% not a regional thing, Britta.” Jeff insisted, looking at her like she’d grown three heads.

“This coming from a guy who has never lived in New York!”

“Ehhh…” Frankie grimaced, taking a swig of her beer.

Britta looked at her like she’d been slapped in the face.

“What! I’m just saying, I’ve never heard anyone call it a— how did you say it? Baggle?”

Jeff tilted his bottle towards her. “Thank you, Frankie. You can rest easy knowing you’re on the right side of history.”

“You both suck.”

“Don’t worry, Britta, I agree with you.” Chang smiled. Her mouth curled into a pout.

“While we’re reminiscing, should we address the elephant in the room?” Craig asks, turning to look at Chang.

Chang just glanced around at them all. “...What elephant?”

“I don’t know, take your pick.” He replied cooly.

“Changnesia comes to mind.” Jeff says, rolling his eyes.

“Or the time you became an evil dictator and almost burned down the school.” Britta added.

Duncan raised his hand to interject. “We could also talk about how you tried to flunk your whole Spanish class because you found that crib sheet.”

“Don’t forget he lived in the vents for a year with a monkey!” Craig exclaimed.

“And then he moved into my apartment and tried to do laundry in my dishwasher.” Jeff glowered.

“Holy— I need to go back and read Chang’s file…” Frankie said in disbelief. 

Chang scowled. “Hey, you guys have done crazy stuff too! Britta dumped a dead body on the lawn as an April Fool’s prank!”

“That body was already dead when it accidentally fell out the window!” She protested.

“I hate to agree with Chang, but you have acted a little… cuckoo-for-cocoa-puffs over the years.” Duncan made a ‘crazy’ gesture with his finger.

“More cuckoo than you using a restraining order like a forcefield to control him like a puppet?” She gestured to Chang.

“...Touché.”

“And, not to pass the hot seat,” Britta said, sensing an opportunity. “But he almost became an axe murderer because of some monkey gas and no one has mentioned that.” She pointed at Jeff.

He rolled his eyes, unbothered. “‘Almost’ doesn’t count, Britta.”

“Ehhhh…” Frankie added again.

He gave her a look. “Who’s side are you on?” She just shrugged.

“Now, was that before or during the gas leak?” Craig asked.

Britta pondered it. “Before. Definitely before.”

“We were still taking Biology. I remember because, like a week later, Britta accidentally set a turtle on fire.” He gave her a pointed glance.

“I didn’t set him on fire! I dropped a flaming piece of paper into a trash can as a symbolic gesture and he happened to be in there. Plus, he was fine.”

“Huh, that’s funny, because you said that ‘almost’ counted when it was about me…” Jeff raised an eyebrow.

Craig, clearly enjoying this, swirled the straw in his cup. “You two better be careful, 'cause I remember more than a few ‘almosts’ you did together.”

Britta and Jeff immediately brushed him off, overlapping in vague protests of ‘No idea what you’re talking about.’ ‘That didn’t happen.’ ‘I don’t remember anything.’

Frankie arched an eyebrow. “You’ve got my attention.”

At this prompting, Craig perked up. “You almost stole that security golf cart. And that would’ve been a felony!”

“Oh come on, a felony? That’s—” Britta looked at Jeff for backup, but he just nodded. She turned back to him, defeated. “Well… alright then.”

“And you two almost started a Ponzi scheme together. That thing about upgrading the cafeteria vending machines?”

Jeff scoffed. “That wasn’t a Ponzi scheme, it was an… investment initiative.”

Frankie shot him a deadpan look. “It was fraud.”

“Wow, you are really hung up on labels.”

“What about the time they almost opened a bar in the study room?” Chang added.

“Okay, that was actually a good idea. Greendale After Hours!” Britta insisted.

“A really good idea. Until we realized we had no cost-efficient way of getting alcohol and zero legal standing.”

Duncan, who had been suspiciously quiet, suddenly jumped in. “Wait, wait, wait. Forget all that—didn’t you two almost get married once?”

Jeff’s head snapped around to look at him, wearing an expression of are you seriously bringing that up right now at this otherwise painless graduation party on his face.

Britta nearly choked on her drink. “What? No! That’s— you’re crazy, I don’t—” She glanced around at the group, who was looking back at her, amused. “You know what I want to know? Why drudge up the past? Are there not plenty of important and timely political issues we could—” 

Everyone groaned.

“Wait, Ian is right!” Craig gasped. “You two did almost get married! Multiple times!”

Jeff huffed, but it was unconvincingly aloof. “Name one time.”

“Shirley’s rehearsal dinner.” Chang said simply.

“Doesn’t count. We were drunk. Next.” Jeff replied, leaning back in his chair.

“Didn’t Jeff propose the day that Subway bought the school?” Duncan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“That… is neither here nor there.” Britta said, hesitant.

Craig gave them a knowing look. “And I heard through the grapevine that Britta proposed in the study room the first week back your sophomore year.”

“That was to make a point!” She sputtered. “Abed put together a whole— You know what? It doesn’t matter! Neither of us believe in marriage, so who cares?”

“Exactly.” He agreed, trying to make his tone sound decisive.

Which was all well and good, except that Britta could feel her pulse in her ears. It wasn’t that big of a deal, just another stupid Greendale anecdote, another weird footnote in their history. But with the events of Christmas Eve making things between them more complicated, it had become a lot less funny. And the way Jeff was very deliberately not looking at her now confirmed he was thinking the same thing.

Duncan clapped his hands together, interrupting her train of thought.

“Well! That was a fun little trip down memory lane. Now, what say we move on before someone suggests they make a fourth attempt?” He waggled his eyebrows, clearly expecting a laugh.

Jeff let out a forced chuckle, thankful for the out. “Yeah, let’s all stop giving Britta ideas before she gets on a soapbox about how marriage is a capitalist scam again.” He said, still avoiding her gaze.

“It is a capitalist scam,” She muttered into her drink.

“Oh, for the love of—” Frankie pinched the bridge of her nose. “Can we avoid analyzing the divorce industrial complex tonight?”

“Fine by me,” Craig chimed in cheerfully. “But you know, Jeffrey, if you ever need anyone to tie the knot with… I’m available.”

Jeff took that as his cue to put some space between himself and this conversation, springing to his feet. “I’m gonna go—” He glanced around, eyes landing on a full garbage bag near the table. “Take the trash out. Be right back.” Without waiting for a response, he slipped out the back gate. Britta watched him go, hesitating for only a second before pushing herself up from her chair and following.

He was perched on the back ledge of his Lexus when she found him, texting. Or at least pretending to. Britta knew him well enough to know that there probably wasn’t anyone on the other end. She decided not to mention it.

“Hey.”

At the sound of her voice, he looked up. 

“Thanks for taking the trash.”

Jeff shrugged. “Not a big deal.”

Britta lingered for a second, shoving her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. The backyard noise was distant now, a faint hum of voices and music.

She shifted her weight. “Sorry about all that back there. The… marriage stuff.”

Jeff huffed. “Did you come out here just to check on me? I don’t care. It’s fine.”

Britta pursed her lips. “Right.” 

She turned on her heel to go back inside.

“I just mean— you don’t need to apologize. They just pointed out things we did. It's not like they said anything that wasn’t true.”

Britta stopped short, pivoting around and blinking back at him. “Yeah, but none of those times were… real.” The last word came out hushed, like she was afraid of the weight it might hold.

Jeff shrugged, but there was something tight in his posture, something cautious. “If things had gone a little differently, we probably would've done it. By accident. Just to prove some stupid point.” 

Britta thought about that for a second, hating that he was almost certainly right. She frowned, kicking at a loose rock with the toe of her shoe. “Still. If I knew they were gonna keep it going, I would’ve—”

“Would’ve what?”

“I don’t know. Deflected better. Changed the subject.”

Jeff huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, ‘timely political issues’ wasn’t your best segue.”

“Hey, man, I was on the spot! You could’ve jumped in to help!”

He smirked. “If I’d done that, I wouldn’t have been able to watch you struggle. There’s no fun in that.”

Britta groaned, the sound quickly morphing into a tired laugh. “So you’re not freaking out? You’re not gonna lock yourself in my bathroom and contemplate the passage of time?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, dummy. Give me a little credit,” After a moment, he added “But make sure you pencil me in for a free session soon, I wouldn’t want to miss out on the chance to fully unpack all these complex emotions you think I’m feeling.”

“Whatever, Winger.” She rolled her eyes, but it had no bite to it.

Jeff ran a hand over his jaw, shaking his head slightly. “It is kind of funny, though.”

“What?”

“That it happened three times.”

“Ha. Yeah. I guess so.”

She sat down carefully on the ledge, leaving some space between them. They didn’t look at each other right away. Instead, both of them stared at some fixed point in the distance, like eye contact would make the conversation too real.

“I don’t know,” He conceded after a long moment of deliberation. “Maybe I just thought if we ignored that it kept on happening for long enough, it’d stop meaning anything.”

She let out a short, humorless laugh. “How’s that working out?”

Jeff smirked faintly, but didn’t answer. They both knew the truth.

“Hey, uh... for what it’s worth,” She started slowly. “I wasn’t trying to give you an ultimatum. At Christmas. At least, not at first. I was just— trying to drag us out of the loop we were stuck in.” She shifted, crossing one leg over the other.

Britta’s words froze him in place, all of his organs slowly icing over. He stared at a street lamp for a long ten seconds before nodding slowly in understanding. “I know.”

She studied him intensely, trying to ignore how nauseous she felt. “Do you?”

He glanced back down at his hands, rubbing a thumb over the edge of his cell phone.

“I didn’t want to fuck with what we had.”

“You have terrible instincts.”

Jeff exhaled softly through his nose, finally looking up at her. “My instincts are fine.”

Britta gave him a look. “Jeff.”

He shook his head. “I mean it. I would definitely change how I handled it, but… telling people wouldn’t have fixed the problem. I still think I was right.”

Britta held his gaze for a moment. “Well. So do I.”

The admission sat heavy between them—not tense, exactly, but definite. There was no fight left to be had. No argument. Just a mutual understanding that they were, at least for now, incompatible.

“Kinda shitty that we both made the right call but nobody won.” She frowned.

“Sounds like us.”

They stayed there for another minute, occasional muted laughter coming from the yard behind them, a steady breeze sweeping through the street. Eventually, Britta pushed off the car. 

“Alright. Enough brooding. We should probably get back before someone starts making ‘will-they-won’t-they’ bets.”

Jeff scoffed. “Oh, please. No one cares that much.”

She gave him a flat look. “Jeff. This is Greendale.”

Yeah, okay. She had a point.

He sighed, fidgeting with his phone. “You go ahead. I’ll be in soon.”

She studied him for a second longer, like she wanted to say something else but knew there was nothing left to be said. Instead, she just nodded, turned around, and walked back toward the yard without looking back.

-----

The house was quieter now, the chaos of the night reduced to the familiar rhythm of post-party cleanup. Empty bottles clinked as Frankie stacked them into a recycling bin. Duncan wiped down the counter with minimal real effort. Chang, for some reason, was trying to balance three half-eaten burgers on one plate.

Frankie straightened, brushing off their hands. “Before we call it a night,” She turned to Britta. “Abed sent you something.”

Jeff, halfway to grabbing a drink from the fridge, froze. “Wait— Abed?”

"Abed Abed?” Britta piled on.

“The only Abed we know,” Frankie confirmed, holding up a USB drive. "He called it a ‘narrative retrospective of our collective journey,’ which I assume means some kind of short film in celebration of your graduation.”

Jeff stared at the drive in Frankie’s hand. Technically, yeah, it was for Britta. But he had a pretty good idea of what had been filmed over the years, so he swallowed hard, bracing himself, and headed over to the living room.

Despite their conversation in the driveway, Britta kicked off her shoes and settled next to Jeff without hesitation. In fairness, there weren’t many other good seats open. But they both knew it wasn’t just that.

They were the last ones left.

The only two who had been there since the very first day in the study room, the only ones who had lived through every single ridiculous thing that was about to flash across the screen.

Jeff didn’t say anything about it. Neither did Britta. They just sat back as Frankie pressed play.

The TV flickered to life. A familiar song started. And just like that, the past caught up with them.

The first thing to appear was the Greendale logo; pixelated, glitchy, like something pulled from an old public access broadcast. Then, in Abed’s unmistakable editing style, the words “Britta Perry: A Retrospective (Also Featuring Everyone Else)” flashed on screen in bright blue text.

Britta snorted. “Wow. Title needs work.”

But then the montage played, and all of them fell quiet.

It started with the beginning—grainy security footage of the study room, day one. Jeff snapping a pencil and tossing it on the table, Annie, Troy, Shirley, Abed, Pierce, and Britta all wincing. Because, as Jeff had so astutely pointed out, people can connect with anything.

"Did you know there was footage of that?" Britta whispered softly. Jeff just shook his head, dumbfounded.

The clips jumped through the years, cutting between absurd moments and genuine ones in a way that only Abed could manage to weave together artfully.

Britta ranting about civil disobedience while standing on a cafeteria table.

Jeff making a terrible vase in pottery class and then presenting it to Shirley as a Mother’s Day gift.

Troy and Abed agreeing to create a ridiculous handshake with Annie (after much begging and pleading) that she kept messing up.

Shirley and Pierce cutting the ribbon in front of their sandwich shop for its grand opening.

The food fight. Paintball. Multiple Halloween disasters. MeowMeowBeenz.

“Jesus,” Britta muttered. “Why does it look like I was always covered in something?”

Jeff chuckled, voice low. “Because you were. Spaghetti, paint, mustard… probably, at some point, blood.”

Britta jabbed him gently in the side with her elbow. The video shifted again.

Clips from Christmases. Annie opening a package of purple pens and reacting the way a sane person would to something cool, like an iPad. Shirley bringing cookies over for a decorating party. Britta holding the middle finger up to Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer because she ‘didn’t agree with the message it sent to children’, and Jeff shaking his head in the background. Troy and Abed showing off their matching sweaters.

The group sitting in apartment 303 watching Inspector Spacetime, most of them sprawled across each other on the couch, Pierce asleep in an armchair.

Britta sliding Jeff a shot across the bar at Troy’s 21st birthday party do-over.

Dean Pelton doing a borderline horrifying rap about paychecks while dressed as a peanut bar.

Britta and Frankie cheers-ing with martini glasses at The Vatican, one classic and one espresso.

Chang and Abed popping and locking through the cafeteria while Shirley clapped a rhythm out.

Jeff and Duncan posing together reluctantly at the first Transfer Dance.

Frankie and Annie gushing over their matching binder accessories.

Abed setting up for a Dungeons and Dragons campaign while the rest of them waved to the camera, Troy’s thumbs up appearing in front of the lens for a moment as proof of life.

The whole study group at their original graduation ceremony, Jeff and Pierce the only ones not wearing caps and gowns.

All of them huddled together, slow dancing at Garrett’s wedding.

Jeff let out a quiet, strangled laugh.

Britta glanced at him. “What?”

He gestured vaguely toward the screen. “I just forgot how much of this was so… good .”

A sad smile spread across her face. “Yeah. Me too.”

The montage kept rolling—Greendale years flashing before them, a mess of joy and chaos and weirdness and friendship.

And then, finally, the last shot:

A still image of the original study group—seven of them crammed together, shoulder to shoulder, taken sometime in that first year. Troy and Annie were bright-eyed and fresh-faced, Shirley was laughing, Pierce was mid-blink, Abed was locked in on the camera, Britta was rolling her eyes, and Jeff—Jeff was wearing an all too familiar expression, caught somewhere between pretending he didn’t care and knowing that he did.

The screen faded to black.

Then, in simple white text:

We had a good run.

Silence.

No one spoke for a long moment, they all just let it sink in.

Britta let out a quiet, shaky breath, then looked at Jeff. “Not bad, huh?”

Jeff, still staring at the screen, nodded once. “Yeah,” He turned to meet her eyes. “Not bad.”

And it wasn’t, really. Not anymore.

Chapter Text

Jeff rescheduled the appointment three times before he finally got his shit together, manned up, and went through with it. Which was ridiculous, considering he’d made the original one in the first place. No one was forcing him to do this. In fact, no one even knew he was doing it, and he planned to keep it that way, at least for the foreseeable future. Summer seemed as good a time as any, with the considerable lack of Greendale activities and no regularly scheduled group meetups, since they might’ve tried to weasel information out that he didn’t want to divulge. 

Jeff hadn’t talked to a therapist since 2012. And even then, the stint only lasted a couple of months. Just long enough to get on anti-anxiety meds, become a narcissistic monster, and then promptly decide that modern psychological medicine wasn’t for him. The experience had solidified in his brain that the burden of his mental illnesses kept him stable. But now, almost exactly a year out from Annie and Abed leaving, Jeff felt pretty secure in saying that wasn’t his reality. Mental illness didn’t keep him balanced, it just kept him ill. 

He started out light: one session per week, no medication. It was his way of dipping a toe in the water, figuring out how to transition into a new lifestyle that felt exceptionally uncomfortable. They talked about his dad. About how the family dynamic he grew up with laid the ground work for all the terrible things he thought about himself and others on a daily basis. He talked about being a lawyer, about moral relativism and all the ways he justified hurting people for his own gain. And, of course, they talked about Greendale. How could he not? That school and the people who went there were his whole life; the most important part of it, anyway.

It was harder than he thought it would be. Recounting the first four years, rehashing his relationship with Britta in excrutiating detail, trying to explain how she changed him, how they all did. He felt so far from it now.

When his therapist asked about the current state of those friendships and relationships, Jeff had to sit and think about it for a few minutes before answering. Not because he didn’t know, but because it made him feel sick to admit, out loud, that he had pushed everyone away. He only talked to Shirley when she reached out first. He’d lashed out at Abed over nothing. The phone call with Annie was too difficult to even verbalize. And Britta…

He remembered the session where it had all clicked for him. Third week of June, 1pm. They’d gotten to talking about Greendale almost shutting down a few years before and, inevitably, Jeff had to explain the proposal.

“What do you think it means that you found solace in each other when everything else felt uncertain?”

Jeff drummed a finger against his thigh, trying to come up with an answer that didn’t sound idiotic. “I think that Britta and I have a habit of jumping into bed together when we’ve run out of options.”

They studied him for a moment. “I don’t just mean sleeping together. You made an intentional choice to commit to her. We’ve talked a lot about your feelings of anxiety around commitment. And yet, when faced with fear, you used it to cope. What do you think that says?”

“I don’t know, I mean… Britta is stable. We know each other better than we know anyone else. It’s… easy.”

“So you’re saying you use her as an anchor?”

“Sure, I guess.”

“Is that what you were doing once your other friends left?”

“She offered to be that. It’s kind of her thing.”

“Even so, it must have been difficult for her to be a support system for you while she was dealing with her own grief.”

Jeff sat with that statement for a moment, letting the words wash over him.

“Yeah… I guess.”

“Did you ever ask her about it?”

Silence.

“And she was the one to end things between you most recently, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Did she tell you why?”

Jeff cleared his throat slightly, awkwardly. “She, uh, wanted to tell our friends. That we’d been sleeping together.”

They nodded. “And you didn’t want to?”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because the things that were wrong between us had nothing to do with other people and everything to do with ourselves.”

“Are you referring to your codependency?”

“I—” Jeff cut himself off. “I’m not sure codependency is the right word.”

The therapist glanced down at their notes. “How did you cope once she cut things off? What did you do?”

“I left. Went outside with a bottle of whiskey and realized there was too much snow to get very far.”

“So what did you do?”

“I sat on the curb and drank.”

“During a blizzard?”

“Yeah.”

His therapist paused, choosing their next words carefully. “Do you think that might have been a form of self-harm?” The question was gentle, non-judgemental.

Jeff’s jaw tensed. “I guess so. Maybe not consciously.”

Silence.

“It seems like losing her was a big deal.”

“Not— It wasn’t— Not for the reasons you think, I didn’t… I don’t love her.” He lied, partly to himself.

They didn’t argue, just nodded again, taking it in. “How did she seem afterwards? The next time you saw her?”

“I guess… lighter.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, she seemed… relieved.”

“How did that make you feel?”

He exhaled heavily, trying to remind himself why he was putting himself through this. “Shitty.”

“That’s understandable,” A beat. “If things had gone differently… what would your ideal reality be right now?”

He shrugged. “I guess I’d want things to have stayed the same.”

“Meaning?”

“We sleep together. I let her play therapist. She lets me sulk.”

“Have you considered that cycle may be what kept both of you feeling stuck for so long? 

“Stuck and stable are pretty much the same thing. Different perspectives.”

“Did you ask her what her perspective was?”

Jeff sucked in a breath. “I guess not.”

“And did she ever tell you it was affecting her? Seeing you so depressed?”

“No, not really. I think I just assumed that she’d begged and pleaded for me to open up to her for so long that I was… doing her a favor.”

“Was there anyone around to do for her what she’d been doing for you?”

Jeff thought about it for a moment. He didn’t have an answer.

He fixated intensely on the conversation for days afterwards. He’d lay awake at 3am and stare at the ceiling, playing the questions on a loop in his mind. It hadn’t been his intention, to create a relationship that was so one-sided, but maybe that was worse than all the times he’d done it to people on purpose. At least then he knew he was being an asshole. Instead, he’d been so desperate for a distraction—something, anything, to hold on to after the group fell apart—that he hadn’t considered how any of it would affect Britta. Maybe because when he’d kissed her that first night, he could never have known it would go on as long as it did. It’s easier to justify making the selfish move if it only happens once. He’d underestimated how severely he’d been hurting.

Britta was grieving the same people and wandering around just as lost, while also single-handedly holding him back from doing something irreversible. She told him at her grad party that she hadn’t meant to give him an ultimatum, that she’d just wanted to pull them out of the loop. But now he realized it wasn’t just the loop she wanted to escape. He had been using her, leading her on; letting her be his crutch when he was too afraid to face his own loneliness. The cycle was running her ragged.

He felt the full weight of it—the way he’d taken so much, without ever once considering what he was giving in return. She was his best friend, sure, but with hindsight, he’d been treating her more like an emotional washcloth, a body to fuck, some bizarre combination of the two. Thinking about it made him nauseous.

And the funny thing, he realized, was that he had been right. Just not for the reasons he’d thought he was. Telling the others wouldn’t have fixed their issues, it would have been a bandaid. Jeff needed to find ways to cope without her and Britta needed to stop obsessing over other people’s feelings to avoid confronting her own. Until they did that, nothing would have prevented what happened in December. It would have just been momentarily delayed, with more repercussions.

-----

Britta spent the first few weeks of summer basking in the glory of doing absolutely nothing, aside from a few shifts at The Vatican here and there. She slept in until noon, watched political documentaries, and acted as the official taste tester for any and all Frankie-Dart-culinary-endeavors. So, overall, not half bad.

She also ventured back to campus a couple of times. Once to clean out her locker, which honestly didn’t have much in it to begin with. Another to just walk around without anyone else there. Summer semester was technically in session, but the quad was empty when she arrived. She stepped out of her car and into the waves of heat bouncing off the asphalt, glancing around at how still everything seemed, and tried to remember how it had felt to do the same thing on her first day in 2009.

She took the path straight from the parking lot to the library, passing by the Luis Guzman statue and the stoner tree where Vaughn used to hang out. Maybe one day, years from now, she would come back and hardly recognize it. The thought made her sad, wistful almost, the same way she’d felt as they waved goodbye to Troy, watching him roll away on the ship bequeathed by Pierce.

Eventually, she settled on the library steps, leaning her back against a concrete pillar and pulling a journal, her iPod, and a pair of wired earbuds out of her bag. The spot gave her a great vantage point on the campus, which was so deserted it was almost spooky. She wasn’t used to coming back in June and July. But now, knowing that she wouldn’t be forced to show up there in the fall, it held a special significance; a nostalgia she wasn’t ready to let go of.

June 25th, 2016

Greendale is a little unsettling when its empty. I’ve only ever seen it without a million people wandering around after leaving a dance early, but I always knew that they were in the cafeteria behind me, so it didn’t really count. Right now it’s actually empty. I wonder if the Dean is in his office? I know Frankie’s at home. I think I might be the only person to come here by choice today. Very weird.

Part of me wants to go over to the dorms and see Abed’s old room, but I’m not sure if I could handle it. I haven’t been there since he moved out and into 303 with Troy. I miss him so much. He’s, like, a whole person I don’t know now, which makes me so excited for him, but also so sad. Graduating has made me even more sentimental than I used to be, I already feel like I’m looking at the campus with rose-colored glasses. Like, yeah, it sucked a lot of the time and there was probably asbestos in all the walls and if I never have to make another diorama I’ll die happy, but those parts are hazier now. I just keep remembering good stuff.

It’s been a few weeks since I’ve seen anyone besides Frankie. After my graduation party, we all sorta parted ways indefinitely. And it’s weird, because I know Jeff literally only lives 15 minutes away from me, but we haven’t been talking so he might as well be all the way in Atlanta with Shirley. Somehow doesn't change the fact that I feel like I’m always looking over my shoulder a little when I go out, though, like I’m worried about running into him at the grocery store or the coffee shop or something. Which is so stupid. Who cares!!! It’s not like we went through some horrible breakup and now we have to avoid each other forever. But everything was just so constantly dramatic. It’s been nice to not think about it for a while.

I’ve been feeling more like my old self lately. I think knowing I’m about to start a new chapter of life is bringing me back to who I was and who I want to be, which sounds like a motivational poster Annie would have on her wall, I know, but it’s true. The other day I drove up to Denver and went to the anarchist bookstore they have up there. Very cool. I bought like 3 books. And I’m volunteering at an animal shelter for the summer. Every day I go in, it gets harder to remember why I can’t have 12 cats. I mean, I technically COULD adopt them all, but I’d rather stay on Frankie’s good side. I’m thinking about taking her on a trip to New York while she’s not being waterboarded with work because I really want to show her all the stuff from when I lived there. And hopefully find someone to back me up on the pronunciation of bagel. I’m just RIGHT. They can all choke.

I didn’t tell them that I was coming here today. I just wanted it to be my own secret thing. That way I didn’t have to explain why. Because I’m not really sure I can explain why. I just missed it. But it’s hard, because coming here might fill some of the void, but it’s missing all of the people, which is kinda the most important part.

She paused, clicking her pen closed after a moment and staring ahead at a bench she’d sat on a million times. Then, after some deliberation, Britta stood up, grabbed her stuff, and set off for the dorms. If she couldn’t handle it, she’d call Abed; at least leave him a voicemail. He would understand.

-----

In July, Jeff went to his first AA meeting with Duncan.

He was really just tagging along, since the two of them had been watching a soccer game together at Jeff’s earlier in the day. When Duncan mentioned he had to leave by 2pm to make the meeting he was going to, a little voice in his head (that sounded an awful lot like Britta) whispered that maybe he should go check it out. Just this once. Jeff wasn’t naive enough to think that it would fix him. He wasn’t even really sure if he crossed the boundary into needing AA. But he did know that he was probably just about as close as a person could be to the edge, so it couldn’t hurt to go under the guise of support for a friend and see.

Jeff didn’t say a word the entire time. He sat in the back, arms crossed, wearing the same passive, detached expression he used for faculty meetings and mandatory HR presentations. But he listened. He listened to people talk about waking up ashamed, about the things they did when they were drunk that felt like someone else’s problem until the morning after. He listened to a guy in his sixties talk about how he was high-functioning for years—held a job, kept up appearances—until one day, he wasn’t. 

That one made Jeff shift in his seat a little.

After the meeting, Duncan clapped him on the shoulder and made some flippant comment about how at least this group had free coffee, unlike the Greendale activities committee meetings. Jeff laughed, like it was no big deal, like he hadn’t just sat through an hour of people holding mirrors up to his own life. He told himself he wouldn’t go back. After all, he wasn’t one of them. He was in control.

And yet, the next week, when Duncan mentioned offhandedly that he was heading to another meeting, Jeff found himself tagging along again. No big commitment. Just checking it out.

This time he told himself it was just for research. As if understanding the mechanics of AA meetings would help him solidify his stance that he didn’t really need them. He was just curious—like when you Google symptoms just to prove to yourself you don’t have cancer.

But now he noticed details that he hadn’t before. The way the regulars greeted each other by name. The way no one pushed him to share, but a couple of them—people who had clearly been around the block—gave him knowing nods, like they recognized the shape of someone still figuring out how much they belonged there. He sat next to Duncan again, rolling a styrofoam cup of coffee between his hands, taking in stories he swore weren’t relevant to him. Except that some of them kind of were.

Afterward, Duncan invited him out for a drink before catching himself and awkwardly backtracking to a dinner offer instead. Jeff waved him off and said he had things to do. He didn’t. He just needed to be alone for a while. Needed to sit with the uncomfortable feeling clawing at his ribs, the one telling him that maybe—just maybe—he was closer to the threshold than he liked to think.

A few days later, he found himself at L Street out of habit. He ordered a scotch neat, stared at it for too long, and left without taking a sip.

-----

On July 9th, Britta went on her first date in a long time.

She and Jeff hadn’t been exclusive, well, ever. There was always the assumption that they were both sleeping with other people on the nights that they weren’t sleeping with each other. But there had also been times throughout the years where it seemed pretty obvious that neither of them were, even if they’d never be caught dead admitting it. They’d been in one of those periods after Abed and Annie left. Britta had no emotional, or frankly physical, capacity to add another person to the rotation and Jeff was barely functioning, so it felt pretty safe to assume that things had been pretty monogamous.

But they didn’t date. That had never really been their thing. They might have done things that resembled dates; like walking to the fro-yo shop down the street every Friday afternoon during their sophomore year. The two of them would sit at one of the rickety metal tables out in the sun, eat their yogurt, and talk about stupid stuff: insane professors, Britta’s cats, their plans for the weekend, etc, etc. It might have looked like a date to the untrained eye but, formally, it wasn’t anything more than two friends hanging out.

She’d first met the guy at a coffee shop by her apartment, after one of the baristas had told her she couldn’t hang flyers for the animal shelter she’d been volunteering at on their bulletin board. For some reason, this random dude had jumped in to back her up, apparently overhearing the dispute. After about 3 minutes of arguing, the barista backed down, Britta checked an item off of her to-do list, and the guy walked away with her number.

She hadn’t expected to actually text him back. The number sat in her phone for a couple of days, just a string of digits with no real meaning. But on a slow afternoon, in a moment of boredom or impulse or maybe just the need to prove to herself that she could, she sent a message. A few exchanges later, plans were made.

The guy—Ryan, apparently—was nice. Handsome in a conventional way. He picked a decent bar, one of those places that straddled the line between hip and trying too hard. When she walked in, he was already waiting with a drink in hand, and for a second, she wondered what Jeff would say about him. Probably something snide and dismissive, picking apart some meaningless detail just for the fun of it.

She pushed the thought aside and slid into the seat across from him.

The conversation was easy. Surface-level, but in a way that felt refreshing, not boring. They talked about his work, about her grad school, about the weird coffee shop encounter that led to them sitting there. Ryan worked in marketing, the kind of job that came with a salary and benefits and stability—all things Britta had spent most of her life running from. But he was funny, in an understated, self-aware kind of way, and he listened when she talked. That wasn’t nothing.

She laughed a few times. She smiled for real. And for the first time in a long time, she felt a flicker of something resembling normalcy. Maybe she wasn’t fighting a losing battle anymore. Maybe she could do this.

But then a waiter came by and Ryan ordered a scotch neat.

It shouldn’t have meant anything. It was just a drink. But something about the way the words left his mouth, the casualness of it, made her stomach dip. She ordered a beer, something light, something easy. Something that didn’t carry weight. 

They finished their drinks, walked a few blocks, and when Ryan asked if she wanted to do this again sometime, Britta found herself nodding before she could think too hard about it. As they were about to part ways, he kissed her. The kind of kiss she was supposed to want—soft, considerate, the kind that belonged to two people at the start of something. And for a second, she let herself sink into it, let herself pretend she wasn’t comparing it to anything else.

When she got back to the condo, Frankie asked her how it went. She’d shrugged and smiled and tossed her purse onto the coffee table, replying that he was nice and cute and they’d probably go out again. Frankie reached over and gave her arm a squeeze, asking if she wanted to watch a couple reruns of something fun like The Office (which she’d first watched with Abed, during his attempt to convert her to a TV fanatic). Britta politely turned them down, opting to shut herself in her room for the rest of the night instead.

She hated how shaken she felt. The whole thing was idiotic. It was one date—one normal, uncomplicated date with a guy who was nice and cute and interested in seeing her again. She’d had a good time. He’d been funny and smart, and there hadn’t been a single moment where she wanted to climb out of her own skin or make a joke just to cut the tension. And yet, there was a wrongness to it, something off-kilter that she couldn’t quite pin down.

She sat cross-legged on her bed, staring at her phone like it might have the answers, unable to shake the hollow, restless feeling in her chest. Her fingers hovered over Jeff’s contact for a second too long before she powered it off and dropped it onto the comforter beside her. No.

She wasn’t going to do that. She wasn’t going to fall into old patterns just because something unfamiliar felt a little uncomfortable. That was the whole point of this, wasn’t it? Moving forward.

Britta flopped back against her pillows, exhaling sharply. Maybe she just needed to sleep. Maybe she’d wake up tomorrow and feel better about it all. But deep down, she knew that wasn’t really the problem. It wasn’t Ryan or the date or even the idea of someone new.

The problem was that, for the first time in a long time, she was actually trying to move on. And it was a hell of a lot harder than she thought it would be.

-----

They went about six weeks without talking. 

Not that Jeff was counting.

It wasn’t technically weird. They’d gone longer before—months, even. Sure, those times had been on purpose, usually after one of them did something particularly stupid, but still. It wasn’t like they talked every day anymore before Britta’s graduation. They were just in different places now. Britta was busy with whatever new thing she was throwing herself into for the summer. Jeff had therapy, his own routine, his own life.

But then her name popped up on his phone in the middle of a random Tuesday afternoon. He answered without thinking twice.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You’re calling me.” He pointed out plainly.

“Yeah. So?”

“It’s been a while. And you normally text.”

“Is this a bad time or something?”

“No, just making an observation. What’s up?”

There was a long, tired sigh on the other end. “I need a favor.”

Jeff leaned back against his sofa, glancing at his watch. “If this is about cat sitting, I’m busy for the next decade.”

“It’s not about cat sitting, but thanks for being so willing,” She rolled her eyes. “It’s— okay, so I might have gotten a speeding ticket.”

Jeff raised his eyebrows. “Might have?”

“Fine, I did get one.” She huffed. “And it’s bullshit, Jeff. I wasn’t even going that fast. The cop was just on a power trip.”

He sighed, already picturing the scene: Britta, absolutely not keeping her cool, arguing with an officer who probably regretted pulling her over five seconds into the conversation. “Let me guess—you called him a fascist.”

“I implied he was a fascist. You would’ve been proud of how restrained I was!”

Jeff pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jesus, Britta.”

“Look, are you gonna help me or not?” She snapped. Then, quieter: “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to call you out of the blue, I just… I can’t really afford another fine right now.”

Jeff sighed, waiting a moment before responding. “Send me the details. I’ll see what I can do.”

She hesitated. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, already opening his laptop. “Just promise me you’ll stop arguing with cops.”

“No.”

He chuckled softly. “Worth a shot.”

-----

About a week later, Jeff found himself standing outside a municipal courthouse, waiting for Britta to show up.

He had managed to get the ticket reduced to something manageable—no points on her license, just a lower fine and an agreement to take an online driving course. Honestly, it had been an easy fix. The judge barely even looked at him before waving it through, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to act like he’d just pulled off a legal miracle when Britta got here.

She was late, obviously.

Jeff checked his watch, then his phone. Nothing.

Right as he was about to text her something passive-aggressive, she came power-walking toward him, hair a little windblown, looking flustered. “Sorry,” she panted. “Bus was late.”

“You know,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets, “If only there was a more reliable form of transportation. Some kind of metal box with four wheels that a person could use to get to places on time… Oh, wait.”

Britta rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Hilarious. It’s in the shop for a service.”

Jeff handed her the paperwork. “I managed to get the fine knocked down. No points, but you have to take a driving course.”

She groaned. “Ugh, I hate those. They make you watch, like, an hour of videos about why speeding turns you into a war criminal.”

Jeff smirked. “That’s the price of freedom.”

She ignored him, flipping through the paperwork. Then, to his surprise, she looked up and said, “Seriously, though. Thanks.”

He shrugged, suddenly feeling a little too warm under the weight of whatever was happening. “Don’t mention it.”

Britta’s gaze lingered on him for a second before she folded up the papers and tucked them into her bag. “Guess I owe you one.”

“Yeah,” he said, smirking. “I’ll add it to your tab.”

They stood there for a beat too long, like neither of them knew how to end this. It had been so long since they’d been in the same place. Jeff had a sudden, ridiculous urge to ask if she wanted to grab coffee or something, but before he could even begin to unpack what that meant, Britta beat him to it.

“D’you wanna… go grab a drink? Just as a thank you. I’m buying.” She smiled, almost sheepishly.

Jeff blinked, caught off guard.

For a second, he considered it. His brain jumped straight to the usual—whiskey, low lighting, the easy buffer of a bar between them. It was familiar. Comfortable.

And completely not an option.

Not that he was in AA. Not that he was sober. Not that he wasn’t either of those things. It was complicated, and he wasn’t in the mood to untangle it, especially not in front of Britta. So he did what he did best—redirected.

“You hungry?” He said it lightly, like he wasn’t sidestepping a minefield. “I could go for something greasy and questionable.”

Britta narrowed her eyes for half a second, like she was trying to read between the lines, but then she just shrugged. “Yeah, alright. I know a place.”

They ended up at a hole-in-the-wall burger joint a few blocks away, the kind of restaurant that looked like it had been around forever and survived off the loyalty of people who didn't care about Yelp reviews. Jeff had passed it a hundred times before and never once thought to go inside, but Britta pushed open the door like she was a regular.

“Best fries in the city,” she announced as they stepped up to the counter. “The guy at the register might be high, and the grill has probably never been cleaned, but it’s all part of the experience.”

Jeff grimaced. “Wow, what a glowing endorsement.”

“Just wait.” She tapped the menu. “You’re getting the classic. Trust me.”

Jeff let her order for him, half because he didn’t care and half because it made it easier for him to pretend he wasn’t weirdly relieved to be sitting in a place that served food instead of alcohol. They grabbed a table by the window, and when their baskets arrived, Britta immediately reached for the fries, popping one into her mouth with a satisfied hum.

“You make that sound borderline inappropriate,” Jeff said, picking up his burger.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re gross.”

They ate in easy silence for a while, Britta tapping her fingers against the edge of the table, Jeff tearing pieces off a fry as he debated whether or not to say what was on his mind.

Eventually, he just went for it. “So, how’ve you been?”

Britta blinked, like the question caught her off guard. “I mean… fine? You?”

Jeff shrugged. “Fine.”

A beat.

She huffed a laugh. “Well, now that we’ve both deflected…”

“At least we’re self-aware.”

Britta shook her head, grabbing another fry. “I don’t know. It’s been—busy. I started volunteering at the animal shelter on 8th and Madison. And I’ve been trying to actually…” She gestured vaguely. “I don’t know. Be a person?”

Jeff chewed on that. It had seemed like she was doing better. Or at least, trying to. He just hadn’t been around to see it.

“Seeing anyone?” The question was out before he could stop it, way too casual for how much weight it carried in his head.

Britta didn’t react right away. Then she shrugged. “Kind of.”

Jeff froze for half a second, masking it with a sip of his soda. “Anyone I know?”

Britta glanced up and shrugged. “Probably not. His name’s Ryan. Works in marketing.”

Jeff resisted the urge to make a face, instead reaching for another fry like this was totally normal information that didn’t make his stomach knot in a way he refused to acknowledge.

“Cool,” he said, carefully neutral. “Good for you.”

Britta chewed on the inside of her lip, expression softening slightly as she caught something in his tone. “It’s not—like, serious. We’ve only gone out a couple of times.”

Jeff forced himself to nod. “Still. That’s, uh… great. I mean, dating’s good. Healthy.”

Britta snorted. “Yeah, alright, Dr. Phil.”

Jeff smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He wasn’t upset , exactly. After all, he’d made the call that ended things by keeping her in his back pocket instead of just dating her like a normal person. And it’s not like he’d never started seeing other people while they were hooking up in the past.

But it didn’t matter. None of that logic changed the fact that the news settled in his stomach like a stone. Abed’s words rang out again in his mind. Love is weird like that. He shoved them away as quickly they came.

“What about you?” She asked, snapping him out of it.

He paused before answering. “I’ve been alright. Catching up on some soccer I missed with Duncan, enjoying my time away from Greendale, defending insane women in court when they get speeding tickets. The usual.”

Britta tossed a balled up napkin at him, making a face like he was the most annoying person on the planet, but something twinkled in her eyes that gave her away.

After a moment, she asked, “No ladies? Or gentlemen friends?” She tacked on quickly at the end.

“Nope. Unless Duncan counts.”

Britta’s eyes widened. “You and—?”

“Not like that.” He said firmly. She slumped in the booth, looking somewhat disappointed.

“Well, I’m glad things are… good.”

“Yeah, I’m— glad things are good with you, too.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry that I waited to reach out until I needed something,” Britta said, scrunching her nose up in slight embarrassment. “I just thought it would be good for us to take some space.”

He nodded, messing with his straw to look busy. “I get it. I could’ve reached out and I didn’t. Same reason, I guess.”

“Wow,” She remarked. “That might be the first thing we’ve been on the same page about in almost eight years of knowing each other.”

Jeff suppressed a bittersweet smile. 

“Big day for us.” He quipped sarcastically.

When they parted ways, he didn’t know what to do with his hands. Not because they normally would have hugged or kissed or said goodbye in a way they couldn’t now, but because it felt like all his limbs were made of lead. It had been so relieving to see her again, looking like she was happy and healthy and not driven to edge of insanity by everything he’d done (or, more fittingly, not done) over the last year. But at the same time, it made life feel real again. 

Therapy, AA, all the time Jeff had spent working on himself… he’d been doing it in a vacuum. Seeing Britta again brought everything he had buried rushing to the surface. There was no more lying to himself, no more pretending he had it all together, no more pushing it aside. He was finally forced to reckon with the fact that he was the one who had to change. And he needed to do it for himself.

-----

That August, Craig commandeered Britta and Frankie’s backyard to throw what he called his ‘Summer Olympics Extravaganza.’ In reality, it was a small, end-of-summer get-together to watch the opening ceremonies in Rio when they aired on the 5th. He turned up to the house 3 hours early to ‘set up activities’ before the rest of the group arrived, which Frankie reluctantly agreed to under the condition he didn’t ‘disrupt’ any furniture that was already out there.

Britta was worried it might be awkward to have the whole group together again after so much time apart, but when Duncan walked through the door with Chang and Jeff in tow, looking like a little trio, she was just overwhelmingly happy to see them. It was easy to forget how it felt to miss people a normal amount, since she spent so much time missing the others in a way that equated to ripping a chunk of her chest out. The little emotions went overlooked.

When Jeff caught her eye, and something squeezed in her chest—not in a dramatic, life-altering way, just enough to make her feel off-balance. It wasn’t bad, exactly. It wasn’t even anything , really. Just a weird, unspoken shift. He looked the same, acted the same, but the easy shorthand they used to have wasn’t there in the way it used to be. It wasn’t tension, just... space. Gravitating towards other members of the group instead of each other as the default.

It made sense, especially after their lunch a few weeks before. They’d spent so much of the last year blurring lines they were never supposed to cross. Now there were boundaries—healthy, necessary ones—and she should’ve felt good about that. Proud, even. But sometimes, like right now, she wondered if she’d overcorrected. If, in trying to pull away from the codependency, she’d swung too far in the other direction. And then there was the part of her—the stupid, traitorous part—that worried the distance wasn’t her choice at all. That Jeff was the one keeping her at arm’s length. He was fine. He seemed fine. But then she’d look at him, really look at him, and it would hit her that they weren’t those people anymore.

Craig spent about ten minutes messing with the TV in the living room, trying to get the broadcast set up. Jeff stood behind him, ‘supervising’ in a way that mostly meant cracking jokes and nodding his head to seem important. Duncan, Britta, Chang, and Frankie gathered around the kitchen island, nursing cream sodas and catching up. Duncan pestered Britta about the classes she’d preliminarily registered for and she reluctantly relayed her schedule to him. Jeff pretended he wasn’t eavesdropping, staring hard at the remote sitting on top of the TV unit that Craig was scrambling around looking for.

They had about an hour and a half before the ceremonies were set to start, so Craig gathered everyone in the yard for the ‘Deanlympics’; a pun only a man on the brink of insanity could come up with, but they collectively decided to let it slide.

He clapped his hands together, beaming. “Alright! Before we can witness history in Rio, we must engage in our own test of physical prowess! The Deanlympics will consist of four main events: the relay race, the precision toss, the aquatic challenge, and the—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Jeff interrupted, holding up a hand. “Is the ‘aquatic challenge’ just you forcing us to use your inflatable kiddie pool?” He gestured to the sad, partially deflated thing in the corner of the yard.

Craig pursed his lips. “It’s an Olympic regulation kiddie pool, Jeffrey.”

Britta smirked. “Wow, so the real athletes use it? Is that what you’re saying?”

“It’s a… metaphorical regulation.”

Frankie sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Let’s just get this over with before I regret allowing this.”

They were split into teams at random, and of course, because the universe was funny like that, Jeff and Britta got paired together. They exchanged glances—hers skeptical, his unreadable—before Britta shrugged. “Well, at least you’re not the worst option.”

Jeff scoffed. “You should be grateful. Chang was on the table.”

“Hey,” Chang interjected, peeling the label off his cream soda. “I’m scrappy!”

Craig handed Britta a plastic baton wrapped in gold foil. “First event: the relay!

Britta figured that they could handle this one of two ways. They could either lean into the old rhythm, slipping into their usual brand of competitive, overly invested bickering like nothing had changed, or they could uphold the current circumstances, approaching it like two normal people. Teammates by circumstance, playing along for the sake of the group. 

Jeff made the choice for them when he nudged her in the side and said, “Okay, don’t fuck this up,” with a smirk that dared her to match his energy. And she did, because of course she did. It wasn’t just muscle memory pulling her into step with him—it was the fact that she didn’t actually know what the alternative looked like. Should they stop kidding themselves, start trying to figure out how to be Jeff and Britta instead of JeffandBritta? Or was that just overcorrecting again, convincing herself that putting distance between them was the right thing when, in reality, she didn’t know what she wanted at all?

And then there was Jeff. He was playing the part well, making cracks about their odds like this was all easy for him. But Britta had spent too much time being on the other end of Jeff Winger’s self-preservation to fall for that. The performance was too smooth, the jokes a little too well-timed, and the smirk just a little too practiced.

He rolled his shoulders and flexed his fingers like he was actually warming up. “Okay, just to be clear—do you remember how to run?”

And just like that, autopilot engaged. Britta scoffed. “Do you remember how to shut up?”

Duncan leaned in. “Oh, they’re back,” he said to Frankie, who just nodded, sipping her drink.

The race was simple enough—run to the end of the yard, tap the fence, and run back—but the execution was another story. Britta started strong, but about halfway to the fence, she somehow managed to miscalculate her own stride and fumbled the baton between both hands.

Jeff groaned dramatically. “Are you kidding me?”

“Shut up, I’ve got it!” Britta shouted, finally gripping it again.

By the time she made it back to Jeff, he snatched the baton from her hands, giving her an exaggerated glare before taking off toward the fence. He moved fast—annoyingly fast—like he had something to prove.

Britta folded her arms. “Show-off,” she muttered, but she was smiling.

When Jeff sprinted back and crossed the finish line, they barely won against Duncan and Chang. Jeff, ever the competitor, turned to Britta with a triumphant smirk. “Guess I still got it.”

Britta rolled her eyes, out of breath but grinning. “Yeah, yeah. Gold medal in arrogance.”

The rest of the Deanlympics played out in a predictably chaotic fashion. Jeff and Britta bickered their way through the precision toss, which was basically just cornhole from an increasingly absurd distance. Jeff had the better aim, but Britta had the better strategy—namely, talking so much that their opponents got distracted and missed. The aquatic challenge turned out to be a water balloon toss; they both refused to wear the pool floaties Craig provided “for immersion.” By the final event—an obstacle course of Craig’s own erratic design—they had hit their competitive stride, working together without overthinking it, the way they used to. When they somehow won the whole thing, Britta threw both arms in the air and let out a victory yell while Jeff smirked beside her, shaking his head like he wasn’t just as into it.

The group shuffled inside after that, gathering in the living room to watch the opening ceremonies. Craig, wrapped in a Team USA flag like a cape, sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV with rapt attention. The rest of them sprawled across the couches and chairs, still slightly damp from the ill-advised water balloon toss but too happy to care.

As the parade of nations began, Britta curled up on one end of the couch, her feet tucked under her. She glanced over to find Jeff leaning into the armrest on the opposite side, one arm draped casually over the back.

“Ten bucks says Duncan makes an inappropriate comment about the athletes,” she muttered.

Jeff huffed a quiet laugh. “Not taking that bet.”

Right on cue, Duncan leaned forward, pointing at the screen. “Blimey, look at the abs on that guy! Is it too late to take up rowing?”

Britta shot Jeff a smug look, and he just shook his head, fighting back a grin.

Frankie got unreasonably invested in the flag bearers’ form, critiquing their ability to hold a standard with the authority of someone who had never attempted it herself. Chang fell asleep halfway through, his head lolling onto Duncan’s shoulder, which Duncan protested but ultimately tolerated. Craig teared up during the lighting of the Olympic cauldron, clutching at his heart like he’d personally trained the athletes himself.

At some point, Britta shifted to grab her drink from the coffee table, and Jeff absentmindedly moved his legs so she could stretch hers out. It was nothing, really—just an unconscious adjustment, the kind you make when you know someone well enough to move in sync without thinking. It sat in the air between them for a moment, unspoken.

But then Britta pulled out her phone, the screen lighting up her face in the dim room. Jeff barely registered it at first, but once he caught the small, almost imperceptible smile she gave in response to whatever she was reading, something twisted in his chest. He didn't ask, didn’t need to—his brain filled in the gaps on its own. He tore his gaze away, stretching his arms over his head like he hadn’t just spent the last five seconds overthinking something that was none of his business. Britta didn’t notice, too absorbed in her screen, and Jeff told himself that was a good thing.

When the ceremony wrapped up, no one was quite ready to leave. The night had settled into that perfect late-summer warmth, and the fairy lights Frankie had left up cast a soft glow over the patio. They migrated back outside, gathering around the small fire pit that Craig insisted was essential for ‘Olympic camaraderie.’ Britta leaned back in her chair, letting the laughter and conversation wash over her. She glanced at Jeff, who was staring into the fire, a contemplative look on his face. When he caught her eye, he quirked an eyebrow, as if to say, What?

Britta hesitated. There was a time she wouldn’t have. A time when she would’ve immediately made some dumb remark just to get a rise out of him, or kicked at his ankle under the table to pull him back. Instead, she just shook her head and looked away, exhaling through her nose. Maybe things were fine, but fine didn’t mean simple, and it sure as hell didn’t mean easy.

Chapter Text

By December, things had settled into something that resembled normal, even if it wasn’t quite the same as before. The group saw each other at school regularly; Chang still teaching math, Duncan still teaching psych, Jeff still teaching law, Frankie still running things, Craig still pretending he was the one running things…

Britta was busier than she’d ever been, splitting her time between work, her online grad program, and Greendale’s campus, which she used as an unofficial study hall. It was a little ironic; she’d spent years fighting against the pull of this place and now she voluntarily came back, setting up in the library like some kind of academic ghost haunting her old life. But it worked for her. The program was tough, but she was keeping up, even if she felt like she was barely treading water a lot of the time.

Jeff and Britta made it a full year without anyone—aside from Frankie—figuring out what had happened between them, although it was obvious enough to the others that something had shifted. No one had ever gotten a straight answer, but that didn’t stop them from settling on their own assumptions. Duncan and Chang remained convinced the whole thing was temporary, just a commercial break before the show inevitably resumed. Craig agreed, but mostly because he was an optimist about love; or at least about love that kept his friend group interesting.

Frankie, knowing the whole story, was less romantic about it. She doubted they’d ever figure it out, and she wasn’t sure how she’d feel if they did. As much as she liked Jeff, hell would have to freeze over before she picked anyone’s side over Britta’s. And she wasn’t exactly eager to watch her go through another round of whatever the hell had happened before.

But they didn’t have to worry yet, because Britta was still seeing Ryan. Technically. 

They went out every once in a while. They always had a good time. But she knew, deep down, that she had one foot out the door, always waiting for some unnamed reason to leave. Probably because she was too busy to fully invest. Probably because she still felt like she was figuring herself out.

So it was a shock when he eventually beat her to it.

The way he’d ended things was fairly harmless. He talked about how it had been a while since they’d seen each other consistently and that it was getting pretty obvious they were both too busy to keep investing time if it wasn’t going to progress. Britta had nodded along, agreeing maybe a little too quickly, because what was there to argue? He wasn’t wrong. They hadn’t seen each other in weeks, and she was too busy, and neither of them had ever explicitly said they wanted something more. So, really, this was the best-case scenario.

She told herself that as she walked home that night, hands stuffed in her pockets, the cold stinging her cheeks. She told herself that when she got inside, kicked off her boots, and sat down on the edge of her bed, staring at the floor for longer than necessary. And she told herself that again the next day, when she kept opening her phone, instinctively checking for texts that wouldn’t come.

She hadn’t even liked him that much—she just liked that it had been easy. No drama, no history, no complicated feelings lurking underneath everything. It had been nice, for a while, to exist in something that didn’t feel like it was constantly threatening to combust. But maybe that was why it had ended so cleanly. Maybe neither of them had been in it enough to make it messy.

By the time New Year’s rolled around, Britta still didn’t have a concrete answer to why she felt so off about the whole thing. If she had to guess, she’d say it had less to do with the relationship itself and more to do with the fact that she still hadn’t told anyone but Frankie that it was over. Not because she was upset or embarrassed, but because saying that out loud made it real. She wasn’t sure what it would mean to be back in the space where Jeff was the only one around who really got her again.

Sometimes the others would ask about Ryan and Britta would give very neutral answers, especially if Jeff was around to hear them. She didn’t want to shatter the illusion yet, but she also didn’t want to be an asshole and lay it on too thick. When everything was said and done, she still cared about Jeff a lot; and, god, she missed him. Not like that, per-say, but she missed watching Master Chef Junior in his living room, comping his drinks at The Vatican, walking to the cafe down the street from his apartment for breakfast, and texting him when she got bored, even if it was 3am because both of them happened to be awake at the same time. She missed her best friend. 

-----

Jeff was dreading New Year’s for a number of reasons, but mainly because it was the kind of holiday where everyone drank like prohibition was starting January 1st. He’d come up with a laundry list of excuses for when someone inevitably commented on how he needed to ‘catch up’ to the rest of the group. Stuff about wellness and fitness and his skin, which were honestly pretty believable, considering the persona he’d carefully cultivated over the years. But thinking about it still left him unsettled, like he was betraying himself by putting guidelines around his own enjoyment.

The bar was packed, but it always was on New Year's Eve. The Vatican had been their spot for years now, ever since Britta started bartending there, so luckily for Jeff it felt like pretty neutral ground. He stood at a high-top table, nursing a club soda he hadn’t ordered himself. Ian had shoved it into his hand the moment he walked in, giving him a knowing look but saying nothing. Jeff had rolled his eyes but kept the glass anyway.

The others were all off doing their own thing—Britta and Chang picking a song at the jukebox, Craig chatting up a bartender who looked deeply disinterested, and Duncan weaving through the crowd, greeting people like he was running for office. Jeff exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. It was still early, but the night already felt long.

So far, he’d spent the most time talking to Frankie. They’d covered just about as much ground as they could (work, general Greendale absurdities, the upcoming semester) before a natural lull presented itself, the kind that made it easy to linger. She glanced around the bar, watching Britta and Chang argue while trying to set up impromptu beer pong on one of the tables. Chang caught Jeff’s eye and waved him over, but he brushed them off.

“Surprised you didn’t take that bait.” Frankie said, raising her eyebrows.

“Yeah, well, I’ve spent enough years letting both of them drag me into chaos. I can recognize the trap by now.”

She nodded approvingly. “Personal growth. I see it and I like it.”

“Well, you’ve always picked up on things quicker than most,” Jeff chuckled, idly swirling the ice in his glass.

“It’s called paying attention. More people should try it.”

Jeff smirked, but he could tell she was leading somewhere. It wasn’t until she glanced down at his club soda that he realized where.

“Although, the curse is that sometimes I accidentally stumble across things that are none of my business,” She said simply, before he could make some half-hearted excuse. After a moment, they added, “I just hope that whatever reason you have for keeping it quiet, it’s your own. No one would think less of you.”

Jeff frowned. “You think people would think more of me?”

“I think people care about you a lot more than you realize,” She said plainly.

He had no real response to that, so he just nodded, looking away.

A silence settled between them again. Jeff wasn’t sure what to make of it. He and Frankie weren’t as close as they once had been, but there was something about the way they looked at him now that made him feel like they could see right through him.

“Have you met Ryan yet?” Jeff asked, trying to change the subject to literally anything else.

Frankie studied his face for a second before answering. “A couple of times. He’s come to the house to pick her up before.”

“How long have they been…” He trailed off, awkwardly.

She shrugged. “You’d have to ask Britta. I’m not really sure.”

Jeff took another sip of his club soda, trying to pretend he didn’t wish it was something stronger. “I’m surprised he’s not here. Does she not want us to meet him or something?” He hoped the words didn’t sound bitter as they rolled off his tongue.

A long, intentional silence passed between them. Frankie seemed determined to look at anything else; the bartop, her glass, the lights strung across the ceiling. Jeff narrowed his eyes, confused and slightly suspicious.

After a moment, she sighed. “Against my better judgment, I’m going to tell you something.”

Jeff raised an eyebrow. “That’s a hell of a lead-in.”

She ignored him. “Britta and Ryan called things off.”

Jeff stared at her, his brain blanking for half a second before catching up. “What?”

“A couple of weeks ago.”

Jeff blinked, processing. “She didn’t… mention anything.”

Frankie gave him a small, knowing look. “I think she just didn’t want to deal with whatever reaction you’d have.”

Jeff exhaled sharply through his nose. “You think I’d gloat or something?”

“No,” They said, shaking their head. “I think it would make things complicated for her in a way she’s not ready for.”

That shut him up.

“Okay,” Jeff swallowed, keeping his face impassive. “Why are you telling me this?”

Frankie waited a moment before continuing, her voice gentler now. “I’m not saying you should do anything with this information. Or saying that I think it changes anything,” She paused. “But I also know tonight is probably more complicated for you than you’re letting on, and I thought… maybe this would make it a little easier.”

Jeff stared at his drink, feeling oddly exposed. “I’m fine,” he muttered.

“I believe that. Mostly,” Frankie sighed, lowering her voice slightly. “Look, I really care about Britta. And I don’t know if I trust you yet. Not fully. But I think… I think you’re trying.”

The words hit him harder than expected. Jeff met her eyes; she looked earnest, sincere. He wasn’t sure what to say. The two of them shared a brief moment of understanding before Frankie slowly turned away and headed off to join Craig. Jeff stayed where he was, staring down at his glass, his mind running in circles.

For the first time, he considered slipping out early; if he was tactful about it, no one would notice. Well, Frankie might, but she probably wouldn’t say anything. His mind kept cycling through their conversation, which was annoying because he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Britta’s ‘breakup’ like it meant something. He glanced at the door for a second, weighing his options, but before he could make a decision, Britta materialized, reaching past him for a napkin.

“What are you doing over here by yourself?” She asked, glancing at him as she straightened up.

Jeff shifted slightly. “Oh, you know. Just observing. Waiting for you to start lecturing someone about wealth inequality.”

Britta gave him a dry look as she tore her napkin in half. “I’m taking the night off from fighting the system, actually.”

“Wow. Historic. Should we get a plaque made?”

She rolled her eyes but smirked anyway. “Oh, shut up.”

A beat of silence stretched between them. Jeff took a sip of his club soda, suddenly aware of how much he didn’t want to talk about what he actually wanted to talk about. Britta’s gaze flickered to his glass, then back to his face. “No whiskey tonight?”

He kept his expression neutral. “Pacing myself.”

Britta hummed, unconvinced, but didn’t press. “Probably smart.”

He nodded as she tapped her fingers lightly against the bar. The moment teetered on the edge of something unspoken, like the weight of what he knew was pressing against the air between them. He thought about saying something—maybe just a casual So, no Ryan? —but before he could, Britta cleared her throat.

“Well,” she said, offering him a loose smile. “I should get back before Duncan tries to convince someone to arm-wrestle him for cash.”

Jeff huffed a laugh, some of the tension breaking. “My money’s on him losing.”

“Oh, obviously,” she said, already stepping away. “But it’ll be fun to watch.”

She was gone before he could think of a reason to make her stay. He wasn’t sure if he felt better or worse.

-----

By the time the bar’s TV screens switched to the New Year’s Eve broadcast, the atmosphere had shifted into something more chaotic. The countdown loomed, and the entire place had erupted into a frantic scramble as people paired off, eyeing potential midnight kiss options like they were picking teams for dodgeball.

Jeff, nursing a second club soda, watched the scene unfold with mild exasperation. Ian was already propositioning a woman who looked half-interested, half-trapped. Chang, somehow, had a willing participant. Frankie was sitting with a woman at the bar, cheers-ing their cocktails together.

Jeff turned his head just in time to see Britta reappear, looking equally unimpressed by the commotion. Their eyes met briefly before they both looked away, like they’d accidentally acknowledged something they shouldn’t have.

“God,” Britta muttered, crossing her arms. “It’s like watching people fight for lifeboats on the Titanic.”

Jeff smirked. “You’d think there’d be more dignity in it.”

She scoffed. “Not with this crowd.”

“Jeffrey!” Craig's voice rang out over the chaos, cutting through Jeff’s growing dread like a knife. He turned to find the Dean, expression half-frantic, half-hopeful, running over to them. “Jeffrey, who are you kissing at midnight? I need someone!”

Jeff's fight-or-flight instincts kicked in at full force. There were probably a thousand ways to get out of this, and yet, in his panic, his brain supplied only one.

“Britta,” He blurted.

Britta, mid-sip of champagne, nearly choked. “Huh?”

Craig’s eyes had already darted toward her, and Jeff could see the gears turning in his head. Britta must’ve sensed it too, because she made a face like she wanted to murder him and then—mercifully, begrudgingly—went along with it.

“Oh, yeah, we uh— have a pact.” She supplied, her tone flat.

Craig huffed in disappointment, weaving back through the crowd to try and lock down someone else. Jeff glanced over at Britta, grateful.

“We don’t actually have to—”

“Of all the things—”

“I didn’t mean—”

They both went quiet, trying to stop tripping over each others’ words.

He sighed. “I just panicked.”

“It’s whatever. I get it.” She nodded. They shifted apart slightly, barely perceptible.

The countdown on the TV blared: 30 seconds to midnight! It was mass hysteria now, partners locking in. Jeff looked out at the commotion, eyes suddenly landing on Craig as he talked to Chang and Duncan, gesturing in their direction. Duncan looked their way, his expression speculative.

Jeff stiffened. Britta must have noticed too, because she groaned under her breath. “Oh, come on.”

“Yup,” Jeff muttered. “We have a situation.”

She exhaled sharply, looking around like there might be another way out. “If we make a big deal about not kissing, we’ll never hear the end of it.” 

He just nodded.

20 seconds.

Jeff made the mistake of glancing at Duncan again—his eyebrows were raised now, expectant. Chang was staring too, like he'd already decided what was about to happen.

“Why are they all watching?”

Britta’s jaw tensed. “Do we just—?”

15 seconds.

Jeff sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I think we have to.”

Britta rolled her eyes. “Unbelievable.”

10 seconds! The bar was a frenzy of excitement now, everyone wrapped up in the moment.

Jeff met Britta’s gaze again, giving her a slight shrug. “I mean, we’ve done worse.”

She snorted, reluctant amusement flickering across her face. “Great. That’s reassuring.”

5… 4… 3…

They both hesitated until the very last second, like maybe something would intervene and save them from it.

2… 1…

The two of them leaned in as the room erupted into cheers, a synchronized act of reluctant obligation. It was barely even a kiss—just a press of mouths, perfunctory, meaningless in theory. But the second their lips met, the noise around them dulled, like a distant hum instead of an overwhelming roar. Something in Jeff’s chest tightened unexpectedly, an almost imperceptible hesitation keeping him from pulling away first.

As they finally parted, Britta leaned back just enough to look at him, her expression unreadable, her breath a little uneven.

“That was weird, right?” Her tone was light and unbothered in a way that just barely toed the line between believable and forced.

Jeff nodded, playing along. “Oh yeah. Very weird.”

He wondered if she meant it in the same way he did.

Neither of them moved. The cheers around them grew louder, but the moment between them felt unnervingly still. Jeff wasn’t sure what was happening, but he hated it. Or maybe he didn’t. Either way, it was a problem. A problem that should’ve been fixed by emotional distance, physical time apart, and dating other people but, for some reason, still lingered.

Britta was the first to break the standoff, stepping back with a strained laugh. “Cool. Just making sure.”

She turned and wandered back toward the group before he could say anything else, and Jeff let her go, gripping his glass a little too tightly. The taste of her champagne still lingered faintly on his lips. He took a long sip of his club soda to wash it away.

It didn’t work.

-----

Britta was on her seventh—maybe eighth?—drink by the time Jeff started to clock that something was off. She was on a mission, clearly, but for what, he wasn’t sure. Just one drink down, onto the next. And she was being loud—louder than usual, anyway, talking at full volume even when she was only a foot away from someone, giggling in the way she only did when she was completely gone. Jeff decided it probably had to do with Ryan, a classic example of post-relationship self-destruction—if a few months of casual dating and half-hearted texts even counted as a relationship. Really, it seemed more like the inevitable conclusion to something that had never been built to last.

Although, Jeff knew from experience that didn’t always make things easier.

The party slowly started thinning out. Frankie left around 1am, giving some vague excuse about having an “early morning” (who has an early morning on New Year's Day?) but not before making extended eye contact with the woman she’d kissed at midnight. The moment Britta caught on, she elbowed Jeff and whispered, “Frankie has a secret sex life , and I for one am thrilled,” before promptly ordering two more shots.

That had been two and a half drinks ago. Now she was leaning lazily up against the bartop, knocking back another vodka neat like it was water.

“Alright,” Jeff finally muttered to himself, setting his glass down. He hadn’t planned on babysitting tonight, but if he didn’t step in, she was going to wake up tomorrow with the kind of hangover capable of launching people into psychosis. He made his way over just as she flagged down the bartender.

“You trying to die?” he asked, leaning against the counter beside her.

She turned, blinking at him. “What?”

Jeff gestured vaguely at the bartender, who was in the middle of pouring whatever Britta had just asked for. “I think you hit your limit, like, two rounds ago. Maybe three.”

Britta scoffed, wobbling slightly as she turned back toward the bar. “Oh, please. You don’t get to lecture me about limits.”

“I actually do, considering I’m not the one who’s been hitting the bar like it’s an endurance sport.”

She ignored him, instead taking a slow sip of her drink, swaying slightly. The confidence was still there, but something about it felt… off. Forced, almost. Jeff knew drunk Britta, all the shades of her intoxication—from her loud, belligerent rants about the government to her sloppy, affectionate “I love you, man” speeches. This was different.

Her fingers tapped absently against the side of her glass. “I think I’m gonna be a bartender,” she announced.

Jeff furrowed his brow. “You are a bartender.”

“No, I mean, like, for real.” She gestured vaguely. “Like, I’ll move to, I don’t know, Spain or something. Start over. New year, new me.”

Ah. So that was the level of drunk they were at.

“We went to Greendale. You don’t know Spanish.”

“I’ll learn .”

Jeff exhaled sharply, trying to decide if he actually cared enough to talk her out of this one. He settled for, “Sounds great. Except that it would make those student loans you’re racking up pretty pointless.”

Britta hummed noncommittally and tilted her head toward him. “You know, you’re being very negative right now. You should work on that.”

He studied her for a second, her loose posture, her unfocused eyes. He should just let it go—chalk it up to Britta being Britta and let her drink herself into oblivion like she clearly wanted. But something about it sat wrong.

Maybe it was the way she still hadn’t said a word about her and Ryan breaking up, despite having ingested at least twenty ounces of what was essentially truth serum. Or the way she’d barely been in the conversation for a couple hours now, despite being one of the loudest people in the room 90% of the time. Or maybe it was the fact that she hadn’t looked at him—not really—since midnight.

Jeff, feeling way too sober for this situation, sighed. “Alright, come on.”

Britta frowned. “Huh?”

“You’re done,” he said, reaching for her glass. She yanked it away before he could get to it, holding it protectively against her chest.

“No, you’re done,” she countered, though it wasn’t her best work.

Jeff just stared at her, unimpressed. “Britta.”

She let out a long, exaggerated groan and slumped into the closest bar stool, setting her forehead against the bartop. “Ughhh. Fine. But I’m finishing this one.”

“Great. Can’t wait.”

Jeff passed his card to the bartender to close out their tabs. Britta eventually lifted her head, blinking blearily at her drink before sighing and downing the rest in one go. She set the empty glass down with a definitive clink, then pointed at Jeff like she’d just solved a puzzle.

“You know what your problem is?” she asked, her voice dipping into the faux-wise tone she used whenever she was about to make a truly awful point.

“I have a feeling you’re gonna tell me.”

Britta nodded solemnly, as if this were a very serious matter. “You don’t know how to have fun.”

He gave her a flat look. “Britta, you just tried to move to Spain ten minutes ago. I think we might have different definitions of ‘fun.’”

“See? Buzzkill,” she mumbled, resting her chin in her palm.

Jeff smirked. “And yet, here we are.”

Britta didn’t answer right away. When she finally turned her head to look at him, her expression was looser now, a little less performative, a little more real. The alcohol had softened her usual sharp edges, but it had also stripped away just enough of her bravado to show the cracks underneath.

She blinked slowly, like she was seeing him for the first time all night. Then she frowned, suddenly perplexed. “Why are you here?”

Jeff raised an eyebrow. “At the bar?”

“No, I mean… why are you still here? Everyone else is gone. You could’ve left.”

He hesitated, caught off guard by the unexpected shift.

“Someone had to make sure you didn’t try to immigrate tonight,” he said, aiming for light, but the words just sounded like a deflection.

Britta studied him for another second, then rolled her eyes and pushed herself upright. “Whatever,” she muttered, attempting to stand.

It didn’t go great.

The second she straightened up, she swayed precariously, nearly toppling sideways before Jeff instinctively grabbed her arm.

“Okay, yeah, we’re done,” he said firmly, looping an arm around her waist to steady her.

Britta groaned but didn’t argue, which was probably the clearest indication yet of how drunk she actually was. She let him guide her toward the exit, her steps wobbly and uncoordinated.

Outside, the cold air hit her like a slap, and she let out a dramatic gasp. “Oh my God ,” she whined. “Why is it so cold ?”

“Because it’s January.”

“This is cruel,” she grumbled, shoving her hands into her coat pockets. “This is oppression.”

Jeff ignored her, scanning the street. “Where’s your Uber?”

Britta blinked. “What?”

“You called one, right?”

She gave him a look like he’d just asked her to solve a math equation. “…No?”

Jeff sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus, Britta.”

He pulled up the app on his phone, but something about the idea of shoving her into a stranger’s car in this state didn’t sit right. It wasn’t like he trusted Uber drivers under normal circumstances, but Britta was Britta —which meant that, on top of being completely wasted, she’d probably try to start a deep political conversation with the driver and end up debating foreign policy with a guy named Greg at four in the morning. Or worse, she'd just pass out and wake up in a panic, thinking she'd been kidnapped.

He could take her back to her place, but the thought of leaving her alone when she was this drunk made his stomach clench uncomfortably. And he felt pretty confident that Frankie wouldn’t be there to keep an eye on her.

Shit.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, already regretting what he was about to say.

“Alright, come on,” he muttered, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“Where are we going?”

“My place.”

She sluggishly processed the words. Then she made a face. “Ew.”

Jeff rolled his eyes. “Not like that, dumbass. You’re hammered, and I’m not letting you die in a ditch or, worse, make a scene in the middle of the street trying to get home by yourself.”

Britta squinted at him like she was trying to find a reason to argue, but either she couldn’t think of one or she was just too tired to care.

“Fine,” she mumbled.

Jeff rolled his eyes but looped an arm around her waist as they made their way toward his car. She leaned into him more than he expected, her body warm and unsteady against his.

They reached his Lexus, and Jeff maneuvered her into the passenger seat. She immediately slumped against the headrest with a dramatic sigh.

“Ugh, I hate this,” she groaned.

“Well, you should’ve stopped at least two drinks ago.”

“No, I hate that you have a nice car. It makes me feel like a sellout every time I sit in it.”

Jeff shut her door, walked around to the driver’s side, and slid into his seat. “You’re literally letting me chauffeur you home for free.”

Britta snorted. “Exactly. Capitalism wins again.”

The response made no sense, but Jeff just shook his head and started the engine.

They drove in relative silence for a few minutes, Britta slouched against the window, eyes half-lidded but still awake. The streetlights cast quick-moving shadows across her face, and every once in a while, Jeff would catch her looking at him before she hastily turned away.

Halfway through the drive, she spoke up again, her voice softer this time.

“You don’t have to do this.”

Jeff kept his eyes on the road. “Yeah, well. Here we are.”

Britta hummed, like that was enough of an answer.

A few minutes later, they pulled into his apartment complex. She made a noise of protest when he opened her door, but she let him help her out anyway. Inside, she toed off her shoes in the entryway, immediately making herself at home in a distinctly Britta way—like she belonged everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Jeff exhaled. “Alright, you can crash on the couch—”

Britta had already collapsed onto it.

“Yeah, that tracks.”

He grabbed an extra blanket from the hall closet and tossed it over her.

For a second, he thought she’d already passed out, but then she shifted, peeking up at him with an unreadable expression.

“Hey, Jeff?” she murmured.

He hesitated. “Yeah?”

She blinked, lips parting like she wanted to say something, but then she just sighed and shook her head. “Nevermind.”

Jeff frowned. He thought about pressing her, but she was already closing her eyes, the tension in her body finally easing.

“Happy New Year, Britta,” he said quietly.

She didn’t answer, but in the dim light of his apartment, he could just barely make out the faintest curve of her lips.

Chapter Text

It had been exactly 587 days since Annie said goodbye and she had finally started to forget.

Forget the horrible ache she’d felt as she turned in the keys to the apartment they’d shared with Troy. Forget the heaviness in her chest as she walked towards the airport, like it was her last chance to be who they all knew her to be—before she wasn’t ‘Greendale Annie’ anymore. Forget the anguish that racked her body as Jeff hung up that night in July and she realized the study group would never exist as it once had ever again. 

Things were going well for Annie on paper. She loved everything about DC—her job, her coworkers, her cramped studio apartment across the street from the dry cleaners and the bakery. She even enjoyed living alone again, appreciative that this time it came without waking up to the sound of gunshots and fending off the creepy old men who hung around outside the marital aid shop her old place sat on top of. And she was climbing the ranks already, finding a strong sense of purpose and fulfillment in her work, the only caveat being that she had to pretend she wasn’t deeply sad every time she so much as walked through a Target, dodging the cat treats, stationary, and DVDs like her life depended on it.

Annie didn’t hear much from the study group these days, aside from Britta’s stand-alone call back in May. The Save Greendale Committee chat hadn’t been touched in months, the Greendale Seven chat even longer. She’d get the occasional meme from Chang, a monthly check-in text from Frankie. Every once in a while, she’d send Shirley a recipe or Britta a Psychology Today headline. They talked, they were friendly, but Annie wasn’t sure that still made them friends.

As soon as she’d locked the library doors behind her that final night, she knew the magic was gone; it had been fading for a while. Without Troy, Abed dwindled, and the rest of them just followed suit. The thing nobody tells you about growing up is that your friends don’t get to grow with you. They have their own lives and goals and paths to wander. As Abed would say, all good series must come to an end. Stepping onto that plane was the end of the Greendale series and the start of something new.

Her days now went like this: alarm blaring at 6:30am, out of bed and in the shower by 7, out of the house fed and well-dressed by 8, and then on the bus for 45 minutes before reaching the office she’d now worked at for nearly two years. The job was mostly paperwork, but every so often she’d have the chance to shadow one of the forensic scientists that worked in her division and that made every excel spreadsheet worth its weight in gold.

After work, she would either get drinks with some coworkers or just head right home to cook dinner, read a couple chapters of whatever book she was working through at the time, and go to sleep by 11pm to make sure she was set up for success the next day. If she thought too hard about it, a twinge of sadness would seep through the cracks. There was nothing she missed more than blanket forts, movie marathons, and coming home to her best friends asking about her day, always quick to make her smile if it had been particularly difficult.

It wasn’t that Annie hadn’t tried to make friends in DC, she had. In fact, she’d sort of done all that she could to find people there. But it was hard to make friends in your twenties, especially when everyone she worked with was older and in a different stage of life. At Greendale it had felt so much simpler—everyone was on the same level, working together for the same outcome. It had been so long since the person knocking at her door was dressed in some insane costume to promote awareness for an event that made almost no sense, since she’d had to jump into action to save the day. 

The Greendale effect was fading.

And sure, she could probably find a half-decent forensics job in Colorado, but going back felt like admitting defeat. Annie hated to fail—refused to actually, after everything that had happened. She couldn’t move back to Greendale now. Not after Jeff wouldn’t fall on the sword by telling her to come home and Frankie had spent time connecting her with so many people in DC. And anyway, Abed was still in LA, finding success in the film industry. She didn’t want to be the only one who couldn’t hack it.

Abed was the one Annie still talked to the most. Their biweekly calls were non-negotiable on the calendar and kept her going. He was her last real, consistent tie to home. Sometimes they talked about their new lives, other times they talked about memories of Greendale. They’d relay to each other the things they missed about their old apartment and show off the trinkets they’d put on display in their new places to remind them of before. Every couple of days, Abed would send a text with an old video attached to some quippy caption, like “Can you believe she wasn’t Valedictorian?” under Britta sleeping on the study room table in the middle of the afternoon. 

The one thing they never talked about was Troy. When he came up in conversation, Abed would get quiet or change the subject, unwilling to open the emotional can of worms that came with acknowledging his absence. Annie missed Troy desperately, but knew it was better to keep things light than force Abed to process something he wasn’t ready for. His departure from the group had left a permanent rift, and now that the rest of them had gone their separate ways, it was too late to fully repair it.

It wasn’t exactly a secret that Abed’s bond with Troy was different from the way he cared about the rest of them. Their friendship had run deeper than most, and Annie had understood that for a long time. Abed didn’t love Troy the way she loved him—his feelings were something else entirely. Maybe something like the way Britta felt about Jeff, or the way Neil felt about Vicki. At one point, she might have even called them soulmates. But after Troy left, all she wanted was for Abed to find a way forward. There was no timeline for Troy’s return, no guarantee at all, and as his friend, she just wanted him to make peace with that and keep moving.

A couple nights before the news came in, the two of them had one of their regularly scheduled FaceTime calls. Abed had just gotten his first non-PA job and was about to start working as a camera assistant on a new HBO series. This was, according to him, just the next stepping stone on the way to funding the indie film he’d been writing, and he was feeling incredibly optimistic about it.

“It’s sort of like RoboCop meets Raiders meets Back to the Future , but with sorcery.” He explained, as Annie plated her chicken and turned off the oven.

“Your film?”

“No, the HBO series. They’re trying to redeem themselves, since Game of Thrones is going downhill. Which, in my opinion, is going to be almost impossible since they cast Mark Wallberg as the lead. That guy blows.”

“Well, it sounds amazing, I’m so proud of you!” Annie gushed, propping her phone up against her water glass. “Have you told the others?”

“Not yet, I wanted you to be the first to know. I’ll probably text Jeff tomorrow.”

She nodded and an awkward pause passed between them. 

“When was the last time you two talked?” He asked.

“I mean… my birthday, I guess? He texted me a nice message, I texted him back.” 

Abed made a vague noise of dissent in response.

“...What?”

He shrugged. “Feels out of character for both of you.”

“Well, we’re not the ‘characters’ we used to be.” She frowned. “I’m just over him blaming everyone else for his own issues, you know? Ever since that phone call I just… can’t deal with it.”

“It seems like he’s trying, though. What about the text he sent on Valentine’s Day?”

Annie shook her head. “One text doesn’t erase everything else.”

Abed considered this for a moment. “Fair enough.” A beat. “But don’t you think talking to him would resolve the tension? Finally get things back to normal? That worked for me.”

“This is our normal, Abed. It’s been a year and a half since I took the permanent position here, this is just… the new normal.”

“I think that’s an excuse.” He studied her face through the screen. “I think you feel more comfortable not dealing with conflict, but you have to push yourself out of your comfort zone to evolve.”

Annie was taken aback. “Okay, Abed, when was the last time you talked to Jeff?”

He pondered this. “A couple of weeks ago, right before Christmas. He texted me to say he watched a movie he thought I would like. Carlito’s Way . Great billiards player, terrible taste in movies.”

“And when was the last time you texted in the main group chat?”

Checking his phone, Abed replied, “September 7th. Shirley sent a photo of a potato chip that looked like Dwayne the Rock Johnson and I said, ‘cool^4’. Then Chang reacted to my text with exclamation points.”

“See! New normal! It’s not only Jeff, I mean, none of us talk that often anymore. Everything changed after we left.”

“I guess so.” 

He sounded unconvinced.

-----

New Year’s came and went, uneventful and unremarkable for Annie, who spent the night ordering takeout and watching the ball drop alone in her living room. When she woke up on January 1st, she decided definitively that it was time for a reset. There were a million chores to tackle—laundry, vacuuming, all the little, tedious tasks she had to handle herself now, a consequence of living alone—and a million things to declutter, donate, or sell. Cleaning was as good a distraction as anything from the nagging thought that maybe she should be doing something else.

Shouldn’t she be out somewhere? By now, surely, she should know people who would invite her to ring in 2017 with them. But, on the other hand, work was exhausting and this week had been especially draining, with everyone scrambling to catch up after Christmas. As soon as the clock had struck 6pm on Friday, she’d rushed home, eager to talk to Abed and spend 72 glorious hours not thinking about DNA reports.

In the midst of her reset, on a whim, Annie decided to check her mail. She rarely got anything worthwhile—just spam flyers and politicians begging for her support—unless it came in a package at her door. Still, it seemed like a good idea to clear it out every once in a while and make room for more. So, for the first time in at least a week, she slipped the little gold key into the lock and pulled the mailbox open.

As expected, there were a couple leaflets of coupons, an envelope from a bank saying she was pre-approved for their credit card… but then a letter stopped her in her tracks.

Troy Barnes

Ocean Villa Inn

5142 W Point Loma Blvd

San Diego, CA 92107

Annie Edison

1155 Dahlia St NW, Unit D14

Washington, DC 20012

Shock hit Annie like a bucket of ice water. She stood frozen for a moment before snapping back to reality, tossing the rest of the mail into the trash and rushing upstairs to her apartment.

San Diego. He was in San Diego. How long had he been there? Was he going home? Annie’s hands trembled slightly as she grabbed her phone from the coffee table and tapped the FaceTime icon next to Abed’s contact.

Come on, pick up pick up pick up.

“Annie?” Abed’s face appeared on the screen, his expression neutral but observant as he took in her wide eyes and tense posture.

“Abed—” She started, her voice tight.

“What’s wrong? You look more pale than usual.” He said, his head tilted slightly.

Annie swallowed hard. “You have to promise not to freak out.”

He blinked. “I can’t make that promise before you give me context.”

“You have to promise not to freak out!” She insisted, her voice pitching higher with urgency.

“I can’t—”

“Abed!!!”

“Okay, fine, I promise!” He relented, holding up a hand in surrender. His brow furrowed slightly. “What’s going on? Are you hurt?”

Annie shook her head quickly. “Have you checked your mail today?”

He paused. “No, I’m not home. I had to go to the lot to get an updated shot list. You really called to ask me that?”

“Abed, I think you should sit down.”

With a look of hesitation, he opened the door to his car and slid into the driver's seat. “Okay.”

Annie took a deep breath, exhaling slowly before flipping her camera around to face the envelope. The color drained from his cheeks.

“...He wrote you?” It was nearly a whisper.

“He’s back. In the US. His return address is some hotel in San Diego.”

Abed’s eyes were wide with a mixture of excitement and disbelief. “What does it say?”

“I haven’t read it yet, I was waiting for you!”

“Open it!”

“Okay, okay!”

Annie tore through the seam of the envelope and yanked out the contents inside. On top of a folded piece of paper sat a sun-bleached polaroid of Troy at some zoo, wearing his captain’s hat. In the background, a Kangaroo stood with a baby in her pouch. Scribbled along the white border, Troy had written, “Life-sized Ruthie”. Tears welled in her eyes as she glanced over at the Kangaroo plushie she’d once brought to a Greendale Sleep Study, now sitting on her bed in a different time zone.

“What’s wrong?” Abed asked, studying her face.

“There’s a picture. Of him in Australia or something.” She held the polaroid up.

He stared for a moment, his expression unreadable. “What does the letter say?”

Annie,

How have you been? The Dean tells me you’re working for the FBI now. Is it like Criminal Minds? Have you flown on a private jet? I’ve always wanted to do that.

“Have you flown on a private jet?” Abed interrupted.

“Of course not! I don’t think the forensics team even has access to a private jet…”

He nodded, taking this in. “Hm. Disappointing.”

It’s been a long three years. I’ve missed you guys more and more every day since I left. LeVar has been a sick companion, though. Did you know that dude is basically an expert geologist? He’s pointed out so many weird rocks to me. Not sure if that makes him cool or kind of lame. Maybe both? He’s sort of like a dad to me now. I’m gonna miss him.

“Does that mean he’s going home?” Abed asked, sharp with urgency.

Annie fanned him off. “Shhh, let me read it!”

Right now I’m in California. We docked in San Diego a couple of days ago and it's pretty cool. Kind of nice to be back in a place where I’m not stuck translating everything on my phone. I am BAD at Spanish. Did Chang ever actually teach us anything? All I can remember is how to ask where the library is and tell someone my name. 

I’ll be here for the next week finishing things with the executor of Pierce’s will. Remember that guy? Really weird dude who took us all out for drinks after the polygraph test? I guess Pierce said that he had to meet us here when we finished the expedition to confirm I met his terms. In a couple of days I’ll be bequeathed everything which means…

I’M COMING BACK TO GREENDALE! BOOYAH! Did you see it coming? You probably did. You were always the smart one :) I know you’re off being super important in DC, but you HAVE to come back into town. The Dean is throwing a huge party on campus to celebrate and I’m planning a study group reunion for all of us too. It won’t be the same without you, so tell your boss to suck it! (just kidding, don’t do that, I don’t want to get you fired)

I’m buying everyone’s plane tickets, so just tell me what flight you want to be on and I’ll take care of it. I’m basically loaded now, so it’s no big deal and I’m not taking no for an answer. Also, I just put my old sim card back into my phone, so I’m still at my old number. Text me when you get this and we can figure it out.

I can’t wait to see everyone. Tell them to check their mail when you have a chance. I trust Shirley to check hers, not sure about everyone else (especially Britta).

Talk to you soon :)

Troy

It was about a minute before either of them said anything. Abed because he seemed to still be in shock Troy had written at all, and Annie because she was struggling to process that, for the first time in three years, all of them would be back in Greendale. This time next week.

“You need to check your mail.” Annie said weakly, dropping the letter on the table. 

“Seems that way.” Abed said, his tone distant, like his brain was still buffering.

Annie hesitated. “Are you okay?”

He pressed his lips together, considering, before finally responding. “Yeah, I’m cool. Cool cool cool.”

“It’s okay if you’re freaking out a little—”

“I promised you I wouldn’t freak out.” Abed cut in, his voice even but firm.

“Well, I’m taking it back, freak out if you need to freak out.”

His eyes flicked up to meet hers. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

A beat passed before, “What does he mean next week? How am I supposed to drop everything and fly to Colorado on this short of notice? I don’t even think I get vacation time! And he’s in San Diego? That’s 2 hours from where I am right now and I’m supposed to be normal about that?”

“It’s Troy! I don’t think he meant anything by it, he probably just didn’t want to butt back into your life without telling you first!” Annie insisted, trying to help.

“I’ve waited three years for him to get back and he only gives us a week’s notice? It’s diabolical.”

“I think diabolical might be a liiiittle dramatic.”

“Let me spiral for a minute!”

“Okay, sorry!” Annie conceded, holding her hands up in defeat.

“We have to call the others.” He said urgently, shuffling around papers in his passenger seat.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to find my call sheets to see if I can even go.”

“Abed, you have to go.”

“Not if I can’t get the time off.”

“Abed, you have to go.”

“Annie—”

“I’m serious!” She said firmly. “It’s not even about Troy, I can’t do this without you! We haven’t all been together in so long, I need you there. You’re my rock, Abed.”

He stopped shuffling. “That’s true. You are known to crumble in emotional situations.”

“See? Exactly!”

He glanced down at the call sheet and then up at Annie, who was giving him what Jeff had lovingly dubbed her ‘Disney Princess eyes.’

After a few seconds of internal conflict, he finally sighed. “I’ll figure something out.”

“YAY! Thank you, Abed! If I was in California, I would hug you right now!”

“Save it for next week,” He said, his heart swelling momentarily at the thought. “But seriously, we need to call the others.”

-----

A sharp, insistent knocking dragged Jeff out of sleep. It burrowed into his brain, each heavy rap against the door making his skull throb in protest. He groaned and rolled onto his side, pressing his face into the pillow, willing whoever it was to lose interest and go away. The world outside could wait.

The knocking didn’t stop.

He cracked an eye open and immediately regretted it—the overcast daylight filtering through his window was too much for four hours of sleep. His head was thick with fatigue, his mouth dry, his limbs heavy, the air in his apartment vaguely stale. The bedroom door was wedged open just enough that he could see the dim glow of daylight filtering in from the living room. For a second, he forgot why he’d left it that way—then he heard a faint groan from the couch. 

Right. Britta.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and glanced at his clock. 9:04 a.m.

“Jesus Christ,” He muttered to himself. Who the hell was knocking on his door this early? It was New Year’s Day. The world wasn’t supposed to function before noon.

Another round of knocking, this time louder. Britta let out a low, miserable sound from the other room. Jeff sighed, pushing himself upright with the kind of sluggish determination reserved for true necessity. His back cracked as he stretched, pulling the stiffness from his limbs. He barely felt human, but it would have to do.

Britta was sprawled on his couch, curled into herself, face half-buried in a throw pillow. The glass of water he’d set out for her last night stood, untouched and abandoned, on the coffee table. She cracked one eye open at him as he walked past, and even that effort seemed to cost her.

“Kill them,” she rasped.

Jeff huffed. “Gladly.”

Another sharp knock. 

“We’re coming, you can stop that now!” He shouted. Britta made a guttural sound of betrayal.

Maybe it was because they’d gotten home from the bar at 4am, leaving him with barely four hours of sleep—or because he’d fully been expecting to see Craig, waiting with some weird request—but once Jeff opened the door, it took him a full five seconds to register what was going on.

Frankie Dart stood in the hallway, looking suspiciously well-rested for someone who had definitely done a walk of shame this morning. Her hair was neat, her coat was pristine, it even looked like she had showered.

“Frankie?” Jeff said, feeling more confused than before.

A muffled groan came from the couch. “Who is it?” Britta hissed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Frankie lifted an eyebrow, looking suspiciously between them. “Britta?”

Jeff sighed, running a hand down his face. “She was hammered, and I didn’t want her to be alone.”

“I can hear you,” Britta grumbled.

Frankie peered past Jeff, taking in Britta’s barely-conscious state. “Clearly,” They said dryly. “Can I come in? It’s important.”

He stepped to the side to let her through. “It better be, it’s 9am on a Saturday.”

“9am? Oh my god . ” Britta whined.

Frankie followed him in, eyeing Britta as she collapsed further into the couch like a dying Victorian child. “Are you sure she’s not in a coma?”

“I wish,” Britta muttered.

“Is this about Chang?” Jeff asked, walking into the kitchen and pulling a bag of coffee grounds out of a cabinet. “Because I know he’s been spending some time in the vents again, but I think it’s mostly out of nostalgia so maybe we should just not poke that bear.”

Frankie waved him off. “I already talked to Ben, we made him sign a waiver that keeps the school from being liable if he contracts something weird while he’s in there, so that’s taken care of.”

“Okay, then what’s up?” He asked, motioning for them to sit down at the counter. 

“I’m guessing you haven’t checked your mail today?”

“How are neither of you hungover?” Britta interrupted, wailing.

Jeff sighed heavily and looked over at her. “Hey, drunky-brewster. Drink your water and go change into something that doesn’t look like it was rolled through a gutter,” He said, eyeing her wrinkled dress and smudged makeup.

Britta cracked one bloodshot eye open. “I’ll have you know this dress was very expensive.”

“I can smell the tequila from here,” Jeff shot back. “And I don’t even think you were drinking tequila.”

Britta groaned, dragging herself into a semi-upright position. “Fine. But if I die in there, my ghost is haunting you specifically.”

“You would have haunted me anyway.”

She rolled off the couch with the enthusiasm of someone walking to the gallows and trudged toward his bedroom. Jeff grabbed three mugs from the shelf and turned back to Frankie, who was watching the exchange with mild amusement.

“Cream and sugar?” He asked, walking to the fridge.

“Whatever you have is fine.”

Britta shuffled back into the room a minute later, now swallowed by one of Jeff’s Greendale sweatshirts and a pair of sweats that barely clung to her hips, despite having been rolled about four times. They both stared at her, trying not to laugh. She tugged at the waistband with a scowl.

“You look… cozy.” Frankie said with an approving nod.

“I look like a child wearing her dad’s clothes in a custody hearing,” Britta muttered, sliding onto the barstool next to her. “And you’d be surprised how difficult it was to find these. He basically only owns fitted joggers or dystopian businessman compression gear.”

Frankie nodded, knowingly. “Oh, I’ve seen studies about this. Men’s obsession with compression gear is usually tied to some psychological need for—”

“Okay,” Jeff cut in, setting a mug in front of each of them. “Before we deep-dive into why I have great calves , can someone tell me why I’m hosting a TED Talk at nine in the morning?”

Frankie took a careful sip of her coffee. “I’m just saying…”

“Frankie.” Jeff leaned against the counter, leveling a look at her. “Why. Are. You. Here?”

“Yes, right!” She said, clapping her hands together. Britta flinched at the sound. “So, you haven’t checked your mail?”

Jeff gave them a look. “What do you think?”

“Right. Then I’m guessing this will come as a bit of a shock.” They said, pulling an envelope out of their coat pocket and placing it face down on the granite.

Troy Barnes

Ocean Villa Inn

5142 W Point Loma Blvd

San Diego, CA 92107

Britta Perry

2450 S University Blvd, Unit B

Greendale, CO 80210

“Troy?” Britta said breathlessly, suddenly much more lucid.

Jeff stared at the letter for a long beat, unsure of what to say. It was his handwriting, his name.

“You asked me if I’d checked my mail… do you think I have one of these?” He asked, trying to reign in the intensity he was feeling.

She nodded. “I do.”

Another knock at the door. Frankie stood up, wincing apologetically. “I’ll get it. Pretty sure it’s my fault.”

Jeff and Britta exchanged looks. 

“Tell me that doesn’t mean what I think it means.”

“Haaaaappy Satur-Dean!” Craig came striding into the living room. “Is someone making coffee? It smells great in here.”

“Hi, Dean.” Britta mumbled, plastering a forced smile across her face.

“Well, hello, Britta!” Craig greeted, ignoring the evidence of her obvious hangover. “I see you’ve got your letter. I took the liberty of getting Jeffrey’s mail for him—”

“How did you even—”

“A magician never reveals his secrets!” Craig said with a wink, passing a stack of envelopes and magazines over the counter to him.

“He does if you put him under oath.” Jeff mumbled to himself, flipping through the stack until he landed on his own name, written in the same scribbly handwriting.

“You have one?” Britta asked, expectantly. Jeff nodded back at her, half in shock.

“Well, come on, open them already!” Craig exclaimed, practically vibrating with excitement as he leaned forward onto the counter.

Jeff glanced at Britta, who looked back at him, bleary-eyed but more awake than before. After a moment, they tore into the envelopes, each pulling a personalised letter out.

The room was silent except for the crinkle of paper and the occasional scrape of a coffee mug against the counter. Jeff scanned the words carefully, afraid he’d miss something—like if he blinked too long, the letters would rearrange themselves into something else, something disappointing.

Britta was the first to break the silence. She inhaled sharply, her eyes widening. “He’s… coming back.” Her voice wavered between disbelief and overwhelming joy. She read it again just to make sure, then lifted her head, breaking into a grin so bright it nearly made Jeff’s chest ache. “Jeff, he's coming back. Next week.”

It was, to date, the best news he had ever received. The kind of news that should have felt impossible, like waking up and realizing the past several years had just been some weird, overly long dream. His jaw tensed, still processing, still bracing for some kind of catch. His fingers hovered over the paper, as if testing its reality.

“Is this real?” His voice came out lower than he expected, more vulnerable. He looked up at Frankie, as if she had the final say in whether or not this was actually happening.

She nodded, her own smile warm and steady. “Tell them, Craig.”

“Well I guess now that the cat’s out of the bag… I’VE KNOWN FOR THREE DAYS!” He screamed, practically jumping in the air with glee. “You guys have no idea how hard it’s been keeping this from you, but when he called he told me he wanted it to be a surprise–”

“You talked to him?” Britta gasped, clutching the envelope to her chest.

Craig nodded so enthusiastically it was a wonder his head didn’t fall right off his body. “Oh, this is just all so exciting, I don’t know what to do with myself! I think I need to lie down!” 

Britta let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh, shaking her head. “I can’t believe this. He’s actually coming back.”

She reached across the countertop on instinct, grasping Jeff’s hand, her fingers curling tightly around his like she needed something solid to hold onto. Jeff squeezed back without hesitation.

The past few years had been goodbye after goodbye. They’d been forced to watch people leave on a loop, to sit helplessly as the group shrank until it barely resembled what it once was. But now? Now, something was shifting.

Jeff glanced at Britta, at the way her eyes were shining despite the exhaustion still clinging to her.

“They’re all coming back.” He said resolutely.

For the first time in a long time, he actually believed it.

Chapter Text

The new year had barely started and, already, Greendale was in chaos.

Between the Dean’s increasingly elaborate plans for Troy’s homecoming and the scramble to get everyone back in town, the group had their hands full. Britta tried to help as best as she could, but scheduling had never really been her forte. Troy’s flight was easy enough to figure out, since he had no real obligations outside of coming home, but the rest of them presented a set of unique challenges that only Frankie Dart was equipped to handle.

Jeff’s apartment became the unofficial headquarters for all things planning on January 1st, since pretty much everyone was already there, but his blood was pumping with too much excitement and adrenaline to protest. Frankie immediately conferenced in Annie and Abed to ask about their rsvp details and take note of their flight plans. Craig took care of Shirley, coordinating with her in the free moments she had at work. Jeff texted with Troy—an indescribably surreal feeling—to relay all the information from the rest of the group. Britta, who only managed to stay lucid for a solid half an hour, eventually slumped back into her hungover state. She spent the day rotating from the couch to a chair to the floor until Jeff finally pulled her up and stuck her in his bed—partly to be nice, but mostly because it was hard to be productive with her groaning intermittently in discomfort at their feet.

It took a few days to get things figured out, but soon flights were booked, hotels were set, and everything was going according to plan with minimal roadblocks. The campus was practically buzzing with the news of Troy’s return. It didn’t matter that a lot of the students had never met him—or known the study group in its fullest form—because the Dean was pitching the week of his homecoming as an extravaganza of unforeseen proportions. There were posters up all over campus for activities and parties in his honor, professors were cancelling classes, and, of course, there was going to be a massive school dance.

Because otherwise, it wouldn’t be Greendale.

The group, with Frankie as their fearless leader, started making lists—things to stock their fridges with, restaurants to revisit, Greendale traditions to uphold. Dean Pelton had been in and out of the meetings, rattling off half-baked ideas for an elaborate welcome-back ceremony that everyone had agreed, more or less, to just let him handle. Chang had apparently appointed himself to be in charge of entertainment, which was more than a little concerning, but Frankie promised to keep an eye on things.

Britta tried to ask Jeff once or twice how he was feeling about the whole ordeal, but he managed to fend her off. It wasn’t hard—he’d spent years perfecting the art of deflection, and Britta wasn’t exactly a master of subtlety. He’d respond with a quip, maybe a smirk, and move the conversation along before she could dig in. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the concern, rather that he didn’t trust himself not to backslide and undo months of careful, tactful boundary setting. The last thing he wanted was to launch headfirst into a dynamic that would only make her suffer. Not again. Even if she swore up and down that she was just checking in casually, as a friend who cared about his well-being. Even if a small, selfish part of him wanted to let her. He would save his thoughts for real therapy—which he was surprisingly still committed to.

The truth was, it had been a long time since they had all been in the same room together. A really long time. And as much as Jeff was ecstatic about it, he was also somewhat anxious. There was so much to unpack, so much unspoken weight between them all; he wasn’t sure if there was enough time to prepare himself for it.

But it didn’t matter, because the clock was ticking. A week. Seven days. That was all the time he had to figure out how to face the people he had spent so long pushing away.

-----

It took everything in Abed to not get in his car and drive straight down to San Diego as soon as he hung up the phone with Annie. 

He had even plugged the address into the Google Maps app a couple of times, the little blue route line blinking up at him, taunting. Two hours and nine minutes, with light traffic. Practically nothing in the grand scheme of things. He could get there before Troy even finished whatever room service movie he was inevitably watching. Something with pirates, probably. Or maybe a dumb comedy he’d insist was “actually really smart” while Abed listed every logical inconsistency.

Technically, there was nothing stopping him.

Except for the part where he wasn’t sure if showing up unannounced would be too much. How much was too much? It wasn’t exactly something that could be accurately measured, not that Abed hadn’t tried. Troy had only been back in the country for 48 hours. Maybe he needed space. Maybe he was decompressing, recalibrating, or whatever people did after an epic world-spanning journey. Frodo didn’t just walk back into the Shire like nothing happened. He needed time. 

But on the other hand, Frodo ended up leaving again. He didn’t stay. Bad example.

Abed tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

It was cruel, having Troy this close and still being forced to keep his distance. He wasn’t used to this frustrating half-state of possibility. For years, he’d existed in one of two conditions: Troy is here or Troy is gone. The latter had been the hardest level of the game, but at least it had clear rules. This was a weird, glitchy limbo.

All he had for now was Annie’s phone call, breathless and excited, relaying the news like a plot twist she’d seen coming but still couldn’t process. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe her, more that it just didn’t feel real yet. Maybe that was why he wanted to drive down there so badly. He needed proof. He needed to see Troy with his own eyes, hear his voice, make sure he wasn’t just another elaborate dream sequence.

His fingers hovered over the "Start Route" button. Then, reluctantly, he locked his phone and tossed it into the passenger seat instead. They would both be back in Greendale soon. He could wait. 

Probably.

Maybe.

Abed spent the rest of the week pretending he wasn’t counting down the hours until his flight. Despite what Troy had requested in the letter, he’d booked it all himself after one brief call with Frankie to confirm everyone else’s details, barely hesitating before clicking “Confirm Purchase.” The choice was logical. According to his HBO call sheets, casting changes and schedule shuffling meant that he had a couple weeks before shooting was set to start, and his latest project had moved into post-production right before Christmas. If he stayed in LA he’d just be twiddling his thumbs, waiting. That wasn’t productive. Going to Greendale was productive.

Now, standing in his bedroom, he surveyed the contents of his suitcase with a critical eye. He was packing systematically:

• Eight of his most reliable t-shirts (including the one he’d worn during Hot Lava. He pretended not to read into that.)
• A warm jacket, since Colorado was freezing this time of year (and in case the study room air conditioning was still unpredictable)
• His notebook (important for documenting the reunion arc)
• A copy of Kickpuncher on Blu-ray (just in case)

He paused and held up the Blu-ray case, contemplating. Would it be weird to bring it? Probably. But what if they needed a movie to watch? What if they needed that movie to watch? What if— No. He was overthinking. 

He tossed it into his backpack anyway.

By the time he reached LAX, his nerves were a silent, steady hum in the back of his brain. Not enough to make him panic, but enough that he had to keep readjusting his grip on his bag, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he moved through security.

He hadn’t told anyone he was coming early, a day before Annie and the rest were set to land. He figured that was the best way to avoid overanalyzing things. If he didn’t tell them, he couldn’t agonize over how they might react. He could just show up, like he had at Christmas. Let the scene unfold naturally and be the audience instead of the director. As he settled into his window seat on the plane, he glanced down at his phone.

One message from Troy that just read: See you soon.

It had come through the night before. Abed had sat with the phone in his lap for forty-five minutes, trying to come up with a response, before finally giving up and going to bed. The last time they’d spoken directly had been… ( Rewind, rewind, rewind. ) A long time ago. Before the boat. And the money. And—

He shook his head, blinking hard.

The pilot’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are now preparing for takeoff.”

Abed exhaled, pressing his forehead to the cool glass of the window.

-----

Shirley had spent the last two days trying—and failing—to pack light.

It should’ve been easy; she wasn’t moving back, just visiting. But every time she thought she was finished, she found something else she might need. Her favorite headband, a second pair of shoes, a tin of homemade brownies, because Lord knew Britta was probably living off peanut butter and desperation. Now, standing over her half-zipped suitcase, she sighed, hands on her hips.

“Alright, Shirley,” she muttered to herself. “It’s just a visit. Not a relocation.”

But it felt bigger than that. She and Greendale had been finished for a while now. At least, that’s what she’d told herself. She had a full life in Atlanta with her church, her community, taking care of her father but, despite all of that, her first thought when she’d gotten the letter from Troy and the call from Annie hadn’t been Should I go? It had been How soon can I get a flight?

It wasn’t just about Troy, though she couldn’t deny the joy of seeing him again, it was about all of them. She and Annie had kept in touch, and Britta checked in often enough that Shirley had started recognizing the specific brand of guilt in her voice—though for what, exactly, Britta never said. But phone calls weren’t the same as seeing them all in person. As stepping back into a space where, for better or worse, they had once been a family.

She sighed, zipping her suitcase the rest of the way before glancing at the clock. Her flight was in 24 hours. That gave her just enough time to make sure her dad had everything he needed before she left. He’d waved off her concerns, told her to go be with her friends, have some fun for once, but still, she needed to check.

Shirley grabbed her purse, took one last look at her bag, and smiled.

Greendale, Lord help her, here she came.

-----

Annie had made a list.

Well, several lists. One for packing, one for travel logistics, one for things to catch up on when she got back, and—perhaps most crucially—one for potential conflicts she might need to mediate between her friends. Because, honestly, there was going to be conflict.

Troy didn’t know about all the tension that had built up while he was gone. Shirley had been too far away to see it unfold firsthand. Even Annie had been somewhat removed, getting most of her information from Abed, who’d been tangled up in the drama when he went home for Christmas in 2015. Last she’d heard, Jeff was one stubbed toe away from a full-blown meltdown, and he and Britta had turned their mess into a permanent state of being. So not exactly smooth sailing.

Still, she was excited. Nervous, but excited. It had been so long since she’d been back, and for the first time in years, everyone would be there. Not just a few scattered people, not just a nostalgic text thread, but everyone in the same place at the same time. It almost felt too good to be true. She folded a cardigan and set it neatly in her suitcase, biting her lip. She’d gotten so used to her new life in DC. The city forced her to be an adult in a way that Greendale never required. It was easy to romanticize going back, but she knew better than to expect a perfect reunion. There were too many moving pieces and unresolved feelings.

And then, of course, there was Troy. She smiled to herself, heart twisting a little. It still felt surreal that he was actually coming back. When she first called him and heard his voice, instead of just communicating with him through sporadic, months-late emails, she had nearly cried. And then, once she had processed the initial shock, she’d immediately started planning. Annie wanted everything to be perfect. She wanted him to walk into Greendale and feel like no time had passed at all. She wanted him to know how much they’d missed him. But mostly, she wanted him to see Abed. She’d watched as Abed shut down when Troy left, the way he never really filled that space, even when the rest of them tried. And she’d heard it in Troy’s voice, too, when they talked on the phone—how much he missed Abed, how much it mattered.

There was so much she couldn’t control, but if there was one thing Annie Edison believed in, it was the power of good planning. So she was going to make this work. With a determined nod, she checked over her lists one more time, zipped up her suitcase, and set her alarm for the morning.

No matter what happened when she got there, she was ready.

-----

Troy had packed and unpacked his suitcase three times. But this time, it wasn’t because he was stalling.

He was excited. Really excited. Like, little-kid-on-Christmas-morning excited. Like, I-can’t-believe-this-is-real excited. Somehow it felt like he’d only been gone for five minutes, but the calendar didn’t lie: two years. Two whole years of living everywhere except for the US, of eating canned beans on a boat, of talking to LeVar Burton until he started feel like a normal person instead of that-guy-from-Star-Trek. And now he was finally going home.

He flopped onto the bed, grinning up at the ceiling. Home. He liked the way it sounded in his head. He hadn’t realized how much he missed Greendale until he’d started planning his return, and now the closer it got, the more impatient he felt. In less than two days, he’d be back with everyone. Back with Abed.

His stomach flipped at the thought. There were a lot of people he was excited to see, but Abed was different.

Troy grabbed his phone off the nightstand and stared at the last text he’d sent: See you soon. He hadn’t gotten a response, but that wasn’t weird. Not for Abed. And honestly, it didn’t matter because in a few days, Troy would see him in person. No more inconsistent email threads, no more one-sided conversations where he talked for an hour straight, wondering what Abed would be saying back. Just them.

And God, he hoped things weren’t weird.

He didn’t even know why he was nervous. Abed was his best friend, his person. It wasn’t like anything had changed—except, okay, maybe some things had changed. Like the fact that missing Abed had felt a little different than missing everyone else. Or the way Troy had spent too much time thinking about what ifs while staring at the ocean for hours.

But it wasn’t like that meant anything. Right?

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he sat up. Doesn’t matter. What mattered was that he was going home. He had a whole life to jump back into. And apparently a lot to catch up on, because when Annie called to check in, she mentioned some woman named Frankie, like he was supposed to know who that was.

“Don’t worry, she’s got the hotel bookings covered.”

“Who?” He’d asked, confused.

“Frankie,” Annie said again, like that clarified anything.

Troy just hummed, pretending to understand. He figured he’d piece it together when he got there.

For now, he just needed to finish packing. For real this time, no distractions. No overthinking. Just him, his suitcase, and a plane ticket back to where he belonged.

-----

All Jeff had thought about for days was the reunion. As it turns out, a week is barely enough time to plan a massive, multi-day community college party. Frankie, being only one person, could only do so much, and the rest of them seemed to hold her back more than help. Craig had too many ideas, Duncan had too few, and Chang somehow had both, often at the same time. Britta, despite her enthusiasm for Troy’s return, had an impressive ability to derail meetings with side tangents that no one knew how to escape from. Jeff had spent most of the past week watching Frankie struggle to keep everyone on task. Every so often, she would shoot him a look of disbelief, as if to ask, is this how you felt when you used to run things? He’d just smirk and shake his head in amusement. Because, yeah. Duh.

This reignited chaos wasn’t the only development that felt like a call-back. The distance that had settled between Jeff and Britta was loosening at the edges, making space for something familiar to subtly slip through. Maybe it was motivated by the feeling that their lives were about to come full circle. Maybe it was that Britta had spent enough time away from the distraction of Jeff’s problems to finally confront her own. Whatever the case, there was something about the way she carried herself lately, the way she held her own in conversations, the way she threw jabs at him without hesitation or over-explaining, like she didn’t care whether or not he understood her. She was Britta again—it wasn’t constant, and it wasn’t always deliberate, but it was there. 

The difference, though, was that Jeff wasn’t in a rush to get anywhere with her this time around. In fact, he didn’t even know if there was anywhere to get to. But he liked watching her settle back into herself after so many years. And he liked that, for the first time in a long time, being friends was starting to feel… easy. Normal. Routine.

Unfortunately, Jeff didn’t have much time to dwell on it. Between the endless debates over food (Greendale’s cafeteria or Shirley’s Sandwiches? Both? Neither?), the questionable theme suggestions (Duncan had pushed hard for “Spring Break in January”), and the logistical nightmare of creating a timeline, he was pretty sure this whole thing would fall apart at least three times. But somehow, through sheer force of will (and Frankie’s color-coded spreadsheets) it was coming together. The day before everyone was set to arrive, he was content to just lean back in his chair and watch the conversation devolve into nonsense for the third time in ten minutes.

“Okay,” Frankie said, flipping through her legal pad like it might suddenly contain a solution. “We need an actual plan. It doesn’t have to be elaborate, but it should be thoughtful, welcoming, and—”

“A parade!” Craig announced.

“No,” Frankie said immediately.

Craig frowned. “Wow. That was fast.”

“I say we fake a kidnapping,” Chang added, grinning as he spun a Sharpie between his fingers.

Britta shot him a look. “You’re certifiable. No one is getting kidnapped.”

“Yet.”

Duncan raised a hand. “What about a flash mob? Very big in the early 2010s. I could choreograph—”

“You absolutely could not,” Jeff said.

Frankie inhaled sharply. “People. Focus. Where is this actually happening?”

“The study room.”

The words were casual, dropped into the conversation like they had been there the whole time. And yet, every single person at the table froze. Jeff felt a weird lag in his brain, like he was hearing something in the wrong order. He turned his head, slowly.

Abed was striding into the room, sliding into his usual seat right next to Britta. He rested his elbows casually on the table, looking over at Frankie like she was the one who had just appeared out of thin air.

Britta made a strangled noise and stared at him. “Abed?!”

For half a second, the shock held everyone in place. And then, in an instant, the entire table exploded into motion.

Britta launched out of her chair first, practically tackling Abed in a hug, which he accepted with a small, pleased nod. Craig was next, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him slightly like he needed to confirm he was real. Chang screamed and fell out of his chair. Duncan clapped him hard on the back, knocking Britta into the table, and Frankie—who had started to stand and then sat back down twice—finally got up just to look at him in disbelief.

“Abed,” She said, eyes wide. “How are you here?”

“I came early,” He said, simply.

“No kidding.”

Chang, from the floor, scrambled up and grabbed his arm. “Are you real? Say something only you would say.”

Abed considered for a beat. “If you were a cat, I think you’d be the kind that pretends to be dead so birds will land on it.”

Chang’s face crumpled with emotion. “It’s really you.”

Jeff hung back for a moment, just watching it all unfold. As the initial chaos settled into excited chatter, he stepped forward.

Abed turned to him. “Hi, Jeff.”

Jeff smirked. “Hey, man.” Then, without thinking too hard about it, he pulled Abed in for a brief but solid hug.

Abed nodded against his shoulder. “I was hoping you’d be happy to see me.”

Jeff huffed a laugh. “Yeah, well. I’m really glad you’re here.”

Abed pulled back and looked at the group. “This is good,” he said, like he was checking off a mental list. “Better than last time.”

Britta threw an arm around him. “You think?”

The group returned to their spots at the table. Jeff looked over at Britta, sitting side-by-side with Abed, grinning like he’d never left, and felt an intense pang of emotion.

“How was your flight?” Frankie asked.

Abed shrugged. “Fine, I guess. Nothing special.”

“How’s LA?” Chang jumped in excitedly.

“It’s good. Warm.”

Chang looked wistful. “Just like I remember it.”

“Actually, Chang, some people have mentioned you out there,” Abed remarked. “You left… an impression.” Chang pumped his fists in victory.

“I hate to kill the buzz,” Frankie cut in. “But we should get back to planning this thing since it’s in two days.”

Abed nodded. “The study room is the obvious choice. It’s symbolic, familiar, requires minimal set dressing.”

Frankie, still a little off-balance from his sudden appearance, jotted something down in her notebook. “Okay, yes. That does make sense. So, we have a location.” She gestured vaguely with her pen. “Now we just need… everything else.”

“Keep it simple,” He replied. “Just us, the study room, some food, some drinks—something that feels organic.”

Craig made a noise of dismay. “No grand spectacle? No dramatic entrance with smoke and lasers? No—”

“No,” Abed cut him off. “It’s a reunion, not a season premiere. We want nostalgia, not theatrics.”

Craig sighed heavily, then perked up. “What if we also planned a surprise?”

Frankie narrowed her eyes. “Surprise how?”

Abed tapped his fingers on the table thoughtfully. “Something extracurricular. But it would have to be done discreetly.”

Craig wiggled his eyebrows. “I’m excellent at discretion.”

Jeff, Britta, and Frankie all turned to him in unison.

Craig huffed. “Okay, sometimes I’m excellent at discretion.”

Abed stood. “I’ll help you plan.”

Frankie’s brow furrowed in immediate suspicion. “Help him plan what ?”

“Nothing you’d approve of,” Abed said honestly.

Frankie opened her mouth, then exhaled sharply. “Fine. But if something catches fire, so help me—”

“We won’t burn anything down,” Abed assured her. Then, after a beat, “On purpose.”

Craig clapped his hands together. “Onward, my accomplice!” He threw an arm around Abed, leading him out of the room with the giddy energy of a kid hiding fireworks.

Frankie watched them go, looking vaguely exhausted.

Chang leaned in. “I bet they’re planning a heist.”

“No one is planning a heist,” Frankie said firmly, flipping to a fresh page in her notebook; she didn’t sound convinced. “Okay, food and drinks. That should be easy.”

“Pizza?” Jeff suggested.

Duncan scoffed. “Oh, brilliant, Winger. Very creative.”

Jeff rolled his eyes. “Fine, what do you suggest?”

Duncan thought for a second. “Well, back in my university days, we always had a lovely cheese board—”

“Oh my God, we’re getting pizza,” Britta said.

Frankie sighed. “Fine. But we should at least have some variety. Chips? Soda? Something actually green ?”

“I can bring a veggie tray,” Britta offered.

Jeff smirked. “Yeah, that sounds right. You bring something no one eats, and I’ll bring the beer.”

Britta shot him a look. “First of all, plenty of people eat vegetables—”

Chang made a face. “Eh.”

She ignored him. “Second, maybe someone else should be in charge of booze, considering your track record.”

Jeff scoffed. “Oh, I’m sorry, are you the alcohol police now?”

“No, but I am the person who watched you drink an entire six-pack and then try to argue that technically, drinking and driving a golf cart isn’t illegal if you do it on a sidewalk.”

“That was one time, and we still don’t have definitive proof that—”

Duncan looked between them. “My God, this is like foreplay.”

Britta groaned. “Duncan.”

Frankie ignored all of them, jotting things down. “Alright. I think we’re set. Everyone knows their assignments. Anything outstanding?” She glanced around, before shutting her binder. “Alright, meeting adjourned.”

“You know,” Britta said, leaning back in her chair as the rest of the group gathered their things, shuffling off to other obligations. “You’ve been awfully quiet during these meetings. I kinda can’t believe you haven’t tried to hijack the whole thing to make it about yourself yet.”

The comment was soft around the edges, teasing; he studied her face. She was looking at him expectantly, eyebrows raised, waiting for his inevitable comeback. So Jeff took the bait.

“You’ve been watching me? That’s so cute.” He goaded. Britta’s face turned bright red.

Jackpot.

“Oh, please,” She said, immediately defensive. “If I was watching you, it was purely because I was waiting for the inevitable moment when you stood up, made some dramatic speech, and showed everyone what happens when narcissism goes undiagnosed.”

Jeff tilted his head, amused and a little impressed. “So you were waiting for me to make a speech.”

Britta rolled her eyes. “No, I was waiting to mock you for making a speech.” She stood up, grabbing her bag with an exaggeratedly smug expression. “But hey, maybe I overestimated your ego. Maybe you really have changed.”

Jeff narrowed his eyes. “That almost sounded sincere.”

She patted his shoulder as she passed. “Then I must be losing my touch.”

And just like that, she was walking away, head held high, looking way too pleased with herself.

Jeff sat there for a second, watching her go, before something clicked in his brain. Without thinking too hard about it, he pushed back from the table and followed her out.

“Alright, hold on—” He caught up with her just as she rounded the corner, falling into step beside her. “Let’s go back to that whole overestimating my ego thing.”

Britta smirked without looking at him. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want to make a big speech?”

“No, I just think it’s funny that you assume I’m dying to make everything about me when—”

“When you literally just chased me down to keep talking about yourself?”

Jeff opened his mouth. Then shut it. Then narrowed his eyes. “That doesn’t count.”

She barked out a laugh. “It absolutely does.”

“So, what, you’re disappointed I haven’t monologued?” He asked, lifting a brow.

Britta glanced sideways at him, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Maybe a little. It’s been a while. And it’s fun watching you get all sentimental and squirmy.”

“Squirmy?”

“Oh yeah. You get all self-aware halfway through, and it kills me.”

Jeff groaned. “Remind me why we let you stay in the group?”

“Because without me, there wouldn’t be a group. Plus, you’d have no one to keep you in check,” She shot back easily.

Jeff smirked. “And yet, I still don’t see how that benefits you.”

Britta grinned, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Oh, Winger. You have no idea.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and sauntered off down the hallway, leaving Jeff standing there, watching her go, feeling something dangerously close to amused admiration.

A beat passed.

Then, unable to help himself, he followed her. Because of course he did.

-----

Jeff had gotten used to his apartment being quiet. It wasn’t the kind of silence that felt peaceful—more like an absence, like something was supposed to be there but wasn’t. So it was weird, now, to have someone else in his space. Not bad, necessarily. Just weird. Abed, for his part, was making himself at home with an ease Jeff almost envied. He would only be staying for one night, since his surprise entrance didn’t line up with Frankie’s hotel bookings, but had already rearranged the throw pillows on the couch (“for optimal coziness”), methodically inspected the DVD collection, and taken note of the lack of movie posters or general décor.

“You should have more visual storytelling in here,” he said, sitting cross-legged on the couch as Jeff pulled an extra blanket out of the closet. “Right now, your apartment is saying, ‘I live here, but I refuse to commit to it emotionally.’”

Jeff shot him a look. “And that’s a problem because…?”

Abed shrugged. “Just an observation.”

Jeff tossed the blanket at him. “Try observing that you’re a guest and not my interior designer.”

Abed caught it without missing a beat, draping it over his lap. “Noted.” He was quiet for a moment, then: “I bet it’s nice, though. Having someone here.”

Jeff hesitated, then exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. It is.”

For a while, they just sat, letting the TV play in the background as the night settled in around them. It felt easy, the way things always had with Abed. Until, of course, he decided to bring up the one topic Jeff had been actively avoiding.

“So,” Abed said, looking at him with that unblinking, matter-of-fact gaze. “You and Britta.”

Jeff groaned. “Oh my God.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” He continued, undeterred. “Things seem… different then the last time I was here. Not in a bad way. Just different.”

“There is no ‘me and Britta,’” Jeff said immediately, because that was the easiest response. “We’re just—” He made a vague gesture. “I don’t know. It’s fine.”

Abed nodded. “Okay.”

He narrowed his eyes. “That’s it?”

“For now.”

Jeff scoffed, but let it go. “You excited to see Troy?” He asked instead, flipping the conversation back on him.

Abed was quiet for a beat too long. “Yeah,” He said finally. “Of course.”

Jeff frowned. “You sure?”

Abed turned his attention back to the TV. “Yeah,” He said again. “It’s fine.”

Jeff recognized the deflection immediately—probably because it was the same one he’d just used. But he didn’t push. Instead, they let the topic drop, sinking back into the easy silence of shared space.

The next half hour passed in casual conversation. Abed had a knack for filling silence without making it feel like noise, jumping from one topic to the next with the same even, matter-of-fact delivery. He had a lot to say about life in LA, the psychology of nostalgia, and the declining quality of airline pretzels. Jeff let him talk, offering a quip here and there, but eventually the idle conversation ran its course. The show they had put on in the background had lost its appeal, and a lull settled between them. Jeff leaned back against the arm of the couch, stretching his legs out in front of him.

Abed turned to him, as direct as ever. “Are we gonna talk about it now, or should we keep pretending?”

Jeff sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I hate when you do that.”

Abed shrugged. “I think you actually appreciate it. Saves time.”

Jeff scoffed but didn’t argue. He let his head rest against the back of the couch, staring up at the ceiling for a long moment before sighing.

“You know I hate talking about this kind of stuff,” He said.

“I know.”

Jeff glanced at him. “And you’re gonna make me do it anyway.”

Abed nodded. “Yeah.”

Jeff let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “You must have really missed me.”

“I did, actually,” Abed said, and there was something so straightforward about it that Jeff had to look away.

A beat passed. Then another.

Jeff sighed. “Alright. Where do you want to start?”

Abed considered. “You could answer the Britta question.”

Jeff rolled his eyes. “There is no Britta question.”

Abed raised an eyebrow.

Jeff groaned. “Fine. What do you want me to say? Yeah, things are… different. But not in a big, dramatic way, just—” He struggled for the right words. “Weirdly normal? Like, I don’t know, we’re getting along again, but it’s different this time. She’s different. Or maybe she’s the same, but more herself. If that makes sense.”

Abed nodded like it did. “Season One Britta. But stronger.”

Jeff blinked, processing. “Yeah, I guess. I think she just needed time away from me. From all of it. She’s not—” He hesitated, searching for the right way to put it. “She’s not trying to fix everyone anymore. Or maybe she is, but just not at her own expense.”

Abed considered this. “That seems… good for her.”

“Yeah.” He paused. “You probably need some gaps filled in, huh?”

“Probably. The last time I saw you two, you kissed at the dance,” Abed offered. “It was dramatic, but not in the way I would’ve expected. Not a cut to black—it just kind of… hung there.”

“Yeah. That’s pretty much how it felt, too.”

“So what happened?”

“We freaked out. Or—” He sighed. “She freaked out first. Then I freaked out in response.”

Abed absorbed this. “Freaked out how?”

Jeff hesitated, then relented. “She asked if we could tell the group we were hooking up and I shut her down. Hard.”

There was a beat.

“Why did you say no?” Abed asked. Not accusing, just curious.

Jeff hesitated, his knee bouncing. “Because I didn’t want to deal with what it meant.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Didn’t stop it from being real, though. Just made it messier.”

Abed nodded like that made sense. “So then she broke it off.”

“Yep.”

He absorbed that for a second before continuing. “And then?”

Jeff shrugged. “Then we didn’t talk for a while. She started seeing some guy—Ryan, Riley, something with an R—and I… worked on myself.”

Abed raised an eyebrow. “Like, real self-work?”

He tried to hide his embarrassment. “Believe it or not.”

Abed nodded approvingly. “Character development.”

Jeff rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it.

“So when did things start being… less awkward?”

He let out a breath. “New Year’s.”

Abed looked at him knowingly. “You kissed again.”

Jeff immediately went on the defensive. “It was a New Year’s Eve kiss, not—” He stopped himself. “Everyone was watching, I was trying to avoid kissing Craig… It was obligatory.”

Abed stared at him. “You just described the opposite of what a New Year’s kiss is supposed to be.”

Jeff groaned. “Okay, fine. It was weird. And then she got completely wasted, and I brought her back to my place— not like that,” He interrupted before Abed could ask. “To make sure she was okay.”

Abed considered this. “That tracks.”

“Yeah, well.” Jeff shrugged. “After that, Troy’s letter came, and… I don’t know. It was like we forgot to be weird about everything. Like we hit a reset button.”

Abed nodded slowly, like he was playing the sequence of events in his head. “That makes sense. Troy has always been an inciting incident.”

Jeff snorted. “Yeah, well. I’m not complaining.”

Abed was quiet for a moment. Then, simply, he said, “You care about her.”

Jeff’s jaw tensed. “Of course I care about her.”

Abed nodded, satisfied with that answer. “Good. She seems happy,” He added.

“She does.”

A pause.

“Are you?”

Jeff glanced at him, caught slightly off guard. Happy. That was a complicated word.

“I’m… better,” he said eventually. “Not perfect, but better.”

Another pause.

Then Jeff glanced at him. “So, you ready to be honest about how you’re feeling about seeing Troy?”

Abed hesitated. Then, with a sigh, he said, “Work in progress.”

Jeff let the words settle between them, the quiet hum of the TV filling the silence. He glanced at Abed, who was staring ahead, fingers tapping against the armrest in an uneven rhythm. It took a second, but Jeff recognized the pattern—Abed’s brain working through something in real time.

“You know,” Jeff said. “For a guy who always seems to know everything before anyone else does, you’re being real cagey about this whole Troy thing.”

Abed didn’t look at him. “I know.”

Jeff waited. When Abed didn’t immediately continue, he leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “So what’s the deal?”

His fingers stilled. “It’s complicated.”

“Well, that’s the theme of the night.”

He finally turned to look at him. “Have you ever had something so important to you that you spent years waiting for it, only to realize you have no idea what to do when it actually happens?”

Jeff’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. “Yeah.”

Abed studied him. “And?”

Jeff sighed, leaning back again. “I don’t know. You just… do it, I guess.”

Abed considered this. “I spent a lot of time imagining what it would be like when Troy came back. Even before he left, I thought about it. How it would play out, what we’d say, how things would fall back into place.” He exhaled. “But now it’s actually happening, and none of my predictions feel right.”

Jeff frowned. “You think it’s not gonna be the same?”

“It can’t be. Too much time has passed. He’s changed. I’ve changed.” He paused, voice quieter. “What if we don’t fit anymore?”

Jeff let out a slow breath. “I mean… yeah. Maybe you won’t. Not the exact way you used to. But that doesn’t mean it won’t still be good.”

Abed didn’t respond right away, processing that.

Jeff tapped his fingers against the couch. “You know, you said earlier that Britta reminds me of when I first met her. But the thing is, she’s not the same as she was back then. She’s grown. We both have. And—yeah, there’s some stuff we’ll probably never get back. But some of it? Some of it’s still there.”

Abed tilted his head slightly.

Jeff shrugged. “You and Troy—your… ‘friendship’... was built on a lot of things. Stupid jokes, weird games, stuff that made no sense to anyone else. But the reason it worked wasn’t just because of those things. It worked because you guys just… got each other.”

Abed blinked.

“That’s not gonna go away,” Jeff finished. “Not completely.”

Abed was quiet for a long time, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he nodded. “That helps.”

Jeff smirked. “Good. ‘Cause that was my one good speech for the night.”

There was an ease in the air now, like a weight had lifted. Abed seemed to relax, the weight of uncertainty settling into something more manageable. Jeff let the silence linger, thinking that might be the end of the conversation. But then Abed tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly like he was piecing something together.

“You know,” Abed said, “It's interesting that you're the one giving me a speech about change.”

He frowned. “How so?”

Abed gestured vaguely at him. “You’re different too. I mean, you’re still Jeff Winger—you still wear expensive cologne, and you still have that brooding antihero energy—but something’s off.”

Jeff could feel Abed studying him again, like he was a puzzle missing a few pieces. He braced himself.

“You drove Britta home on New Year’s,” Abed said suddenly.

Jeff blinked. “Uh, yeah?”

“You were at a party,” Abed continued. “A party where Britta got very drunk. But you drove her home, which means you weren’t drinking.”

Jeff gave him a look. “You really can’t turn it off, huh?”

Abed tilted his head. “Did you want me to?”

Jeff hesitated. “No. I guess not.”

Abed waited, patient as ever.

Jeff sighed. “I’m not sober, I’m just… not drinking right now.”

Abed frowned. “That's the same thing.”

“It’s not,” Jeff muttered. “I mean, yeah, I haven’t had a drink in a while. And, yeah, I go to meetings every so often. But I don’t call myself sober.”

Abed processed that. “Why not?”

Jeff shifted, uncomfortable. “Because I didn’t quit drinking. I just… stopped. For now. I don’t know if it’s permanent, I don’t know if I’m one of those guys who needs to do the whole ‘never again’ thing. I just I needed to not be drinking for a while.”

Abed considered this. “And the meetings?”

Jeff shrugged. “Duncan was already going. Figured it couldn’t hurt to tag along.”

Abed was quiet for a moment. Then, simply, he said, “I won’t tell anyone.”

“I didn’t say you had to keep it a secret.”

“You didn’t have to,” Abed replied. “You wouldn’t have told me like this if you were okay with everyone knowing.”

Jeff exhaled. “Yeah, okay. Fair point.”

They sat in silence for a beat before Abed added, “I’m glad you told me, though.”

Jeff met his gaze. “Yeah?”

Abed nodded. “Yeah. It makes me feel better about telling you things too.”

Jeff felt something settle in his chest at that. Because if Abed—who processed emotions in his own, precise way—considered this a moment of real trust, then maybe that meant Jeff was actually doing something right.

Chapter Text

Britta had spent a long time trying to get back to herself; longer than she wanted to admit. Not that there had been some big, dramatic moment of clarity—no epiphany, no life-altering realization. Just small, deliberate choices, stacking up over months until, eventually, she could look at herself in the mirror and feel like she recognized the person staring back. She still lived with Frankie, still worked at The Vatican, still spent most of her time with the same people from Greendale. But she had put in the effort, real effort, to stop running in circles; to stop sabotaging herself before she had the chance to figure out what she wanted.

Grad school had been the biggest shift. She had gone in bracing for the worst, convinced she’d find a way to screw it up or get herself kicked out, but somehow, against all odds, she was actually doing okay. Maybe even better than okay. She turned in papers on time. She asked questions in class. She went to her professors’ online office hours without treating it like some kind of performance art piece. For once, she wasn’t making things harder than they needed to be just to prove some imaginary point.

And, yeah, maybe Ryan had helped move the needle a little bit, too. But only because they spent six months going on dates that were borderline obnoxious in how functional they were. Only because there was no push and pull, no games, no mess, just two people who got along and enjoyed spending time together. It was proof that she didn’t always have to feel like she was swimming against a current strong enough to drown her. The only caveat was that it hadn’t worked the way it was supposed to; not long-term, anyway. Easy didn’t always mean right.  

That was the part that left her feeling a little unsettled.

Because for all the time Britta had spent trying to figure out what she wanted, she still wasn’t sure she had a real answer. She knew what she didn’t want. She didn’t want to lose herself in people the way she always had. She didn’t want to blur every relationship into something co-dependent, something exhausting, something that left her feeling emptier than when she started. And she definitely didn’t want to fall back into old patterns just because they were familiar.

Which was why, when it came to Jeff, she had made a decision.

Whatever had existed between them before—the mess, the lines they blurred, the way she had let herself get hurt—was done. Over. She had taken the time to untangle herself from it, and she wasn’t going to make the mistake of slipping back into it again. Jeff and Britta had never done things the right way, not once. And maybe she used to believe that they could, if they just tried hard enough, if they just figured out how to fix the parts of themselves that kept breaking things. But Jeff was who he was, and Britta was done waiting for him to become someone else. She could see that he was changing, little by little in the ways that mattered, and she was proud of him for that. But none of it changed what they had always been together.

And, okay, sure… maybe things between them had been better lately, easier. They had settled into a rhythm that felt almost natural again, maybe even a little bit fun. But she also knew better than to read into it. The banter, the flirting, it was just what they did. A pattern worn into place over the years, easy to fall into but just as easy to control. And that was the key: control. 

So, with hindsight, Britta started letting herself carefully lean into it again. She let the jokes stretch just long enough before cutting them off, let the moments build just high enough before knocking them back down. She knew the rules now. And Jeff didn’t push.

Which was weird, because Jeff had always pushed before, always found ways to needle under her skin, to test the boundaries, to pull her into some kind of undefined something that never quite made sense. But lately, when she shut it down, he let it drop. No smirk, no follow-up, no waiting to see if she’d change her mind. And even though it still threw her off every now and then, it was also good. Because, at the end of the day, whatever this thing between them used to be, it wasn’t anything now. 

And that was fine. 

She was fine.

She’d worked too hard not to be.

-----

The city lights blurred past as Frankie’s car sped down the freeway, the kind of smooth, controlled driving Britta could never manage in her own battered sedan. The quiet hum of the engine filled the space between them, the radio playing at a low, indecisive volume, just enough to break the silence without fully committing to background noise. Britta let her head rest against the window, watching the glow of streetlamps flicker across the glass.

It was weird, how quickly everything had happened. A week ago, the reunion had still felt like this distant, hypothetical thing. Something to joke about while secretly bracing for it to fall apart and for life to get in the way. That’s what adulthood was, wasn’t it? People drifting, schedules misaligning, things getting harder to hold onto. But then Abed showed up early, and somehow, without even trying, he made everything feel easier. Like everything had just clicked back into place.

And now, here they were, on their way to the Denver airport to pick Annie up. Another piece of the puzzle sliding into place.

“She’s going to be so excited to see you,” Frankie said from the driver’s seat, her eyes on the road.

Britta glanced over at her, quirking a brow. “What, not you?”

“Oh, please, I’m a text-and-email friend. You’re a rip-the-door-open-and-scream friend.”

Britta snorted. “I wouldn’t be so sure. But whatever you say.”

Frankie adjusted the rearview mirror. “I assume Shirley went straight to see her family?”

“Yep. Said she’ll catch up with us tomorrow at the reunion.” Britta stretched her arms behind her head, cracking her knuckles. “Just us three tonight. Girls night, right?”

Frankie exhaled like she was preparing herself for something. “God help me.”

Britta grinned. “Oh, come on. It’ll be fun!”

They gave her a sidelong look. “That’s exactly what you said before sneaking a flask into the faculty meeting semester.”

“That was one time!”

“And yet it lives in my memory forever.”

Britta laughed, shaking her head. “Yeah, well. Tonight, I promise to be a respectable adult.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

The airport was a rush of movement. Families reuniting, business travelers wheeling suitcases with single-minded purpose, an occasional child sprinting ahead of exhausted parents. Britta and Frankie made their way toward baggage claim, weaving through the chaos.

“She said Carousel Four, right?” Frankie asked, glancing at the signs overhead.

Britta barely heard them. Her eyes were already scanning the crowd, and then—

There. Annie Edison, bright-eyed and glowing, her dark hair pulled into a ponytail, standing beside the carousel in a neat blazer and jeans, her phone in hand.

Britta took off before she even realized what she was doing. She crashed into Annie full-force, arms wrapping around her like a vise, nearly knocking them both off balance. Annie yelped in surprise but immediately burst into laughter, hugging her just as tight.

“Oh my God! Britta!”

She felt Annie squeeze tighter, laughing against her shoulder, and god it had been too long. They had texted, they had called, but nothing compared to this.

“This is insane, I can’t believe you’re here,” Britta said, voice muffled against Annie’s hair.

“Neither can I!” Annie pulled back just enough to look at her, hands still gripping her arms like she couldn’t believe she was real. “You look amazing.”

Britta scoffed, brushing hair out of her face. “Yeah, well, you look like a professional adult, so. Thanks a lot for making me feel like a scrub.”

Annie grinned, rolling her eyes. “Shut up.”

Behind them, Frankie cleared her throat. “Should I come back later, or…?”

Annie gasped, breaking into another huge smile as she turned. “Frankie!”

Frankie barely had time to brace herself before Annie threw her arms around her. They hesitated for half a second before succumbing and squeezing her back. 

Annie pulled away, eyes wide with excitement. “I can’t believe you’re both here. It’s been way too long.”

Britta nodded. “Agreed, so, to make up for lost time, we are getting celebratory food immediately. It’s non-negotiable.”

“Perfect. Let me just grab my bags.”

As she turned back toward the carousel, Britta caught Frankie watching them with a small, almost amused smile, like she was witnessing something rare and precious. Britta nudged her with her elbow.

“See? What’d I tell you? You’re stuck with us now.”

Frankie suppressed a grin. “There are worse fates.”

“Damn right.”

She turned back to Annie, who was struggling to yank her overstuffed suitcase off the carousel. With a fond shake of her head, Britta stepped in to help, already feeling lighter than she had in years.

An hour later, the three of them were settled into a booth at a restaurant near the airport. The kind of place that had cracked leather seats, laminated menus, and a waitstaff that couldn’t care less how long they stayed. It wasn’t fancy, but it was perfect—neutral ground, nostalgic in that vague, comforting way that places like this always were. For a while, the conversation stayed casual—complaints about travel, ridiculous Greendale gossip, Annie talking about how exhausting DC had been. Britta listened, watching her friend with something close to awe. It had been two years, and yet somehow, she still looked exactly the same. More polished, maybe, but still Annie .

“So,” Britta said, pointing a fry at her. “Are you ready for a week of total chaos?”

Annie let out a small, slightly nervous laugh. “I think so? I mean, I don’t even know what’s planned past tomorrow. Troy just told me I needed to be here, so…” She shrugged.

Frankie sighed. “The schedule so far is, uh… fluid.”

“Fluid is a generous word for it,” Britta snorted. “I think there’s supposed to be some kind of welcome-back-ceremony-thing tomorrow night? And obviously a dance. Also, Abed and the Dean are planning something, but they’re being weirdly secretive about it.”

Annie raised an eyebrow and glanced at Frankie. “How are you doing with all of that?”

Frankie just shook their head, looking exhausted. “Don’t get me started.”

She paused, then looked at Britta a little more closely. “And you? How’ve you been?”

Britta hesitated for half a second before forcing an easy smile. “Oh, you know. The usual. Working at the bar, plugging away at grad school.”

Annie gave her a look. “Britta.”

Britta sighed. “Okay, okay. It’s been… fine, actually. I’ve been trying to stop putting out everyone else’s fires and deal with my own which has honestly been a good change.”

Annie softened. “I’m really glad to hear that.”

Before Britta could say anything else, Frankie cleared her throat. “So. Question.” She looked between them, expression unreadable. “Are we doing the, uh… girl talk thing now? Or is there a specific cue I should wait for?”

Annie giggled. “Frankie, you don’t need a cue.”

“I do, actually,” Frankie said seriously. “I like to be prepared.”

Britta laughed. “Frankie. You’re one of the girls, it’s all girl talk.”

Frankie nodded, a hint of a pleased smile poking through.

Annie sighed contentedly. “This is so great. I still can’t believe we’re all gonna be together tomorrow.”

“It’ll be interesting to finally meet Troy.” Frankie added casually.

Britta blinked. “What?”

Frankie raised an eyebrow. “Troy. I’ve never met him.”

Annie’s jaw dropped. “Oh my God .”

“ Oh my God .”

Frankie frowned. “Why does everyone always do that?”

Britta shook her head in disbelief. “I completely forgot you got here after he left.”

Annie clutched her heart. “Oh no, that means you’ve never met Shirley either!”

“Correct.”

Britta stared, incredulous. “This is so weird. I feel like I’ve been in some kind of fever dream where time stopped existing normally…”

Frankie took a sip of her drink. “Welcome to my experience at Greendale.”

Annie looked genuinely distressed. “I can’t believe Troy and Shirley don’t know you.”

“They know of me,” Frankie corrected. “Or at least I assume they do. Someone must’ve mentioned me at some point, right?”

“Oh!” Annie said, realizing. “That’s why Troy seemed so confused when I said you were taking care of the hotel bookings.”

Britta shook her head, still reeling. “This is actually kind of crazy. You’re about to meet, like, two of the most important people in our lives for the first time ever, and I was so distracted by everything else that I didn’t even consider it.”

Frankie gave her a look. “Thanks, Britta. That doesn’t make me feel like an outsider at all.”

She winced. “Sorry.”

Frankie sighed, then added, “It’s not a big deal. It’s just funny how time works, I guess. You all talk about them so much that I kind of feel like I do know them.”

Annie softened. “Well… they’re going to love you.”

Frankie quirked an eyebrow. “Bold assumption.”

Britta grinned. “Nah, she’s right. You’ll fit right in.”

Frankie scoffed but didn’t argue, a smirk curling up her lips.

Annie raised her milkshake. “To meeting old friends for the first time.”

Britta clinked her glass against Annie’s. “To expanding the study group.”

Frankie shook her head but lifted her own glass anyway. “To hoping we all survive it.”

-----

Annie sat cross-legged on the stiff hotel bed, idly flipping through channels. She’d done just about everything she could possibly do to prepare for what was coming. Her suitcase sat neatly in the corner, full outfit laid out on the chair beside it. Her purse was packed with every item that any of them might ever need (without getting too crazy). She even tried to distract herself by organizing her toiletries and reviewing old email threads so she wouldn’t forget any important details, but nothing seemed to settle the restless energy bubbling beneath her skin. She stopped on a rerun of Bones and stared blankly at the screen. After a moment, she sighed, tossing the remote aside. Usually, right now, she’d be calling Abed to check in, hear his voice. 

But then a thought struck her. For the first time in two years, she didn’t have to call Abed. She could go see him. 

The idea sent a thrill through her, and before she could second-guess herself, she grabbed her phone, a charger, and all the junk food she’d picked up at the airport. Then, on impulse, she grabbed the blanket off the bed and threw it over her shoulders like a cape.

If she was going to have a reunion with Abed, she was going to do it right .

Three minutes later, she was knocking on his door. It swung open almost immediately.

Abed, wearing a Star Wars T-shirt and pajama pants covered in tiny Millennium Falcons, blinked back at her, seemingly in shock.

Annie beamed. “Hi.”

They stood there for a second, just looking at each other. Then, in a rare moment of impulse, Abed reached forward and pulled her into a hug. Annie stilled in surprise, then melted into it, squeezing him tight.

“I missed you so much,” she admitted.

He nodded against her shoulder. “I missed you too.”

They pulled back and he stared, eyes scanning her like he was making sure she was real. Then, abruptly, he said, “You look exactly the same.”

She laughed. “So do you.”

Abed tilted his head, considering. “Your hair is a little longer.”

“I guess it is.”

His eyes flickered down to the blanket draped over her shoulders, then to the snacks in her hands. “Are we doing a sleepover?”

She shrugged sheepishly. “Only if you’re up for it.”

Abed smiled and stepped aside without hesitation. “Come in.”

Annie breezed into the room, dumping her supplies onto the bed. “Okay, I’ve got popcorn, chips, and candy.”

He nodded, impressed. “The trifecta.”

She flopped onto the bed, tucking her legs underneath her. “So. Catch me up! How was yesterday?”

Instead of answering, Abed grabbed a bag of M&Ms, shook it, then tossed it to her. “I call dibs on all the blue ones.”

Annie gasped. “What? Since when do you get the blue ones?”

Abed popped one into his mouth, deadpan. “Since I called dibs.”

She rolled her eyes but opened the bag anyway, digging through the candy to fish out a handful. “Fine. But I want all the orange ones.”

“Deal.”

They exchanged their respective colors in comfortable silence. Once their snack-related negotiations were settled, she leaned back against the headboard. “Okay, now you have to tell me. How was yesterday?”

Abed paused, considering. “It was good. The meeting was chaotic, but that was expected. Frankie’s been holding things together.”

Annie smiled knowingly. “Makes sense.”

“Jeff didn’t take over, which surprised Britta, which surprised Jeff.”

Annie laughed. “Huh. Wow.”

“I know,” Abed agreed. “Growth.”

She took a handful of M&Ms and popped them into her mouth. “What about you? How did it feel seeing everyone?”

Abed tilted his head. “It felt like a soft reboot. The characters are familiar, but the settings and stakes are different. That’s exciting, but it also means things could go wrong in ways I can’t predict.”

Annie chewed thoughtfully. “You’re nervous.”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

She reached for another candy but kept her gaze on him. “Because of Troy?”

Abed hesitated just long enough to confirm her guess. “It’s been a long time.”

Annie softened. “Yeah, it has.”

He ran a hand along the seam of one of the throw pillows on the bed. “What if we’re different people now?”

“You are,” she said immediately. “You both are. But you and Troy have always been on the same wavelength. No amount of time or distance is going to change that.”

Abed was quiet for a moment, then nodded. “I know that. Logically. But… emotions don’t always follow logic.”

Annie blinked in surprise. It was one of the more emotionally introspective things she’d ever heard him say. “Wow,” she said. “That’s—”

“Character development,” Abed finished.

She smiled. “Exactly.”

The whir of the hotel air conditioner filled the space between them. Annie glanced over at Abed, who had settled against the pillows, seemingly lost in thought.

She nudged his foot with hers. “Hey.”

He looked at her.

“No matter what happens tomorrow,” she said, voice soft but certain, “you’re not in this alone.”

Abed held her gaze, then gave a small, genuine smile. “Thanks, Annie.”

She smiled back. “Anytime.”

Then she grabbed another handful of M&Ms and threw a blue one into her mouth before he could stop her.

Abed gasped. “Hey! You broke the deal!”

Annie smirked. “Chaos is part of any good soft reboot.”

Abed narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been spending too much time talking to Britta.”

-----

Jeff was standing in front of the Circle K refrigerated section, staring at a row of beer cans like they had personally wronged him.

It wasn’t a conscious decision to come here—at least, not one he had fully thought through. He’d left his apartment feeling restless, his mind stuck in an endless loop of tomorrow’s reunion, Troy’s return, and Abed’s anxious admission that things might not be the same. He wasn’t planning on buying anything, not really. He just wanted the illusion of a choice.

He rubbed the back of his neck and exhaled sharply, tense. Then, with a quiet shake of his head, he reached past the beer and grabbed a Diet Coke. A small victory. A stupid one, but a victory nonetheless. He shut the fridge door, turned—

And nearly walked straight into Britta.

“Jesus,” He muttered, stopping short. “Don’t do that. You’re lucky my fight or flight didn’t kick in.”

She gave him a look. “You’re the one who’s seven feet tall, maybe you should have more awareness of your surroundings.”

He rolled his eyes. “You sneak up on people in gas stations at night, you suffer the consequences.”

“Noted.” She arched an eyebrow, glancing at the bottle in his hand. “Huh. Didn’t take you for a late-night soda run kind of guy.”

He shrugged. “Didn’t take you for a nicotine relapse kind of girl.”

Britta scowled, holding up the fresh pack of cigarettes in her hand. “It’s not a relapse if you haven’t technically quit. It’s a temporary coping mechanism.”

Jeff hummed, brushing past her towards the counter. “Because that’s how all good decisions start.”

She rolled her eyes, hesitating for a moment before following. “I don’t need a lecture.”

“You sure? Cause I have one about lung disease I’ve been saving for a special occasion.”

“I’ll pass.”

The cashier barely glanced up as Jeff set the Coke on the counter. The place was practically empty at this hour, the quiet buzz of the fluorescents filling the silence as they waited. Britta unwrapped the cellophane from her cigarettes with practiced ease, her fingers moving with the same careless dexterity that had always driven him a little insane. Jeff had spent years pretending he didn’t notice things like that about her. Lately he’d been… out of practice.

He let himself look. Just for a second.

She seemed tired. Not in a bad way, necessarily, just like someone who’d spent the whole day preparing for something she wasn’t quite ready to face. Her hair was a little messy, strands slipping free from where she’d tied it back, but she didn’t seem to care. She was wearing the same hoodie he’d seen her wear a million times, the one she always slept in when the nights got too cold. Some threadbare relic from God-knows-when, stretched loose at the sleeves where she liked to tug on them. She was just Britta—all sharp edges and easy familiarity, like something he knew by heart but couldn’t quite get right. And maybe that was what made it worse.

Because Jeff had been here before, caught in the stupid, low-grade hypnosis that always seemed to happen when he let himself focus on her too long. In the past, he would’ve done something about it. Made a move, pushed the moment forward just to see if she’d stop him. But there was no reason to test the theory anymore, because now he knew that she would. Britta had been setting boundaries and he was making a conscious effort to embrace them. So, he did what he always did when he needed to redirect his attention; he went for the easy out.

“You’re really gonna light one up inside?” He raised an eyebrow, nodding disapprovingly toward the cigarette she was rolling between her fingers.

Britta snorted, tucking it behind her ear. “Relax, Winger. I’m not a complete degenerate.”

“Debatable.”

She rolled her eyes, flipping him off before pulling a pack of gum off the shelf and tossing it on the counter with his drink. It was barely a moment, barely anything, but it still hit Jeff in the gut in a way he didn’t want to think about.

He really needed to stop looking at her.

Britta caught him staring and frowned. “What?”

Jeff hesitated and asked something he’d been wondering anyway. “You nervous?”

Britta exhaled through her nose. “No,” she said. Then, after a beat: “Maybe.”

He nodded, watching as she stuffed the cigarette carton into her jacket pocket.

“What about you?”

He hesitated just long enough for her to notice.

Britta smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

Jeff sighed, running a hand over his face. “It’s a lot.”

“Yeah.” 

They stood there for a moment, neither moving to leave. It felt oddly suspended—like the real world had paused outside the glass doors, leaving just the two of them and the dull flicker of the overhead lights behind.

Britta broke the silence first, grabbing her gum and tilting her head toward the door. “Walk me out?”

Jeff nodded. “Yeah.”

The two of them stepped outside together, the cold night air settling over them as they made their way across the asphalt. The gas station parking lot was almost completely empty, the neon glow of the overhead lights making everything feel a little surreal, a little removed from reality. They lingered by their cars, Britta leaning against the driver’s side door of her sedan, tucking the cigarette between her lips. Jeff didn’t say anything as she lit it, just leaned back against his own car and unscrewed the lid on his soda.

Britta took a slow drag, exhaling through her nose. “I’m aware of the irony, by the way.”

Jeff glanced over at her. “What irony?”

She held up the cigarette between her fingers. “The part where I used to look down on your bad coping mechanisms, and now I’m standing here, chain-smoking about it.”

Jeff huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, well. You always did have a thing for lost causes.”

Britta shot him a look, but there was no bite behind it. “And you did always find a way to make things about you.”

Jeff smirked, taking a sip of his drink. “Fine, if you want, we can talk about how the gas station is the last true American cultural hub instead. Where else can you get overpriced snacks, regret, and an existential crisis all in one stop?”

Britta chuckled, exhaling smoke to the side. “Sounds like your dream vacation.”

“Only if they start offering lounge seating.”

She tilted her head back, staring up at the dark sky, the stars barely visible against the city’s glow. Jeff watched her out of the corner of his eye, the way she rocked slightly on her feet like she was trying to ground herself.

He used to catch moments like this all the time—watching her a little too closely, reading into things he had no business reading into. Back then, it had been about getting an edge, figuring out what made her tick so he could play the game a little better. Now, there was no game, no angle… just the simple fact that he noticed. And he wished he didn’t. Because she was right there and, god help him, some part of him was still waiting for her to turn and look at him the way she used to, like she was just as caught up in it as he was.

But she didn’t.

She just took another drag of her cigarette, shoulders rolling back as she exhaled slow and steady. Jeff looked away, forcing himself to focus on the distant rush of traffic instead.

“Tomorrow’s gonna be weird,” Britta said eventually.

Jeff nodded. “Yeah.”

“Weirder for you, probably,” she added, giving him a sideways glance.

He lifted a brow. “Why me?”

Britta shrugged, flicking ash onto the pavement. “Y’know. The whole ‘seeing everyone again, confronting your past, looking your mistakes in the eye’ thing. That’s, like, your nightmare.”

Jeff huffed out a dry laugh, but she wasn’t wrong. Even with the reunion still hours away, there was a tightness in his chest he couldn’t quite shake. Tomorrow, they would all sit in the study room like no time had passed, like they were still those same people, and Jeff wanted so badly for it to be true, but he also knew better. He wasn’t the same. None of them were.

Britta hesitated then, just long enough for Jeff to notice. It was subtle, the way she flicked her cigarette a little too forcefully, how her gaze stayed locked on some indeterminate point in the distance. Whatever she was about to say, she was bracing for it.

“And Annie.”

Jeff frowned slightly. “What about her?”

Britta’s lips pursed around the filter. “I mean… you guys had a thing.” Her gaze was carefully neutral. “Not a real thing, but, y’know. That weird thing. The weird, lingering thing.”

Jeff squinted at her. “Are you just saying ‘thing’ so many times that I get too confused to argue with you?”

Britta let out a sharp little laugh, but she didn’t let him derail her. “Come on, Jeff. You guys used to look at each other like…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “I don’t know. Like you were in some dumb, sweeping romance.”

He turned to give her a flat look, the kind that usually ended conversations he didn’t want to have. Britta didn’t even flinch.

“Look,” she continued, still trying for casual, still not quite landing it. “I’m just saying, if anyone’s gonna be emotionally constipated tomorrow, my money’s on you, Mr. Googly Eyes.”

Jeff sighed, shaking his head. “Britta, I haven’t made googly eyes at Annie since—” He stopped, thinking. “Actually, I don’t think I ever made googly eyes. Maybe, like, a mild smolder.”

Britta snorted. “Oh, well, that clears it up.”

He rolled his eyes. “Point is, you’re being ridiculous. It’s not a thing.”

She shot him a look, unconvinced.

Jeff let out a breath, feeling the weight of her doubt settle between them. He could see it now, what she was really asking, the way she wasn’t actually concerned about Annie at all. Britta was good at pretending she didn’t care, but Jeff had been reading between her lines for years. This wasn’t about some unresolved tension with Annie. It was about him. About whether he was still that guy who chased after things just because he couldn’t have them.

Jeff didn’t look away from her, not this time. “Okay, maybe not ridiculous,” he conceded. “But it was a long time ago. I have my shit together now. Or, at least, I’m trying to. And if I was gonna—”

He stopped himself, the words catching before he could fully form them. He shouldn’t have looked at her. Not while she was standing under the glow of the gas station lights, not while she was pulling softly on her cigarette, exhaling like she was releasing something heavier than smoke. Something in his heart twisted.

He shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that.”

Britta studied him for a second too long, like she was deciding whether or not to believe him. Jeff held her gaze, letting her see the truth of it.

And then, just like that, something in her posture eased.

“Well,” she said lightly, flicking the last of the ash to the ground. “Good to know.”

Jeff saw an opportunity to subvert the conversation. “Are you nervous about Troy?”

She immediately shook her head. “Not even a little bit.”

“Really?”

Britta gave him a look, like she knew exactly what he was doing. “Jeff, Troy and I were barely dating when we were actually dating. It’s like looking back at a summer job. Fun at the time, but it’s not like I still dream about scooping ice cream.”

He let out a soft laugh. “Okay, fair.”

Britta smirked, taking another slow drag of her cigarette. For a second, they just stood there, the parking lot quiet except for the occasional whoosh of a passing car.

Then Jeff glanced at her, brow furrowing slightly. “So… does that mean Greendale was a summer job, too?”

She considered it. “Greendale was more like… I don’t know. A weird-ass commune? Some bizarre social experiment where we all got brainwashed into staying longer than we should have.”

Jeff smirked. “Oh yeah? Is that why you still show up on campus every week even though you’re not enrolled?”

Britta chuckled. “Sure. Among other reasons.” She nudged his foot lightly with the toe of her shoe, something teasing in the gesture, but her eyes still held a quiet weight. “What’s your excuse?”

Jeff hesitated, gripping his bottle a little tighter, resisting the urge to fidget with the label. He could’ve shrugged it off, given her something easy—a joke about tenure, about Greendale’s gravitational pull. But Britta wasn’t asking for a joke.

“Guess I just got used to it,” he said instead.

Britta didn’t call bullshit, but she didn’t let it slide either. “Used to what?”

Jeff exhaled sharply, shaking his head. He wasn’t sure why he was even admitting this. Maybe because it was late, because she was looking at him like she actually wanted to hear his answer. Maybe because, despite everything, Britta was still the person he wanted to tell the truth to before anyone else.

“To knowing what came next.”

That answer landed differently. Britta shifted, watching him, something unreadable in her expression. Jeff didn’t look away. He didn’t try to take it back or fill the silence. For once, he just let it sit between them.

Then, after a moment, Britta dropped her cigarette to the ground, crushing it under her heel. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I get that.”

She didn’t push him to say anything else. He didn’t try to explain himself. They stood there for another minute, the streetlights buzzing faintly overhead.

“Guess we should go get some sleep.” Britta said finally.

He nodded. “Yeah. Big day tomorrow.”

Neither of them moved right away.

Jeff shifted his weight, fingers flexing around the bottle in his hand. The night felt strangely still, like the world had paused and left only the two of them in motion, circling something neither wanted to name. Britta tucked her arms over her chest, like she was trying to keep warm, even though the air was mild. It was a small thing, but Jeff noticed. He always noticed.

For a brief second, something settled between them. Heavy but not uncomfortable, familiar but not safe. It wasn’t just the quiet, or the late hour. It was the way Jeff’s gaze lingered on her profile a beat too long, tracing the curve of her jaw, the pout of her lips, the way her shoulders tensed and released like she was trying not to think too hard.

It was the way Britta’s fingers twitched at her side, like she might reach for him before thinking better of it.

And the worst part, the part Jeff was trying not to acknowledge, was that if she closed that last bit of space between them, he wouldn’t stop her. He’d let her. It would be easy. Familiar. Like muscle memory. Like habit. Like the version of them that existed in the in-between spaces, in moments just like this, when neither of them had to say anything to know exactly what was there. But that was the problem.

Jeff was trying, really trying, to let go of her in that way, to enjoy the energy between them without always waiting for the crescendo. But standing here, the quiet pressing in around them, he felt like he was still unlearning the urge to reach back.

Britta was the one to break it, smirking as she shot him a sideways look. “Don’t get all sentimental on me, Winger.”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She tossed her bag into her car and looked back at him for a moment over her shoulder before sliding into the driver’s seat.

Jeff watched her go, his grip tightening briefly on the neck of the bottle, then shook his head to himself as he climbed into his Lexus.

He told himself the feeling in his chest was nothing.

Chapter Text

Jeff had been parked outside Greendale for five minutes now. Long enough for the radio to cycle through a full commercial break, long enough for him to question whether he was actually ready for this.

It wasn’t bad nerves. Not really. But there was something about today that felt bigger than he’d expected, like some part of his brain had just caught up to what was happening. It had been three years since they’d all been in the same room together. Three years since he last saw Troy, standing on a ship, disappearing into the unknown. Three years since Shirley moved to Atlanta. And two years since Annie and Abed announced they would be starting new lives in other time zones. The ways they’d left had looped in his mind all night as he tried to sleep, unrelenting.

Today would be the opposite. No rushed airport goodbyes or weird, strained visits. All of them would be back in the study room, with pizza and soda and that stupid veggie tray Britta kept bringing up like she was trying to single-handedly fight off scurvy. It was happening and Jeff was excited, which was new. He knew when it had changed; when the thought of seeing them again stopped feeling like a reminder of what he had lost and started feeling like something to look forward to. It was the result of intentional efforts to let go of resentment and become a whole person without relying on the presence of anyone else to hold him together. Growth.

He let out a slow breath, willing the nerves to settle. Then, with a final glance at his reflection in the rearview mirror—just long enough to confirm he didn’t look too much like a guy who had been sitting in his car for five minutes psyching himself up—he grabbed his phone and stepped out.

The air outside smelled the same as it always did. Some combination of fresh-cut grass, burnt coffee, and the lingering regret of a school that never quite knew what it was doing. As he stepped into the quad, the feeling hit him all at once.

The entire campus had thrown itself into Troy’s homecoming, transforming seemingly overnight. Folding tables and booths lined the walkway, each one more ridiculous than the last. A banner that read Welcome Back, Troy Barnes: Greendale’s Most Famous Explorer! hung across the front of the cafeteria, flanked by posters of Troy’s face, some featuring a headshot Abed had taken, others clearly pulled from old yearbooks or, worse, poorly photoshopped onto famous explorers’ bodies. Students milled around, signing up for events. There was a table for Greendale’s First Annual Water Polo Match Against the Pool Cleaning Staff, another for Competitive Egg-Sitting (Sponsored by the Biology Department, Liability Waivers Required), and even one labeled Unrelated But Equally Important: Petition to Bring Back Kickpuncher Screenings. Leonard was doing slow, deliberate tai chi on the lawn, his movements somehow both graceful and deeply unsettling. By the stoner tree, a group of guys were playing hacky-sack, laughing like they had nowhere else to be, like the entire world revolved around keeping that little footbag in the air.

Then, just when Jeff thought it couldn’t get more ridiculous, a familiar voice rang out.

“Mr. Winger!”

Professor Whitman came bounding toward him, a vibrant green kite trailing behind him in the wind. “A momentous day is upon us! The return of a hero, the rekindling of fellowship, the seizing of life itself! You are seizing, aren’t you?”

Jeff blinked at him.

Years ago, he would have scoffed. Or ignored him. Or, at best, offered a deadpan Sure, buddy. But today, standing in the middle of this absurd, wonderful mess, he just exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I guess I am.”

Whitman beamed, lifting his kite higher. “Huzzah, atta boy! To the sky!” He turned and skipped off toward the fountain, humming to himself.

Jeff watched him go, then glanced around again. The air buzzed with that same chaotic, strangely comforting energy that Greendale had once radiated. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like a guy watching the past from the outside. He felt like he was in it.

As he turned toward the main building, something made him stop.

Britta was sitting on the steps.

She didn’t notice him; too focused on the notebook in her lap, her pen tapping absently against the page as she wrote. For a second, Jeff just… looked at her.

It was impossible not to think of the first day. The way he had pointed her out to Abed like she was a puzzle he wanted to solve. Hey, what’s the deal with the hot girl from Spanish class? I can’t find a road in there.

Back then, it had been about the challenge. The game. The thrill of getting what he wanted. But now, standing there, watching her push her hair behind her ear as she paused to reread whatever she had written, it wasn’t about any of that. He wasn’t trying to find a road in. He was just seeing her. And for a reason he didn’t entirely understand, it made his chest feel tight.

Then Britta shifted, turning the page, and Jeff snapped himself out of it. Without another glance, he walked inside.

The hallways of Greendale were as chaotic as ever, some weird combination of nostalgia and absurdity, possibly the result of Craig calling in a few favors and Frankie deciding to take a day or two off from enforcing codes of conduct so that the school could feel like it once had for a while. A guy in bell-bottoms was juggling bean bags in the middle of the hallway. Star-Burns was duct-taping a laptop to a skateboard. There was a cardboard cutout of the Dean near the vending machines that was so realistic, it startled Jeff enough to make him flinch.

And somehow, all of it felt normal.

Just as he was weaving past a group of students debating the ethics of cloning an emotional support animal, the PA system crackled to life.

“Good morning, Greendale!" the Dean’s voice rang out, bright and chipper. “As we count down to Troy Barnes’ historic return, let’s not forget that today isn’t just about welcoming back a beloved friend! It’s also about school spirit, unity, and, most importantly, reminding the city council that we are a legitimate institution and not, as they once called us, a ‘public hazard masquerading as a college.'"

Jeff smirked.

“Oh! And quick reminder,” the Dean continued. “The cafeteria is offering a very special, limited-time dish: ‘Voyage of the Meaty Mystery,’ in honor of Troy’s nautical adventure. Is it beef? Is it fish? Is it chicken? That’s the mystery! And if you solve it, you get a prize!”

The PA crackled for a second, like he was debating whether or not to say something else.

“And if anyone happens to see a missing Dean Pelton cardboard cutout wandering the halls, please return him to my office immediately. He’s, uh— very important to me.”

The speakers cut off with a loud click. Jeff chuckled under his breath, shaking his head and turning down the hall toward Duncan’s office.

He pushed the door open without knocking. “Let’s go, I’m not walking in there alone.”

Duncan looked up from his desk, squinting at him over his reading glasses. “Christ, Winger, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Jeff raised an eyebrow. “Because I walked into your office?”

“Because you didn’t immediately follow it up by asking me to do something morally dubious.”

He smirked, stepping inside. “Give it time.”

Duncan let out a dramatic sigh, closing his book. “If this is some elaborate ruse to get me to be your buffer against emotional sincerity, I’ll have you know I charge a fee.”

Jeff rolled his eyes, leaning against the doorway. “Duncan, you once agreed to be my alibi in exchange for an expired Applebee’s coupon. Don’t act like you have standards.”

Duncan pointed a finger at him. “That was a dark time.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved a hand. “Are we doing this or not?”

Duncan sighed again, but stood, smoothing out his blazer. “Fine. But if anyone cries, I’m out.”

Jeff smirked. “With that crowd? No promises.”

The two of them made their way through the halls, dodging a guy on rollerblades carrying an open gallon of milk and a student wearing what appeared to be chainmail made entirely out of soda can tabs.

“You know,” Duncan mused, “I always forget how much worse this place is when Frankie isn’t molding it through sheer force of will.”

Jeff smirked. “Yeah, it’s like taking the lid off a blender mid-spin.”

They reached the study room doors, and Jeff took a breath before pulling them open. Inside, Frankie and Craig were setting up the table, arranging pizza boxes, soda bottles, and of course, the now-infamous veggie tray. Chang was sitting on the edge of the table, trying to flip a bottle of orange soda with laser focus.

Frankie glanced up first. “Oh, good, you’re here.”

The Dean spun around dramatically. “Jeffrey!” He spread his arms wide. “Welcome to the first ever Greendale Study Group Homecoming Reunion Extravaganza! Name pending, I’ve been workshopping some options... ‘ReGreendale’? ‘Troy and Abed and Everyone Else in the Morning’?”

Jeff opened his mouth to respond, but stopped in his tracks once he processed what the Dean was wearing. His suit, if it could even still be called that, was a collage of laminated photos sewn onto fabric, each one a moment in study group history. Their first day together, Shirley’s sandwiches, Troy and Abed dressed as Inspector Spacetime and Constable Reggie, Jeff representing Britta in Greendale Court, Pierce in his Captain's hat, the gang covered in paint, the graduation ceremony. Every inch of the outfit was covered in them.

Jeff squinted. “Are you… wearing a scrapbook?”

Craig beamed, running a hand down his sleeve. “Not just any scrapbook—our scrapbook.” He held up a sleeve to Jeff’s face. “Look, it’s you scowling at the camera! Classic.”

Jeff pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh my god.”

Chang finally looked up from his bottle flip attempt, squinting at the suit. “Ooh, do I get a featured section?”

Craig twisted his torso, searching. “Mmm… oh! There you are!” He pointed to the bottom hem of his jacket. “There’s you dressed as Napoleon!”

Chang squinted. “Huh. Feels like I should be more prominent.”

Jeff rolled his eyes and muttered to Frankie, “I’m gonna need so much coffee to get through today.”

She sighed, straightening a stack of napkins. “You and me both."

Jeff grabbed a solo cup off the table and poured himself a liberal serving of Diet Coke as a placeholder.

"Also, while we have a moment,” Frankie continued, picking up a clipboard, “I just want to remind everyone that there’s an official schedule for the evening—”

Chang groaned. “Boooo!”

“—which no one is obligated to follow,” Frankie added quickly, giving Chang a pointed look. “It’s just a loose guide to keep things on track so we don’t spiral into chaos.”

“Pfft. You’re spiraling into chaos.” He muttered under his breath.

Jeff folded his arms. “Chang, if you don’t want to participate then what exactly are you doing here?”

“Hey, man, I have a right to be here.” He fired back. “Also, I live here now.”

Frankie shot him a look. “No, you don’t.”

Chang pointed back at her. “That’s exactly what someone who doesn’t live here would say.”

Before anyone could respond to that, the door opened again, and Britta walked in. She stopped just past the threshold, scanning the room. No one said anything right away, and the moment stretched a beat too long, a silent, mutual acknowledgment that this was really happening.

After a second, she set her bag in her chair and exhaled sharply. “Alright, weirdos. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Craig clapped excitedly. “Ooh! That could be the name! ‘Get This Show on the Road: A Study Group Reunion’!”

Frankie pinched the bridge of her nose.

Jeff glanced at Britta. “You brought the stupid veggie tray, didn’t you?”

She met his gaze with mock-seriousness. “And you brought the world’s deepest V-neck. Nostalgic and alarming.”

Jeff smirked, surveying her outfit. “Says the woman cosplaying 2010. What, did the leather jacket come with a free Rage Against the Machine CD?”

Britta shrugged. “I’m just disappointed you ditched the sweatpants-sports-coat combo. Big day like this, I expected a more authentic Jeff Winger.”

Chang squinted at them. “Are you two flirting?”

“NO,” Jeff and Britta said at the same time.

Chang slinked away in defeat. “Okay, jeez...”

Duncan clapped his hands together. “Alright, then! Everyone feeling good? Excited? Emotionally prepared for the sheer force of history that’s about to unfold in this very room?”

Craig placed a hand over his heart. “I might cry.”

Frankie rolled her eyes. “You already did.”

Before Craig could argue, the door swung open again.

“Helloooo!”

The voice rang through the room, warm and lilting, making Jeff’s stomach flip with nostalgia. Shirley Bennett stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, surveying the room like a mother catching her kids making a mess the second she stepped out of the house. Britta let out a breathless, delighted laugh as she crossed the room in two steps and threw her arms around her. Jeff just grinned.

“Oh my god, Shirley!”

“Brittaaaa,” Shirley said, hugging her tight. “I know you missed me, go on, you can say it.”

She pulled back just enough to grin. “I really missed you.”

Shirley beamed, cupping her face for a second. “I missed you too, pumpkin. But look at you! Still dressing like you just robbed a thrift store…”

“I know you don’t mean that as a compliment, but I’m gonna take it as one,” Britta said resolutely.

Shirley patted her on the shoulder, then turned, her gaze landing on Jeff. Her expression softened. “Oh my goodness, Jeffrey!”

Jeff smiled. “Shirley.”

She looked at him the way she always had; like she saw right through him, past whatever deflections and jokes he might throw up, straight to whatever was actually going on underneath.

“Oh, come here,” she said, stepping forward and wrapping him in a hug before he could even think to stop her.

Jeff exhaled, hesitating for just a split second before hugging her back. It felt good, like a little knot he hadn’t realized was there coming undone.

“You holding up okay?” Shirley murmured against his shoulder.

Jeff let out a small chuckle. “Believe it or not, I kinda am.”

Shirley pulled back just enough to study him, then patted his cheek. “I do believe it. But we’ll still talk later.”

Jeff huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Only fitting.”

Craig sidled up and greeted her with an indulgent smile, clutching both of her hands in his. “Shirley Bennett, Greendale’s guardian angel returns!”

“Finally, another sensible person in this madhouse.” Duncan joked.

“I hope you don’t mean yourself, Ian.” Shirley said, raising an eyebrow at him.

Duncan placed a hand over his heart. “I’ve changed.”

Shirley hummed. “We’ll see about that.”

Chang bounced on his feet. “Okay, my turn! My turn! Shirley! It’s me!”

“Oh, Lord help us,” Shirley said, giving him a cautious but warm hug.

As they broke apart, she finally turned to the only unfamiliar face in the room.

“And you must be…?” She said, eyeing them with interest.

Britta perked up. “Oh! Yeah! Shirley, this is Frankie. She’s basically the only reason this place hasn’t completely collapsed.”

Frankie approached, sticking out her hand. “Frankie Dart. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Shirley closed the distance, giving her a firm handshake and nodding, impressed. “Oh, I already like you.”

Frankie looked surprised. “Huh. Usually I don't get that until a couple months in.”

Shirley smiled, appreciative. “Well, anyone keeping this place running gets on my nice list.”

“Thank you,” She chuckled. “I try to at least keep it functioning. It’s been… an uphill battle.”

“Oh, I believe it.”

Jeff smirked, watching as the two of them sized each other up, already forming some sort of quiet understanding.

“Am I the first one?” Shirley asked, glancing toward the door like she expected the others to come spilling in after her.

“Looks like it.” Craig confirmed.

As if on cue, the door creaked open again.

Abed entered first, eyes immediately locking onto Shirley. He exhaled sharply, his version of a gasp, then spread his arms wide. “Shirley!” He said, voice brimming with fondness.

Shirley let out a delighted laugh and strode toward him, pulling him into a tight embrace. “Abed! Oh, I missed you, sweetie.”

“I missed you too,” Abed said, hugging her back. “My list of things to tell you is so long that it’s more like… a director’s cut of a list.”

Shirley sighed pleasantly. “Still making all your little movies?”

“Yes. And also television,” Abed said. “We should discuss it over lunch. You’re my first pick for an audience test screening.”

“You just tell me when and where.”

Abed nodded, then turned to Jeff. “Hey. You made it.”

Jeff smirked. “And yet I didn’t get the full dramatic entrance treatment.”

Abed tilted his head. “Because I already saw you yesterday.”

“Still,” Jeff said. “Would’ve been nice to feel wanted.”

Britta snorted. He retaliated by elbowing her in the ribs. 

Shirley patted his arm. “Oh, stop fishing for validation, Jeffrey. You know we all love you.”

“I was joking, but now I am fishing. Please, tell me more.” He grinned.

The door opened again before anyone could respond.

Annie.

She squealed and immediately turned to Shirley, her smile bright and unwavering, “Oh my god!”

Shirley gasped. “Annieeee!"

She beamed as Annie rushed forward, wrapping her in a warm, swaying hug. “I can’t believe you’re here!”

“Neither can I!” Shirley pulled back, smoothing Annie’s hair fondly. “Look at you! All grown up and important in the FBI.”

Annie laughed. “Not that important. I’m still in training.”

“Well, I don’t know anything about forensics, but you just let me know if you need any undercover baked goods.” Shirley winked.

“I will,” Annie promised.

The Dean practically flung himself forward, arms outstretched. Annie barely had time to brace herself before he was hugging her, rocking her side to side with giddy enthusiasm.

“Our sweet, responsible, formerly baby-faced Annie Edison! Absolutely radiating authority. I mean, that posture? That hair? That blazer?”

“Thank you, Dean,” Annie replied, looking slightly embarrassed.

He sniffled dramatically. “I’m just so proud of all of you. Grown adults! Achieving things! Getting benefits packages!”

Annie spotted Chang and then gasped in excitement. “Ben!”

He shifted on his feet. “You know, Annie, when you left, I thought to myself—she’s never coming back. And you know what? I was right. Until today.”

“…Right,” She said, unsure how to respond.

Before she could say anything else, Chang took a sharp breath, then flung his arms open. “Bring it in.”

Annie hesitated just a beat before obliging. Chang hugged her tightly, then pulled back just enough to give her a scrutinizing look.

“Oh, good, you don’t feel evil,” He noted, like it was a normal thing to say.

“Uh… thanks?”

Chang nodded, satisfied, and released her.

Duncan, watching the exchange, let out a dramatic sigh. “I suppose it’s my turn, then.” He stepped forward. “Hello, Annie. Miss me?”

Annie gave him a skeptical look but smiled. “I mean… sure?”

“Good enough for me.” He pulled her into a quick, one-armed hug before stepping back. “Glad you’re here.”

“Glad you’re here,” Annie replied. “And glad you’re… good." She added pointedly.

Duncan patted his own chest. “Reformed man. Picture of health.”

Annie nodded in vague support and then turned to Britta and Frankie.

“We already covered our hellos,” Britta said, nudging her.

“Yeah, but Shirley didn’t get to see it,” Annie pointed out.

Britta rolled her eyes and pulled her into another quick hug, grinning. “There, you happy?”

“Very,” Annie said, squeezing her back before pulling away.

“Welcome back, Annie.” Frankie chuckled, accepting a hug, too. “You didn’t miss much. Just some structural improvements, administrative policy changes, and three separate lawsuits.”

“Only three?” She quipped. “Impressive.”

They smirked. “I do what I can.”

Annie chuckled, then, as if sensing there was no avoiding it, turned to Jeff. 

It had been years since they’d spoken, the memory of their last phone call lingering awkwardly in the air between them. The one where she told him she wouldn’t be coming back. The one where he didn’t try to change her mind. The one that effectively ended their friendship as they’d known it. 

Still, they both tried not to let it show.

“Jeff!” Annie said, her voice light, careful.

Jeff nodded. “Annie.”

She went in for a hug, and he met her halfway. It was short. A little awkward. But it was fine. And when they pulled back, Annie smiled, and Jeff smirked, and everyone else pretended not to notice.

“Nice, very natural,” Britta whispered sarcastically.

“Shut up.” He muttered.

Craig clapped his hands together. “Well! Looks like we’re just waiting on one more.”

Britta grinned. “Troy.”

Shirley pressed a hand to her heart. “My Troy.”

Jeff just shook his head, sarcastic. “Well, as long as we're not picking favorites.”

Abed, who had been standing near the edge of the group, shifted slightly. His eyes flicked toward the door, then down to the floor, then back up, as if running calculations only he could see. Jeff caught it. Without a word, without making a show of it, he bumped Abed’s elbow with his own; just enough to jolt Abed out of his thoughts, to ground him. Abed turned his head, eyes darting to him.

Jeff didn’t look at him directly, just kept his arms crossed and smirked like nothing had happened. But Abed still seemed to understand. His shoulders dropped by an almost imperceptible degree. He nodded once, like an internal setting had recalibrated, and straightened his posture. It was so subtle that nearly everyone in the group, caught up in their own anticipation, missed it. Everyone except for Britta. 

It wasn’t much—just a nudge of the elbow, a quiet reassurance. A nonverbal I've got you. But what really got her was Jeff. The way he did it without hesitation, without expecting Abed to acknowledge it, let alone thank him. Just instinct. It was just Jeff, in a way she didn’t think even he fully realized. She didn’t say anything, didn’t make a face, but she noticed. Not just that he had done it, but that it helped.

The doors to the study room swung open.

And there he was.

Troy Barnes stood in the doorway, grinning, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder like he had just walked back in from spring break instead of years at sea. He hadn’t changed much—maybe a little more solid, a little more grown, but his eyes were the same. Wide and warm and unmistakably Troy.

There was a split second of stunned silence, one final breath of anticipation, before the entire room erupted.

Shirley was the first to scream. Britta was the first to move. Then it was chaos.

“TROY! ” Britta practically tackled him, wrapping her arms around his neck as Shirley joined in, crying out, “My baby!” before squeezing them both. Jeff had to sidestep out of the way before they all crashed into him, but he wasn’t fast enough to dodge the Dean, who dove in next with a delighted wail of “Our beautiful football star!”, and knocked both of them into the mess. Duncan followed, arms wide open, laughing, “I barely knew you, but my god, it’s good to see you!” Chang, who had mysteriously acquired a party popper from somewhere, let it off directly into the air and shouted, “TROY, I LOVE YOU!” before launching himself at the pile. Even Frankie, despite herself, got pulled into the chaos, eyes wide with both horror and reluctant amusement as she let it happen.

Troy, who was being absolutely smothered, just laughed, breathless. “Guys! I missed you too, but I just got here —”

“We don’t care!” Britta said into his shoulder.

“Be quiet and accept our love!” Shirley added, squeezing tighter.

Finally, after several long, breathless moments of collective overexcitement, the cluster began to break apart, dispersing into its separate pieces. Except for one.

Troy and Abed stood there, just looking at each other.

For a second, no one else mattered. Abed’s hands twitched at his sides, like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. His mouth opened slightly, then closed. His usual ease, his casual, knowing quirk of the eyebrow, it was all absent. Just pure, raw uncertainty. 

Troy, for his part, got it. Because he knew. He had always known.

So he smiled. “Hey, Clone Abed.”

Abed swallowed. “Hey, Clone Troy.”

Troy closed the distance in one step, pulling Abed into a tight hug. Abed returned it instantly, fingers digging into the back of Troy’s shirt like he was grounding himself, making sure this was real. It was different from the others. Less wild, less chaotic. More like home.

Everyone could feel it. Even Jeff, who had made a lifelong habit of pretending he didn’t notice things like this, caught the shift in the air. He glanced at Britta. She was watching them closely, her eyes soft, her expression unreadable. Jeff didn’t say anything. Neither did she. But they both knew.

Troy and Abed didn’t let go right away. For a moment, it was just them, locked in something deeper than the simple joy of reunion; something weightier, quieter. Abed’s grip didn’t loosen, and Troy didn’t pull away. He didn’t make a joke or break the moment like he might have years before. He just held on.

“I missed you,” Abed finally said, voice low, barely audible over the sounds of the group shuffling around them.

Troy exhaled, his arms tightening for just a second before he nodded against Abed’s shoulder. “Yeah. Me too.”

A long beat.

Then, without warning, Troy pulled back just enough to grin. “You look older.”

Abed studied him. “So do you.”

Troy gasped dramatically. “How dare you.”

Abed tilted his head, his face shifting back into something more familiar, easier. “But you just said it to me.”

“It was banter!”

Abed’s lips twitched. “So was mine.”

“Oh. Okay, cool.” Troy grinned again, relaxing. “Guess we still got it.”

“Yeah. We do.”

“Alright, now can I get in on this?” Britta cut in, bouncing on her heels, her grin so wide it practically split her face.

Troy barely had time to react before she threw her arms around his neck again, squeezing him tight.

He laughed, hugging her back. “Damn, Britta, you got weirdly strong.”

“Thanks,” she smirked, pulling back to nudge in the arm. “Didn’t even mean to, it just happened!”

Shirley was next, cupping Troy’s face in her hands. “Let me look at you, pumpkin!”

Troy let her, beaming under her touch. “Am I still handsome? Actually, don’t answer that—I know I am.”

“Oh, hush.” Shirley gave him a little shake before wrapping him up in another big hug. “I prayed for you every single day.”

Troy’s face softened. “I know you did.”

Craig, meanwhile, was wiping at his eyes aggressively. “Oh, this is too much. It’s too much!”

Duncan patted his back. “Hold it together, man.”

Chang, from the other side of the table, simply saluted. “Captain Barnes. You made it.”

Troy saluted back. “Lieutenant Chang.”

Frankie, who had been hovering at the edge of the chaos, finally stepped forward, clearing her throat. “So. You’re Troy.”

Troy blinked. “And you’re…” He paused for a moment, piecing things together. “Frankie?”

She nodded. “I am.”

He looked her over, then pointed. “You’re the reason this place isn’t literally on fire right now, huh?”

Frankie shrugged. “I have my moments,” She paused. “We should talk later. I’ve heard you’re quite the steel drum player.”

Troy’s brow furrowed for a moment. “What do you—”

Before Troy could finish his question, Jeff quickly stepped forward.

“Hey, man!” He cut in smoothly, clapping a hand on Troy’s shoulder.

Troy nodded back. “Hey, old man.” He smirked.

Jeff scoffed, crossing his arms. “Oh, shut up, I’m not—”

Troy cut him off with a grin and a hug, clapping him on the back.

Jeff sighed but hugged him back. “Good to see you, Barnes.”

“Good to be seen, Winger," He pulled back, grinning. “You still all dramatic and broody, or did you finally take my advice and start vibing?”

Jeff smirked. “I dabble in vibing.”

Troy turned back to the group, spreading his arms. “Well, guys, looks like we did it. Gang's back together."

There was a beat, the kind that felt right to let stretch out. A moment to soak it in. Then, in classic Greendale fashion, the silence was immediately broken.

“Alright,” Troy announced, hoisting his duffle bag onto the table with an exaggerated grunt. “Now for the really important part: presents.”

Craig let out a tiny gasp. “I love presents!”

He unzipped the bag, rifling through its contents. “Okay, so, obviously I was gone for a long time, and I went a lot of places, and I had to get you guys stuff, but also, like… I had limited space. So just… manage your expectations accordingly.”

He reached into the bag. “Alright, first up: Shirley.”

Shirley gasped, clasping her hands together as Troy pulled out a beautifully woven scarf, deep maroon with intricate gold threading.

“This is from Morocco,” he said, handing it to her. “Handmade. And I know how you like to have a little flair in your wardrobe, so…”

Shirley’s face lit up as she ran her fingers over the fabric. “Oh, Troy, it’s beautiful.”

Troy grinned. “I almost kept it for myself, but I figured you’d appreciate it more.”

She pulled him into another hug. “Thank you, sweetie.”

He beamed before reaching back into the bag. “Next up… Britta.”

Britta perked up as Troy pulled out a small, colorful fabric pouch and tossed it to her. She caught it, eyes narrowing. “This better not be cursed.”

“It’s not cursed,” Troy insisted. “It’s a handmade change purse from Thailand.”

Britta opened it, inspecting the inside. “Wow, this is awesome. I love it.”

“I figured you needed somewhere to put all the loose bills you use to tip street musicians and stuff.”

She grinned “Sick.”

Troy dug back into the bag, then pulled out a brightly colored, feathered headdress and held it up. “Alright, Dean, I thought about getting you something normal, but then I saw this and knew in my soul it belonged to you.”

Craig gasped so dramatically that it sounded like he had just seen a ghost. “Troy Barnes,” he whispered, eyes wide with reverence. “You understand me.”

With shaking hands, the Dean took the headdress from him, holding it up to the light as if it were a sacred artifact. “Where—where is this from?”

“Brazil,” Troy said proudly. “Got it at Carnival. Some dude tried to trade me a parrot for it, but I held strong.”

“Oh, I love it,” the Dean murmured, already slipping it onto his head. He spun toward the group, striking a dramatic pose. “Well? How do I look?”

Frankie suppressed a smile. “Like an HR nightmare waiting to happen.”

Britta grinned. “Like yourself.”

The Dean clutched his chest. “Oh, Britta,” His voice wavered with emotion. “That is the greatest compliment you have ever given me.”

“Alright, next… Duncan.”

Duncan raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so I do get a gift. Thought I might be too peripheral.”

“Please,” Troy scoffed. “After the way you taught Anthropology, you’re an icon.” He pulled out a small, flask-shaped bottle and set it in front of him. “This is from Japan. It’s fancy soy sauce.”

Duncan’s brows lifted as he picked it up. “Fancy soy sauce?”

“Handcrafted,” Troy corrected. “Like, this stuff is artisanal .”

Duncan held it up like it was a fine bottle of wine. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but I accept it with grace.”

“Alright, Chang—”

“YES.” Chang rubbed his hands together.

Troy pulled out a tiny, rubber chicken keychain.

Chang gasped, eyes wide. “This is the best gift I have ever received," He studied it carefully. "I shall name him Señor Clucksworth.”

Troy dug back into the bag, pausing for a second before glancing up at Annie.

“This one’s kinda goofy, but I saw it and thought of you,” he admitted, pulling out a small, delicate-looking ceramic bunny figurine.

Annie gasped, already delighted. “Troy! I love it!”

“Yeah?” Troy grinned, handing it over.

“Yes!” Annie turned it over in her hands. “Where’s it from?”

“Amsterdam,” Troy said. “I have no idea why they had it, but it was cute, so I got it.”

Annie beamed. “It’s awesome.”

Troy grinned before finally, finally reaching into the bag again and pulling out a small, slightly battered, handheld telescope.

He set it in front of Abed.

Abed picked it up carefully, running his fingers along the metal. “A spyglass.”

“From Portugal,” Troy nodded.

Abed turned it over in his hands. For a second, it was quiet. Then he looked up. “This is perfect.”

Troy’s smile softened. “Yeah?”

Abed nodded. “Yeah.”

Troy nodded back. “Cool.”

Jeff, watching all of this unfold, leaned an elbow on the table. “You didn’t get me anything, did you?”

Troy turned to him, completely deadpan. “Nope.”

Jeff blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

Troy held his stare for a second longer before cracking up. “Dude, don’t worry, I got you.”

Jeff rolled his eyes, but his smirk remained as Troy pulled out a sleek, leather-bound journal and set it on the table in front of him. His brow furrowed slightly as he picked it up. It was nice, not just some random thing Troy had grabbed at a tourist shop. The leather was smooth, worn just enough to feel right, and the pages inside were thick, high-quality paper. Jeff ran a thumb along the spine, considering it.

“Where’s this from?” he asked, quieter than before.

“Florence,” Troy said. “Real Italian leather. Hand-stitched. I figured, you know… you’re always in your head. Maybe it’d be good to put some of that somewhere that isn’t just… circling around in there.”

Jeff blinked, staring at it for a moment longer before nodding. “That’s actually really cool.”

Troy grinned. “Yeah, I knew you’d never buy one yourself, but if you had one, you’d use it.”

There was a brief pause, almost sentimental. Then Troy clapped his hands together. “And, also —” He dug back into the bag and tossed something else at him. Jeff caught it on instinct and unfolded it. 

It was a plain navy blue shirt. With the words “World’s Okayest Lawyer” printed across the front. He held it up to his chest, shaking his head in disapproval. The whole room burst into laughter.

Jeff sighed. “Wow."

Troy smirked. “You earned it.”

Britta wiped at her eyes, still laughing. “Oh my god, you have to wear that.”

“Absolutely not,” Jeff said, but his smirk gave him away.

Troy grinned at the room, at all of them, leaning against the table. “Man. I missed you guys.”

“Ditto.” Said Abed, smiling.

-----

The study room finally felt like the study room again. 

The pizza had been reduced to greasy cardboard remnants, the veggie tray had been mostly ignored (except for Shirley, who kept taking polite bites of celery), and the room was buzzing with the kind of easy chaos that hadn’t existed in years. Craig was still admiring his new headdress in the reflection of the windows, occasionally striking a pose. Duncan was staring at his bottle of fancy soy sauce like he was trying to commit its ingredients to memory. Frankie was watching Chang with clear suspicion as he fiddled with a napkin and a roll of duct tape he’d seemed to conjure out of thin air. Shirley was talking to Annie about the visit she’d had with her boys, beaming as she swiped through pictures on her phone. Abed and Troy were sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, quietly catching up in the way that only they could, their conversation an endless, seamless flow of inside jokes and references no one else could follow. Britta was leaning back in her chair, chewing a slice of pizza and watching it all with a sappy look on her face. And Jeff sat off to her left, watching her watch.

She stretched her arms behind her head and let out a contented sigh. “Man, I forgot how much I loved wasting time in here.”

“I know,” Jeff chuckled. “It’s the perfect place to do nothing.”

“That’s exactly what I was saying to Frankie last semester!” Craig added, taking a bite of crust.

Frankie sighed. “Yes. You were.”

Britta licked the pizza grease off her fingers and turned toward Frankie. “What’s the schedule for today? You’re still the one in charge of keeping us from running into oncoming traffic, right?”

Frankie lifted an eyebrow. “That does seem to be my role in most situations.”

“So what’s the deal?” Jeff asked. “Are we, like, expected to show up at events, or is this just a roam-free-and-hope-no-one-gets-arrested kind of situation?”

“Well, there’s plenty happening,” Frankie said, flipping through her clipboard. “There are booths set up all over campus, and students are encouraged to sign up for activities throughout the week. Some panels, some challenges, a few skill demonstrations—”

“What kind of challenges?” Chang asked eagerly.

Frankie held up a hand. “Let me be very clear: all the challenges will be legal.”

Chang nodded solemnly. “Good clarification.”

“You can all play it by ear,” Frankie continued. “Nothing is mandatory—just whatever you’re interested in. And then tonight, there’s a welcome concert that Chang organized.”

Britta stopped chewing.

Her brow furrowed slightly, her brain catching onto something before she fully grasped what it was. Then, after a beat, she turned her head slowly toward Frankie.

“Wait. What do you mean a welcome concert?”

Frankie shrugged, unfazed. “Just a simple live performance. Local band, nothing extravagant.”

Britta’s eyes widened. “Oh my God.”

Jeff studied her face for a second before it dawned on him. “No. No way.”

Frankie gave them both a look of confusion.

And then—like the universe had planned it—a familiar voice floated through the hall outside.

“Oh, man, this air is different. Feels... I don’t know, purer than I remember...”

Britta’s entire body went stiff.

Jeff’s head snapped up.

Troy, completely lost, looked around the room. “Am I the only one who's confused?”

Before anyone could answer, he walked by the study room doors. Greendale’s most infamous shirtless, shoeless, anti-establishment, tiny-nippled folk musician.

Britta’s jaw dropped. Jeff’s eye twitched. And then Vaughn spotted Annie through the window.

His face lit up. “Woah… Mountain Flower?”

Annie, who had been minding her business, enjoying her calm, normal reunion, suppressed a gasp, her eyes widening.

“Oh, no,” She muttered under her breath, plastering a grin on her face. “Vaughn? What are you doing here?”

Vaughn stepped fully into the study room, slinging his guitar case over his shoulder with casual ease. “Just healing the world through the power of music,” He smiled at her. “And, apparently, reconnecting with you.”

Annie let out a polite, strangled laugh. “Ha. Wow. That’s… so great.”

“It sounds great.” Jeff quipped sarcastically.

Vaughn didn’t even acknowledge him. His entire focus was on Annie, like no one else was in the room. “Man, this is wild. You know, I always wondered what would’ve happened if I hadn’t moved to Delaware.”

“Oh, well,” Annie said quickly, keeping her voice light, “You did! And that was, um, a really good opportunity for you, so—”

“A hacky-sack scholarship,” Jeff muttered to Britta, shaking his head.

Vaughn turned, finally registering that Jeff was there, and his entire demeanor changed instantly. The smile dropped, his posture stiffened, his eyes narrowed. “Jeff.”

Jeff sighed. “Oh, here we go.”

Britta, still processing this absolute nightmare scenario, ran a hand through her hair. “Vaughn, you’re the musical act for the welcome concert?”

Vaughn scoffed. “Uh, yeah? I’ve been performing all over. You might have heard of my band, Tectonic Mystic —”

“I really haven’t,” Britta said immediately.

He barely even spared her a glance. “That checks out. You’ve always had, like, super negative energy, Britta.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Excuse me?”

Jeff, who had already hated Vaughn long before this moment, crossed his arms. “Dude, are you seriously still mad about the poem thing? That was, like, ten years ago.”

Vaughn’s jaw tightened. “I don’t hold onto negativity, man.”

“Right, right,” Jeff said dryly. “You just write entire songs about it.”

Vaughn whipped his head toward Britta, pointing at her like she was some cautionary tale. “See? This is what I mean. You two? Toxic.”

Britta threw up her hands. “Oh my God, I told you I felt bad! When I showed Jeff the poem I didn’t mean for—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Vaughn cut in, shaking his head. “Some people, they just radiate bad energy, y’know? They suck the positivity right out of a room.”

Jeff scoffed. “And yet you’re the one who wrote and performed a song called Getting Rid of Britta.”

He shrugged, looking smug. “Hit single.”

Britta’s eyes bugged out. “It was not a hit single! It was Pierce on keys and some guy in sandals playing the bongos!”

Troy’s eyes lit up in recognition. “Oh, yeah, I remember that song! She’s a no good B…” He hummed.

Britta turned on him, her expression withering. “Troy.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “Sorry! It’s catchy.”

“Thank you,” Vaughn said.

“I take it back,” He muttered, after receiving a very harsh glance from Jeff.

Vaughn huffed, rolling his shoulders. “Whatever, man. That was a long time ago. I’ve moved on.”

Jeff snorted. “Oh, yeah. Super evolved of you.”

Vaughn ignored him completely and turned back to Annie, his smile snapping back into place. “Anyway, Mountain Flower, we should catch up. Maybe grab some tea, do some grounding exercises—”

“Yeah...” Annie interrupted, clapping her hands together. “That’s—uh, wow, that’s really—”

Jeff, sensing the absolute panic in her voice, jumped in before she could finish the sentence.

“You know, Vaughn, we’re kinda in the middle of something.”

Vaughn smirked. “Man, I’m getting the sense that you could benefit from some grounding exercises.”

Jeff gave him a flat look. “Not really. I just have a hard time breathing when the room is filled with so much bullshit.”

“That was so negative, bro.” Vaughn muttered, shaking his head.

Britta threw her hands up. “Oh my God, leave already!”

He held his palms up in peace, taking a step back toward the door. “Fine. I get it. Some people can’t handle a little inner peace. That’s on you, man.”

He turned his attention back to Annie, who was still smiling politely through sheer force of will.

“I’ll see you around, Edison,” he said with a wink before walking away like he hadn’t just derailed the entire afternoon.

The second he was out of earshot, Britta let out a long, exasperated groan and dropped her head onto the table. Frankie looked at her in confused amusement.

Troy, meanwhile, was still chewing over the information. “Wait… he’s the one performing tonight?”

Frankie nodded. “Chang booked him.”

Chang beamed. “And I’d do it again.”

Britta lifted her head just enough to glare at Chang. “What possible reason could you have for thinking this was a good idea?”

Chang shrugged. “I’m an agent of chaos.”

“In my defense, I would’ve stopped him if I knew there was a backstory.” Frankie said.

Britta turned to Jeff. “You see what I’m dealing with here?”

He scoffed. “Please. As if I don’t have my own personal history of Vaughn-related trauma.”

“Oh, yeah, your life was so hard. You had to sit around and watch me date him.” She remarked, rolling her eyes.

Jeff leveled her with a look. “Oh, I suffered.”

She smirked. “Poor baby.”

“Thank you for acknowledging it.” He smirked back. 

Annie, who had been trying her best to keep quiet, finally threw her hands up. “Okay, but what about me?”

Jeff and Britta both turned toward her. “What about you?”

Annie gestured wildly. “Guys, he’s clearly still into me! What am I supposed to do?!”

Britta considered for half a second. “I don’t know. Tell him you took a vow of silence?”

Annie shot her a look. “Britta.”

Jeff sighed, rubbing his face. “Just be polite, make small talk, and for the love of God, do not let him put you another one of those hippie collars.”

“I hate this.” Annie exhaled sharply, slumping against the back of her chair. 

“Yeah,” Britta muttered. “Welcome to the club.”

Shirley, who had been watching all of this unfold with growing amusement, jumped in. “Well, if it helps, I can tell you all right now... I will be attending that concert, and I will be filming every second of it.”

“Great. At least it'll be documented.” Jeff quipped.

Britta groaned again. “I cannot believe this is happening."

Jeff rested his forearms on the table, leaning towards her. “What do you wanna do? Boycott?”

Britta scoffed. “Please. He’d love that. It’d just feed into his whole bigger-than-the-system complex.”

“True. That guy loves to pretend he’s oppressed by, like… public decency laws and pants.”

Abed tilted his head, trying to follow. “So we are going to the concert tonight?”

“Oh my god, I don’t even know.” Britta whined

Craig frowned. “You can’t not go. It’s the welcome event!”

Britta slumped further in her chair and looked over at Jeff. “Do you think if I walk off into the ocean now, I can just stay there?”

Jeff smirked. “Depends. Are you willing to risk running into Vaughn again? Pretty sure he has strong opinions about water.”

Britta considered this for a moment. “Dammit. You’re right.”

Annie let out a small, resigned sigh. “Well. Guess I’m going to a Vaughn concert tonight.”

Jeff shot her a look. “We’re all going to a Vaughn concert tonight.”

“I hate this timeline.” Britta muttered, slumping even further into her chair.

Chapter Text

After the initial chaos of the reunion settled, the group began peeling off towards their respective responsibilities. Duncan left to teach a class. Frankie and the Dean disappeared to finalize logistics for the concert (which Britta, Annie, and Jeff were still in deep denial about). Chang wandered off with no explanation, prompting a silent, mutual agreement to just let it happen.

And then, just like that, it was the six of them. Sitting around their old table in their old seats, like no time had passed at all; except, of course, it had. The chair next to Troy remained conspicuously empty. No one commented on it, but no one moved to fill it either.

Troy exhaled, leaning back in his chair. “Man, Britta’s right. I forgot how good this place is for slacking off.”

Annie shot him a look of gentle disapproval. “It’s a study room, Troy.”

“Yeah, and I used to study the table real hard while I was sleeping on it.”

“Nice.” Jeff smirked, nodding in approval. 

“So, what’s the plan for the day?” Shirley asked, folding her hands on the table.  “Are we going to wander around campus and see how it’s changed?”

“I’m not doing anything that involves a sign-up sheet,” Jeff said. “I’ve got a lecture to teach in a couple hours and I refuse to commit to anything requiring formal participation.”

“You, afraid of commitment? What a shocker,” Britta snorted.

“You don’t have to participate, Jeffrey,” Shirley replied, ignoring Britta’s comment. “You just have to have fun.”

“That’s worse ,” he retorted, smirking.

Britta turned to Annie and Shirley. “Wanna split off? Just the girls for the morning?”

Annie nodded. “Yeah! We can poke around, see if there’s anything fun going on.”

“Maybe get some coffee?” Shirley suggested.

“Ooh, yes.”

“Alright, guys,” Troy said, glancing between Jeff and Abed. “Looks like we’re doing our own thing. Seeing the sights. Taking in the weird.”

“I’m up for a nostalgia trip,” Abed said.

Jeff sighed. “As long as it doesn’t end with someone trying to recruit us into a secret trampoline cult, I’m in.”

Britta shot him a knowing look. “That’s funny. I thought you weren’t committing to anything.”

“Shut up.”

Shirley clapped her hands together. “Alrighty! Girls together, boys together. We’ll meet back in the cafeteria for lunch?” A round of nods and murmured agreement followed.

“Hey,” Jeff said, leaning towards Britta as she turned to leave. “Watch out for micro-nipples. And keep an eye on Annie.”

Britta rolled her eyes. “I don’t need you to tell me to keep an eye on Annie.”

“I know, I just also know you’re easily distracted by stupid causes and bad music.”

“Pfft. Please. It’s not my first rodeo, Winger,” she said, hoisting her bag higher on her shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah. But seriously, if Vaughn tries to serenade her, take him out.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ve got years of pent-up rage just waiting for that opportunity.”

“That’s the spirit.”

She turned to walk away, then paused and swiveled back. “And you try not to get distracted by blow-off classes or Greendale nonsense.”

Jeff brushed her off. “I think I’ll survive.”

“Until you become the unwilling leader of a roaming pack of freshmen.”

“I mean, at least then I’d be contributing to the community.”

“I’m just saying,” she sang. “If you end up in some absurd situation by the time lunch rolls around, don’t call me.”

“Duly noted.”

With that, Britta spun on her heel and caught up with the girls, leaving Jeff shaking his head.

Troy raised an eyebrow. “That was a lot of words to say ‘be careful.’”

“Yeah, well,” Jeff sighed. “That’s kinda our thing.”

-----

Troy, Abed, and Jeff set up camp on one of the bright green benches by the fountain, the kind that leaves a faint grid pattern on the backs of your thighs if you sit for too long. It was January, maybe 50 degrees at best, but each of them held an ice cream cone from a student-run “Greendale Dairy Initiative” cart that would’ve sent Britta into an ethical tailspin. It felt weird, Jeff thought, sitting with Troy and Abed like neither of them had ever left. Everything about the moment was casual, unimportant. In reality, he’d been imagining what it might feel like to have this again for the last two years, which made it even harder to process now that it had arrived.

Troy wiped a smear of chocolate from his chin. “Eating ice cream during winter is kind of underrated. No melting.”

Jeff frowned at his cup. “Does anyone else’s have glitter in it?”

“It’s edible,” Abed said, licking his own cone without looking. “Probably.”

Jeff leaned back against the unforgiving metal, watching the usual Greendale circus unfold across the quad.

“Greendale functions as a narrative ecosystem independent of external influence,” Abed observed, as if he’d read Jeff’s mind. “Especially this week. Because of the revival arc.”

Troy lit up. “So cool. It’s like we’re stepping into a lost episode!”

“Yeah, well, if this is a revival arc, I want better writing for my character,” Jeff muttered. “Maybe make me less miserable this time around.”

Abed considered the request. “I don’t know. Your misery has always been one of the show’s most reliable sources of comedic tension.”

“Yeah, man,” Troy chimed in. “Without that, what do you even bring to the table?”

Jeff sighed, loud and theatrical. “Great. Love being typecast.”

They sat in easy silence for a minute or two, quietly enjoying their ice cream and the comfort of each others’ company. It was Troy who finally broke the moment.

“So, for real, how are you guys? I know some stuff, but catch me up.”

Abed answered first. “I’m about to start working as a camera operator on an HBO show.”

“Yeah, Mr. Hollywood over here’s been pretty damn successful,” Jeff said, nudging him lightly in the side.

Troy grinned. “Oh, damn! That’s awesome.”

“And I finished the script for my next short film. Just stuck looking for funding now.”

“That’s great, man. See? You were always meant to be a director.”

Abed’s expression barely shifted, but there was quiet gratitude in his voice. “Thanks, Troy.”

“What about you, Jeff? Still a professor?”

“Yeah,” He sighed. “Shockingly, I haven’t had some midlife crisis and run off to become a lumberjack or something.”

“I mean, you would be good at that,” Troy smirked.

He pocketed the compliment, continuing his point. “Turns out I’m half-decent at teaching. And with the others still around, it felt worth sticking it out.”

Troy nodded, studying him for a beat. “You seem… different.”

Jeff raised an eyebrow. “What, older?”

“Not really. Just less tense.”

Abed nodded. “Your default used to be apathetic pessimism. Now it’s more like… cautious self-awareness.”

“Wow. Thanks, guys. This is so validating,” Jeff deadpanned.

“I mean it,” Troy said sincerely. “You seem good.”

“Therapy’ll do that to a guy.” Jeff said, the words slipping out before he could overthink them.

Troy’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re in therapy?”

Jeff rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not a big deal. Just figured it was time to get my shit together. Mostly.”

“That’s actually really cool.”

He huffed a laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Try not to be too impressed.”

“No, dude. I am impressed.”

Jeff rolled his eyes but felt the warmth of the words anyway.

A beat passed before the conversation shifted to something new. Unfortunately, it fell into the category of things Jeff was not looking forward to talking about.

“Speaking of therapy…” Troy said, ramping up to something. “How’s Britta been?”

Jeff glanced over at him. “Good, I guess. You’d have to ask her. Why?”

Troy did a quick scan of his expression. “She seems like her own version of different. In a good way.”

“I said the same thing,” Abed added in agreement. “Like Season One Britta, but more grounded.”

“Still not really sure I know what that means,” Jeff said.

“It means you two are back to whatever the hell it is you do,” Troy replied, a toothy grin spreading across his face.

Jeff groaned. “Fantastic.”

“C’mon,” Troy teased, elbowing him. “You like it.”

“I can’t have this conversation again.”

“I like it. It’s nostalgic,” Abed hummed.

Troy’s shoulder brushed gently against Abed’s. “Right? Feels like home.”

-----

“Okay, this is already stressing me out,” Annie muttered, scanning the insanity of the quad like she might be held personally responsible for it.

Ahead of them, a group of students struggled to set up an “eco-friendly” paintball booth, which was already leaking neon green sludge onto the pavement. Someone else had turned the area around the Luis Guzman statue into a makeshift “Greendale Ninja Warrior” obstacle course, complete with wobbling hurdles and a mattress duct taped to a tree. On the other side of the grass, two students in cloaks were handing out flyers for some kind of mysterious underground debate club, and Star-Burns was lounging at a picnic table, peddling what appeared to be counterfeit school merchandise.

Britta, distracted by a display of loose wires labeled “D.I.Y. Electrocution Experience”, muttered under her breath, “Yeesh. That can’t be legal.”

“I don’t know why I’m still surprised by this school,” Shirley remarked, pursing her lips.

“Okay!” Annie clapped her hands together, desperate to keep things on track. “What’s the game plan? Coffee first?”

“Sounds good to me,” Britta said.

“Mmm, you’re gonna need a lot of caffeine to survive Vaughn,” Shirley quipped.

She groaned. “I am not talking about him right now.”

“Are you kidding?” Annie threw up her hands in exasperation. “I have to talk about him! I still don’t get what I’m supposed to do!”

“I don’t know, politely tell him you’re allergic to hemp and can’t be around him?” Britta said, rolling her eyes.

“Or just say you’re engaged,” Shirley hummed.

Annie shot her a look. “Shirley.”

“It’d solve the problem, wouldn’t it?”

“I can’t just make up a fiancé,” Annie sighed. “He’d start writing poetry about it, and then I’d have to pretend to break up with my fake fiancé, and then before you know it, I’m accidentally dating Vaughn again—”

“See, this is why I don’t believe in monogamy,” Britta said, pointing at her. 

“That is not the takeaway here.”

Shirley smiled, linking her arm through Annie’s. “Don’t worry, Annie. If he tries anything, we’ll shut it down.”

Britta nodded. “Shirley’s right. And I’ll enjoy it too. I still have residual rage from Getting Rid of Britta .”

“Yeahhh, that was… a lot.”

“Ya think?”

They made their way toward the small on-campus café, the line only mildly ridiculous. Annie sighed, checking the time. “You’d think with all the unnecessary stuff Greendale spends money on, they’d at least invest in a second coffee stand.”

Britta eyed a booth labeled “Espresso Adventure” run by a group of people who definitely didn’t work for the school. “I mean, we could risk getting tetanus for a quicker caffeine fix.”

Shirley shook her head in disgust. “Pass.”

Annie craned her neck, looking at the menu. “Ooh, they have a seasonal latte!”

“It’s Greendale. Do we trust that?” Britta raised an eyebrow.

Annie waved her off. “It’s fine.”

“Alright, but if I die from ingesting whatever nonsense is in it, I want Jeff to give the eulogy.”

“Why Jeff?” Shirley asked, eyeing her carefully.

She shrugged. “I dunno. I feel like he’d get the tone right. Annie would get way too emotional, and you would definitely try to make it inspirational. I do not want to be anyone’s reason to convert to Christianity. No offense.”

Annie put a hand over her heart. “You have so little faith in us.”

“I have exactly the right amount of faith in you.”

Shirley, shaking her head, stepped forward to order for them. As soon as she was occupied, Britta nudged Annie. “So… you’ve been back for, what, a few hours? Initial thoughts?”

“I somehow forgot how chaotic this place is…” Annie said, glancing around.

“That’s because it’s way more insane this week. I don’t think I fully registered how much Frankie’s been doing to whip Greendale into shape.”

“It’s just so weird seeing it through fresh eyes, you know?” Annie said, glancing around. “When we were students, the insanity was more normal, but now the whole thing feels like a fever dream.”

Britta nodded. “I had the same feeling today when I passed that milk-jug-roller-blades-guy. Pretty sure he was wearing a wig.”

“God. That’s so Greendale.”

“I bet you miss it, though.”

She groaned, but her expression betrayed her. “I only miss the chaos a little bit. But I really miss you guys.”

Britta smiled. “Yeah. Same.”

They found a table outside near the vending machines, a prime Greendale people-watching spot, and sat down with their drinks. The chaos of the quad continued around them; students attempting to walk on stilts, someone setting up a freestyle rap booth, a freshman in a full medieval knight costume asking for directions. But it all faded into background noise, underscoring their conversation.

Annie sipped her latte, then grimaced. “You were right. Don’t trust the seasonal drinks.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

Annie tilted the cup toward her. “It tastes like someone thought about caramel but didn’t actually put any in.”

Britta leaned in, getting a whif. “Yeah, that’s espresso with a hint of burnt.”

“Well, maybe that’s what we get for buying coffee from a place that health inspectors call ground zero,” said Shirley.

Annie sighed, stirring her drink absently. “What’re you guys actually planning on signing up for this week?”

“Not sure yet,” Britta took a sip, considering. “Depends on whether anything is actually cool or just pretending to be cool.”

Shirley shook her head in mock disapproval. “First Jeff, now you. You think you’re too good to participate?”

“That’s not what I said!” Britta exclaimed, defensive.

“I kind of want to check out the debate booth,” Annie remarked, ignoring their bickering.

Britta suppressed a smirk. “Of course you do.”

“You know who else would probably like that?” Shirley chimed in, her tone far too casual to be innocent.

“Jeff,” Annie answered immediately, looking at Britta.

“Right. And?” Britta asked. Evidently, she wasn’t connecting the dots they wanted her to connect.

“Well,” Annie continued, “You know, if we all did it, it’d be fun.”

Shirley clasped her hands together. “Yes! Imagine it, us girls and Jeff.”

Britta’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know, doesn’t really sound like my thing.”

“What? You and Jeff debate each other all the time!”

“Arguing isn’t the same as debating, Annie.”

Annie waved her off. “Arguing is, like, the soap opera version of debating. You guys talk in circles, refuse to admit when the other has a point, and somehow it always ends in a weird tension no one wants to acknowledge.”

Britta rolled her eyes, dismissive. “Oh, come on.”

“Right,” Annie said, raising an eyebrow. “So if I brought up the time you two spent forty-five minutes arguing over whether or not the phrase ‘Greendale’s academic standards’ was an oxymoron—”

“That was different,” Britta pointed a finger at her. “He was being smug.”

“And you had to prove him wrong.” Shirley added.

“Obviously.”

“So… isn’t that kinda debating?” Annie said.

Britta exhaled sharply. “Next option.”

Annie flipped through the flyers she’d been collecting. “Ooh! There’s a karaoke night.”

Shirley gasped. “That could be fun! We used to do karaoke all the time.”

“Oh, yeah. Back when we still did Troy and Abed’s Dreamatorium Disaster Hour. ” Britta snorted, remembering. 

“Jeff used to do karaoke, didn’t he?” Shirley asked, her tone innocent.

Britta just looked at her in confusion. “I don’t know, did he?”

Annie nodded, thoughtful. “When he was drunk enough.”

“Meh, next suggestion.” Britta said, waving her hand.

“Campus poker night?” 

“Oh, yes! Jeff would love that.”

Britta sighed, no longer able to ignore the obvious. “Okay, what is going on?”

Annie and Shirley both paused for half a second before Shirley took a slow, pointed sip of her drink.

She looked between them, already exasperated. “You guys keep bringing up Jeff.”

They exchanged a look, Annie biting back a smirk.

Britta narrowed her eyes. “Annie. Spill it.”

“Spill what?” she replied, all wide-eyed innocence. 

“You keep bringing up Jeff like there’s something to talk about. There’s nothing to talk about.”

Shirley took another slow sip. “Mhm.”

Britta shot her a look.

“We just noticed how… comfortable you two were back there,” Shirley elaborated.

“And how quick he was to defend you when Vaughn was being Vaughn,” Annie said, gently setting her cup down.

Britta scoffed. “Oh my God, he defended you too. Jeff’s always hated Vaughn. That wasn’t about me.”

“Maybe,” Shirley said lightly. “Or maybe he’s just making sure your feelings don’t get hurt this time.”

Britta pulled a face. “No. No way. The last thing Jeff is worried about is my feelings . Trust me.”

“You really believe that?” Shirley asked. 

Memories of last Christmas flashed through her brain, corroborating her point. Which was all well and good, until they were replaced with other memories: Jeff going out of his way to make sure she was safe on New Years, letting her crash on his couch. Jeff going to court for her over a dumb speeding ticket and not asking for anything in return. Jeff not only sitting through her graduation, but enjoying it. Jeff convincing her to go to grad school, abandoning years of “Britta’s the worst” rhetoric to tell her that he actually believes in her stupid dreams. The mishmash of conflicting information just left her confused and uncertain.

She hesitated just a beat too long before finally shaking her head. “Okay— Look, I think he cares, but not, like, cares cares. Not the way you’re implying.”

“So you do think he cares?” Annie raised her eyebrows, satisfied.

Britta groaned, flopping back in her chair.

“Alright, alright!” Annie exclaimed, holding up both hands. “But you have to realize, we’re working with limited intel here.”

“Annie’s right,” Shirley agreed. “We both left Greendale at different times. And back then you and Jeff were a lot less…”

“Banter-y,” Annie offered, selecting the word with care.

Britta exhaled through her nose. “We weren’t less banter-y. We were just… actually arguing.”

Shirley nodded slowly. “So something changed?”

“Nothing changed. I mean, we started hanging out more but that’s it.”

Every word out of Britta’s mouth was accompanied by a forced, neutral expression, but her mind was spiraling. The last thing she needed was for her ‘whatever’ with Jeff to turn into a group discussion. Historically, that never ended well. Britta had known the study group long enough to know that if even a hint of what had transpired over the past two years got out, it would become a whole thing. Abed would start tracking their behavior like a case study, Troy would get awkward and make comments at uncomfortable times, Shirley would (somehow) bring Jesus into it, and Annie would ask questions. Too many questions. And with things finally starting to thaw between her and Jeff, Britta needed to keep it quiet. Contained. Safe.

“And then?” Annie asked, breaking through her train of thought.

Britta set her coffee down a little too hard. “What do you mean and then? That’s it. We talk. Like friends.”

“Friends who flirt a lot, ” Annie added, giving her a knowing look. 

She let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Guys, come on.”

Shirley nodded. “Annie’s right, you do.”

“Like freshman year all over again,” Annie said.

“You guys do realize that bickering isn’t always flirting, right? Sometimes it’s just bickering.” The words tasted like metal in her mouth.

Shirley, ever the instigator, doubled down. “You know, Britta, it’s okay if something happened between you two.”

“Well, that’s great really great to know, Shirley. Except for the part where nothing did,” She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. This conversation was quickly devolving. She needed an exit strategy, something shiny so they’d get distracted and stop digging. And then it dawned on her: the quickest way to get out of the hot seat was to pass it to someone else.

“Annie, why are you even defending Jeff? I thought you guys weren’t on speaking terms,” Britta said, narrowing her eyes.

Annie blinked, thrown by the sudden turn. “I— I’m not defending him.”

“Aren’t you, though?” She prodded.

Shirley glanced between them, suddenly more tuned in. “Now this is interesting.”

Annie sighed, stirring her latte in a way that didn’t actually accomplish anything. “It’s not like we’re purposefully not talking, we just… haven’t talked.”

Britta folded her arms. “I mean, last time I checked, you guys were basically estranged. So forgive me if I’m confused about why you’re suddenly his PR rep.”

Annie rolled her eyes. “I can be mad at him in the context of my friendship with him and still acknowledge that you guys have… whatever weird thing you have.”

“I’m just saying,” Britta shrugged. “If you’re mad at him, own it. Don’t play nice just to keep the peace.”

Annie pressed her lips together. “It’s not that simple.”

Britta softened, just a little. “It kinda is.”

“Well, I think this is all very healthy.” Shirley chimed in.

Britta and Annie turned to her at the same time. “Seriously?”

Shirley raised her hands, unbothered. “Forgive me for wanting to feel included!”

Britta looked back at Annie, studying her for a second before sighing. “Just… don’t act like I’m crazy for thinking it’s weird. That’s all.”

Annie nodded. “Fine.”

A beat of silence settled over them, tense but not unkind. Shirley chimed back in, her timing impeccable. 

“So, Britta… you never actually told us if anything happened between you and Jeff while we were gone.”

The bait and switch threw Britta off just enough that she heistated for half a second before recovering. “I am not doing this.”

Shirley squealed. “That’s a yes! ”

“It is not a yes.”

But Annie and Shirley, who had just reached across the table and high fived, didn’t seem to be listening.

“I hate how much you’re enjoying this.” Britta huffed.

“Well, if you ever do feel like sharing…” Shirley trailed off. 

Britta grabbed her coffee and stood abruptly. “Nope. Conversation over. I’m leaving.”

Shirley gasped, backpedaling. “Oh, Britta! Come on, where are you going?”

“Anywhere but here!”

She turned on her heel and stalked off, muttering something under her breath. Annie and Shirley watched her go before exchanging a look.

“She’s totally hiding something,” Annie said.

“Oh, absolutely,” Shirley agreed, taking a sip of her drink.

Chapter Text

Jeff barely made it through his 12pm section of Foundations of Law without dying of boredom, not that he had been the one forced to learn anything. He spent most of the hour leaned back in his chair, scrolling through his phone while his students watched a documentary on corporate negligence that he had definitely assigned before. As soon as the top of the hour rolled around, he set off towards the cafeteria, mentally debating whether or not the coffee there was worth the risk. 

Britta was sitting alone at their usual table when he strolled through the doors, hunched over a small notebook and absently twirling a pen between her fingers. Afternoon sunlight filtered in through the wall of windows and reflected off a hint of gold in her hair until she messily shoved the strand behind her ear and ruined the illusion. For the second time that day, Jeff was caught off guard by how much she looked exactly like she had eight years ago—sharp, effortlessly cool, completely in her own world. He rolled his eyes at himself before he could think too hard about that.

Britta effortlessly cool? Jesus, Winger, get a grip.

Shaking it off, he made his way over to her, stopping beside the table and nodding toward the notebook. “What’s that? A manifesto?”

Britta, unfazed, didn’t even look up. “Yeah, don’t report me to the CIA, okay?”

“No promises,” He smirked, sliding in across from her. “I have a strong moral obligation to prevent terrorism.”

She snorted, eyes still focused on the page. “That checks out. If anyone was gonna sell out a resistance movement, it’d be you.”

“I mean, sure, if there was something in it for me.”

Britta finally glanced up, mildly intrigued. “Like what? Diplomatic immunity? A free car?”

Jeff shrugged. “I could probably be persuaded by just getting to see the look on your face when you found out it was me.”

“You’re a terrible person,” She said, jabbing her pen at him. 

“And yet, here we are. Me, still me. You, still entertained by it.”

“I guess some things never change,” She sighed dramatically, closing her notebook. 

“Speaking of things that never change,” He leaned back, projecting an air of casualness. “What are the odds you were writing terrible poetry just now?”

“Please, I haven’t written poetry in—” She stopped herself. “A while.”

Jeff nodded, all faux-seriousness. “Right. And if I asked to see it—”

“No.”

He looked back at her in amusement. “That was fast.”

“It’s not poetry, but I know you, Jeff. You’d be unbearable.”

“Give me some credit, I can be supportive when the moment calls for it.”

“Huh. Okay. In that case, were you being supportive that time you asked if my stuff was ghost-written by an emo middle schooler? Or was that not one of the moments that called for it?”

Jeff hummed, nodding thoughtfully. “You’re right. I should be more sensitive to your artistic spirit.”

“I hate you,” she replied easily, but the corners of her lips twitched, giving her away. 

“You know, that doesn’t have the same effect it used to. You say it too much.”

Britta sighed, shaking her head but not arguing. Instead, she picked up her drink and took a slow sip, eyes flickering toward the chaos of the cafeteria.

“How are you feeling?” Jeff asked, before he could convince himself it was a bad move. 

She blinked, clearly caught off guard by the question. In all fairness, it probably wasn’t one he’d asked more than twice in eight years of… whatever it was they were doing. Friendship? Dating? Fucking? Somehow all of and none of those descriptors seemed to fit.

“...What?” She asked, her tone suspicious.

“I don’t know,” Jeff shrugged. “This whole day is kind of a lot. Thought I’d check in.”

Britta hesitated, studying him like she was trying to figure out if this was some kind of elaborate setup for a joke. It wasn’t.

Eventually, she decided he was being genuine and exhaled, setting her coffee down before answering. “I’m fine. It’s weird, everyone being back, but not in a bad way. I guess I just didn’t expect it to feel so—” She gestured vaguely. “Overwhelming? Like a time machine.”

“Yeah. A crappy, Greendale-built time machine. Full of asbestos.”

“Exactly.”

Jeff paused, contemplating his next move. He knew he should probably let it go and avoid pushing her any harder, but a more curious part of him prevailed. The therapist’s question played on a loop in his head; Was there anyone around to do for her what she’d been doing for you?

He leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table. “Word on the street is that you’ve seemed different lately.”

Britta huffed an incredulous laugh, shaking her head. “Not you too.”

Jeff frowned. “What?”

“You have no idea how many times I’ve heard some variation of that in the last two hours,” she said.

“Well, maybe the world is trying to tell you something.”

“Or maybe everyone is just nostalgic and projecting.”

“I don’t know,” he kept his tone light. “I’ve got it on good authority that your evolution has brought you back to a more grounded, Season One Britta Perry.”

Britta let out a loud groan, resting her face on the table.

“Wow. That was dramatic.”

“I swear to god, that has been following me around all day. First Abed, then Annie, then Shirley—” She cut herself off, realizing she might be about to divulge too much, and quickly brushed past it. “—and now you. It’s like some kind of weird social experiment.”

“Huh.”

Britta squinted at him. “What?”

“Nothing. I just like that you’re so annoyed by it.”

“Yeah, well, if you got aggressively analyzed by half your friends within the span of three hours, you’d be annoyed too.”

He avoided mentioning the conversation with Troy and Abed.

“I doubt it. I happen to love talking about myself.”

Britta snorted. “Oh, right. How could I forget.”

A beat passed between them, barely noticeable, but there.

“So,” he leaned back slightly, eyeing her. “Are they right?”

Britta glanced down, suddenly more interested in the lid of her coffee cup. “About what?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

Another beat.

“I mean, maybe? It’s not like I’ve joined the fucking Church of Scientology or something. I’m pretty much the same,” She sighed. “But…”

“But?”

“I’ve been trying to force things less, I guess.”

Jeff raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound like any version of you I’ve ever met.”

She gave him a flat look. “Wow. Thanks.”

“Come on, you know what I mean.”

“Whatever,” she said, brushing off the comment. “Everyone has some idea of who I am, you know? To you, I’m obviously Britta, that really cool girl,” She said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Obviously,” Jeff nodded, suppressing a smirk.

“But then, to some people, I'm ‘the anarchist girl’. Or ‘that girl who dropped out of high school to impress a band’. Or, like—” she gestured vaguely, clearly making this speech up on the fly, “—the queen of social-justice-and-poor-decision-making.”

“You actually do hold that last title, by the way,” Jeff chimed in.

“Damn, right,” Britta asserted. Then, quieter, “I’ve been doing some self-reflection, as any good psychologist would. And I sort of realized that, at some point in the last few years, I forgot that people thinking I’m one thing doesn’t mean I have to force myself to then become that thing. And I know you’re gonna be like, ‘duh Britta, do whatever you want, nothing matters, moral relativism, blah blah blah’—” Jeff raised both eyebrows, amused by the terrible impression. “But I've really lost sight of that over the past few years. So, I guess… in that way… I’m going back to Season One Britta or whatever the hell Abed’s been spreading around campus.”

Jeff didn’t say anything for a moment; he just studied her expression. She hadn’t said all of that just to shut him up, it was earnest. But he also knew Britta, and something about the way she kept fidgeting, and the way she had initially reacted so strongly to the Season One comment, told him there was probably more to it than she was letting on. Like she was still trying to make sense of it herself.

She must’ve noticed him staring, because she tilted her head, curious. “What?”

Jeff blinked, shaking the moment off. “Nothing.”

Britta narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but before she could press him, the cafeteria doors swung open and Troy and Abed strode in like they had just completed some kind of side quest. Which, knowing them, they probably had. Jeff exhaled softly, leaning back in the booth.

“Saved by the bell?” She said.

“Please,” He scoffed, playing nonchalant. “You think I need saving?”

Britta just flipped her notebook back open. “Oh, absolutely.”

He barely had a chance to process her response before Annie and Shirley also materialized, heading toward their table with purposeful strides.

“Okay,” Annie announced, sliding in next to Britta, “I am never using the cafeteria bathroom again.”

Shirley, taking a seat across from her, shuddered. “I don’t even want to talk about what we saw in there.”

“That bad, huh?”

Annie leveled her with a look. “Britta, someone wrote help me on the mirror. In what I hope was lipstick.”

“This place needs the Lord. And bleach,” Shirley added.

“That’s what you get for thinking Greendale’s public bathrooms are usable past a certain hour,” Jeff shrugged.

Annie turned to him, mildly exasperated. “Oh, I’m sorry, do you have a secret professor’s bathroom we don’t know about?”

“I might.”

Troy and Abed dropped into the booth, interrupting Annie’s impending interrogation.

“We had an educational morning,” Troy announced, crossing his arms.

Jeff glanced over at him. “Educational how?”

“We checked out a class,” Abed explained.

Britta made a face. “Why?”

“Because, Britta,” Troy leaned forward. “Some things never change.”

“And some things get worse,” Abed nodded. 

“What class was it?” Shirley asked.

“Would you believe me if I said Intro to Oceanography was actually just a guy pouring different types of water into cups and rating them?” Troy said, leaning forward for dramatic effect.

Jeff smirked. “Of course we would.”

“Professor Holloway has been phoning it in since 2012,” Abed said.

“Yeah, but this was different. He had a whole system. Like, a water ranking chart,” Troy made a gesture with his hands to illustrate it. “Tap water? Mid-tier. Spring water? S tier. Unlabeled mystery bottle? That one was for us to decide.”

“Ew,” Annie bristled, scrunching her nose. 

Abed shrugged. “It was engaging.”

“Sounds like a very successful morning of learning absolutely nothing,” Britta replied, tapping her pen absentmindedly against the table. 

“Oh, we learned something,” Troy countered. “Like, did you guys know that ocean water technically counts as soup?”

Shirley frowned. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“Think about it,” He pressed. “Water. Salt. A bunch of tiny little ingredients floating around in it. That’s soup, baby.”

Britta groaned, dramatic. “Oh god, not this again.”

“This is new information,” Abed corrected. “Troy’s previous theory was that soup is just ‘wet salad.’”

“Because it is,” He insisted.

“Soup is not salad,” Annie said, exasperated.

“But it’s also not not salad,” Troy argued. “It’s just a liquid-based salad.”

“So you’re telling me if I throw croutons in tomato soup, that’s just dressing away from being a salad?” Jeff asked.

Troy pointed at him. “Exactly!”

“No, because soup cooks the ingredients.” Annie rubbed her temple. “Salad is raw.”

Abed nodded. “Interesting. So if you heat up salad, does it become soup?”

“No,” Britta said immediately.

“Well, hold on.” Troy held up a hand. “If you blended a salad and added broth—”

“Troy, no, ” Shirley cut in, looking vaguely ill.

“Man, no one respects food science.”

“Maybe because what you’re doing isn’t so much food science as it is food crimes,” Jeff remarked.

Before he could argue, Annie cut in. “Not to shift the subject away from blended salad, ” She said, cringing slightly at the thought. “But has anyone else noticed people are watching us?”

“What are you talking about?” Jeff asked, his brow furrowing. 

She lowered her voice slightly. “Garrett stopped me in the hallway earlier and asked if we were planning to ‘destroy the school again.’”

“I mean, fair question.” Britta shrugged.

“Oh, yeah, I got something like that too,” Troy said. “Star-Burns asked me if we ‘brought a gift or a curse upon this campus’ and then just walked away.”

“If I know anything about Star-Burns, and unfortunately, I do,” Shirley said. “We should keep an eye on that.”

“Vicki cornered me in the library and asked if we were ‘pulling another one of our reality-breaking stunts,’” Abed added. “And then Neil said if anything goes down this week, they’re blaming us by default.”

“Okay, this is ridiculous. What would we even do?” Jeff scoffed. 

Abed tilted his head. “Well, statistically, we do have a pattern of wreaking havoc during major school events.”

He groaned. “That’s not our fault. Greendale is just… Greendale.”

“Right,” Britta said, deadpan. “It’s the campus that’s the problem.”

“Exactly,” Jeff said, missing her sarcasm entirely.

Shirley shook her head. “You know, we might be fine, but what about the Dean? He was acting shifty when I ran into him earlier.”

Annie nodded. “He did ask me if I was ‘emotionally prepared for what’s to come…’”

“Did he elaborate?” Britta asked.

“No, he just whispered it dramatically and walked away.”

Jeff rolled his eyes, glancing around. “So, what? Everyone is just watching us?”

Leonard, who was passing by their table with a suspiciously overstuffed cafeteria tray, shouted out, “Guilty!”

“Shut up, Leonard. You lost all credibility when you got catfished by an AI scam.” Jeff shouted back.

Leonard squinted at him. “I knew she was a bot. I just liked the attention.”

Troy watched as he walked away, an expression of awe on his face. “Damn. I kind of respect him for that. Maybe Leonard knows what’s up.”

Jeff rolled his eyes. “Leonard doesn’t even know what day it is.”

-----

After lunch, the group naturally splintered off again. Annie and Shirley went to check in with Frankie about the evening’s logistics, Troy went with Abed to meet with the Dean so they could talk about the surprise they'd been planning, and Britta set off towards the parking lot to grab a phone charger from her car.

Jeff, unfortunately, agreed to go with her, somehow forgetting that this meant he was consenting to listening to a long string of uninspiring ranting about a topic that didn’t matter to anyone with a fulfilling social life. About five minutes in, as soon as Britta hit her natural inhale point, Jeff jumped in to cut her off.

“Okay, I’m gonna need you to remind me why I agreed to walk with you again,” He said, sliding his sunglasses on.

“Because,” she said, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “It’s better than getting roped into some high-involvement activities committee nonsense.”

“Right. Self-preservation. Continue.”

But Britta didn’t have time to respond before Jeff was grabbing her arm and yanking her behind a hedge.

She staggered slightly, caught completely off guard. “What the hell—? ”

“Shh,” Jeff hushed, crouching slightly.

She scowled, dusting off her leather jacket. “Did you just ambush me with foliage?”

“First of all, it’s called covert operations,” Jeff muttered. “Second, look. ”

Britta followed his gaze through the leaves, squinting.

Vaughn.

Shirtless, barefoot, radiating solar-powered smugness, performing some kind of gravity-defying handstand near the stoner tree while Annie stood nearby, nodding politely.

Britta recoiled. “Oh, no. ”

“Oh, yes.”

Annie, to her credit, looked like she was mentally drafting an escape route, but Vaughn, oblivious as ever, was now launching into a monologue that, from what they could pick up, was about spiritual energy transference.

“Come on, we’ve gotta intervene.” 

Britta pushed up from the pavement, only to be yanked right back down to her knees. 

“You have got to stop doing that.”

Jeff ignored her. “We can’t just go over there with no game plan.”

“We have a game plan. You stand supportively behind me while I make him cry using the ammo I’ve carefully collected and stored in my subconscious mind for exactly this moment.”

“Okay, fine,” He said, turning to face her. “Hit me with an example.”

“An example?”

“Yup.”

Her smug confidence wavered ever so slightly. “Right now?”

“Uh huh.”

“Okay. Easy,” Britta replied, side-eyeing him. “Vaughn, what you’ll never understand is that you’re—” She cut herself off, her face scrunching. Jeff could practically see the cogs turning in her brain. She regrouped, starting over with, “You know what? I knew from the second we met that—”

A few more painful seconds passed before Britta conceded, clamping her mouth shut with a huff. “I need the adrenaline of the confrontation. I can’t perform under these conditions.”

Jeff shot her an unimpressed look. “Alright. Well. I’m gonna go ahead and call that Plan B.”

Britta scowled. “What’s your big idea?”

“I don’t have a big idea. Why do you think we’re crouching behind a bush right now?” He rolled his eyes. “Annie’s too polite to shut him down outright, so coaching her is off the table.”

“Well, if we try to actually reason with Vaughn he’ll just accuse us of being toxic or whatever.”

“I mean… you did enable me to mock his poetry.”

“And he wrote a song with Pierce about how I’m a bitch. There’s no moral high ground here.” 

“Good point,” He said, considering this. “What if we redirect Vaughn’s energy somewhere else?”

“Redirect it how?”

“Vaughn’s whole deal is that he radiates unearned confidence and is emotionally available in ways that make most people deeply uncomfortable. Is there a girl on campus that would be into that?”

“If there is, I’d hate to be friends with her,” Britta remarked, rolling her eyes. But as the words left her mouth, her eyes flickered with realization. “What about Quendra?”

“Quendra could work. I’ve only spent, like, four hours total with her over the span of eight years but she’s probably into that kind of thing. We just need to figure out logistics.”

As they thought things through, still crouched, a group of students passed and stared at them in total confusion.

“Mr. Winger?” One of them asked, squinting down at him in the sun.

“Yeah, yeah, keep it moving,” Jeff said, waving them off.

Once they were out of earshot, Britta turned back to him, clearly suppressing laughter. “Mr. Winger?”

“Don’t start.”

They turned back to Vaughn, who was now blowing kisses to Annie as she beelined toward the cafeteria.

“What if we make Quendra think Vaughn wrote her a message?” Britta asked. “Something intriguing, that would make her want to talk to him.”

“Forge a love note?” Jeff furrowed his brow. “Isn’t that absurdly simplistic?”

“Not love,” She corrected. “Just something that makes her think Vaughn sees her in a way no one else ever has.”

He considered this, mulling the idea over. It’s not exactly innovative, but it’s far from the worst one Britta’s ever had, so he’ll take it. “So something vague, poetic, and just cryptic enough to sound legit… What about, ‘Quendra, there’s been a shift in the cosmic tide, but your aura is like a lighthouse in a storm—unmistakable. Let’s talk. Or not talk, but be.’”

Britta stared at him in horrified disbelief. “Did you just come up with that on the spot?”

“I know. I’m very talented,” He said with a grin, far too pleased with himself.

She smacked him hard on the arm. “Whatever, Hemingway. You write the note, I’ll plant it, and then we just have to wait for Quendra to find it.”

“And once she does, there’s no way Vaughn resists that conversation.”

“Damn,” She remarked, shaking her head. “This is borderline genius.”

“Yes. Yes it is.”

-----

As Troy and Abed rounded the corner out of the Dean’s office, they fell into sync without thinking, like muscle memory. Abed’s mind was still processing the meeting, sorting through logistics, aesthetic details, and cataloging Troy’s reactions to each new piece of information. It wasn’t perfect—Dean Pelton’s leadership was more chaotic-neutral than competent—but somehow, things were starting to align. Their biggest problem was that they couldn’t involve Frankie who, under normal circumstances, would be the one to translate dream logic into spreadsheets and make sure everything was actually executed as planned. But this project was delicate. High-risk. If Frankie caught wind of the details, she’d shut things down before they ever left the development stage. 

The plan, loosely speaking, was to keep things need-to-know until they were ready for launch. That way, once they went public, it would be too late to stop it and Frankie would be forced to begrudgingly accept it. Not ideal. Not foolproof. But from Abed’s perspective, there wasn’t any other option if they wanted to do it right.

And they had to do it right.

He glanced over at Troy, who was stretching his arms over his head as they strolled down the hall, shedding the stiffness of being gone for so long. Abed noted that as a good sign.

“So,” Troy said, rolling his neck. “That was crazy.”

“Yup.”

“How long have you guys been planning it?”

“A couple of days.”

A few steps of silence.

“Kinda weird that he made us pinky swear,” Troy mused.

“Pretty sure the pinky swear is legally binding at Greendale.” He replied.

“Yeah, but double pinky swear?” Troy shook his head. “That’s aggressive.”

Abed shrugged. “We’ve signed waivers for less.”

“You’re not wrong.”

They turned a corner. A student neither of them recognized sprinted past them in socks. The vending machine near the stairwell blinked OUT OF ORDER, which meant it had either just eaten someone’s money or was seconds away from catching fire.

Troy slowed as they walked, eyes sweeping over the peeling posters on the wall beside them. “It’s weird. I thought it’d feel smaller or something.”

Abed followed his gaze. “Nope. Still maximum weirdness per square foot.”

Troy laughed, smiling over at him. “Cool, cool, cool.”

Abed felt a small flicker of satisfaction. Troy was still calibrated correctly.

“I know I keep asking,” Troy said, “But there’s gotta be more I missed. You’re seriously telling me Chang’s just, like, a regular math teacher?”

Abed tilted his head. “He did start a conspiracy club the year after you left. It became a cult for about six weeks. They tried to crown him their Supreme Chancellor, so the Dean shut it down.”

Troy nodded, impressed. “Six weeks? Not bad.”

Abed perked up, happy to have more things to talk about. “I almost forgot. You also missed the Great Cafeteria Fire of 2015. Caused by a breakup between Magnitude and a girl who refused to say ‘Pop pop.’”

Troy gasped. "Magnitude had a girlfriend?"

“Yeah,” He nodded solemnly. “They had a short-lived couple’s catchphrase, but it never tested well with audiences.”

“Some things aren’t meant to last.”

The two of them reached the cafeteria vending machines and stopped instinctively, an old habit neither of them questioned.

Troy rocked on his heels. “You wanna—”

“Split a Dr. Pepper?” Abed finished.

He grinned. “Duh.”

Abed fed the crumpled bills into the machine and Troy punched in the code. The sequence felt practiced, like choreography. A formula. As the can dropped into the dispenser with a satisfying clunk, they both reached for it at the same time, causing their fingers to brush.

Minor physical contact. Notable hesitation. Slight elevation in Troy’s facial temperature—possibly embarrassment, possibly confusion.

Neither of them moved right away. Troy swallowed, then straightened, rubbing the back of his neck like the moment knocked something out of alignment. Abed stood too, cracked the can open, and held it out.

“Straws or straight from the can?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral.

Troy paused. A beat too long. “Uh, can’s fine.”

Abed nodded, taking a small sip before passing it over. Their fingers brushed again. Second occurrence, unacknowledged. Troy drank without a word. Abed studied him, filing away details for later.

“So, what now?” Troy asked. His voice was lighter now, like he was making a conscious effort to move past what had just happened.

Abed considered. “We go back to the group. Keep the secret.”

“Right. Classic.” Troy said, exhaling.

Abed nodded. “Troy and Abed—”

“Back again,” He finished, grinning automatically.

They went in for their handshake and, for a moment, pretended that nothing had changed.

-----

Britta had been pretty confident in their plan, right up until the moment it almost fell apart.

She and Jeff sat perched on a bench near the edge of the quad, perfectly positioned to watch the scheme unfold. Everything was set up—the fake note carefully slipped into Vaughn’s things, Quendra’s route strategically accounted for, and most importantly, the unwavering certainty that no one could resist a cryptic, handwritten confession.

As it turned out, however, unwavering certainty meant very little in the grand scheme of things. When the time came, Quendra picked up the note, scanned it briefly, and then, with all the emotion of someone discarding a grocery receipt, tossed it aside. The paper fluttered in the breeze before landing on the edge of a concrete planter, facedown and abandoned. Britta’s jaw dropped.

“Are you kidding me?” she whisper-hissed, whipping around to glare at Jeff. “Did she seriously just litter?”

Jeff let out a measured breath, already preparing for the moral tangent she was about to launch into. “Okay,” he said slowly, “let’s focus on the actual issue here.”

“No, this is the issue,” Britta shot back, flinging an arm toward the crime scene. “This is exactly what’s wrong with people. Complete disregard for their impact on the environment. This is why we’re—”

“Britta,” Jeff gave her a flat look. “We are running a fake romantic interference scheme. We don’t have time for your soapbox.”

“Some of us are trying to make the world a better place.”

“Right. And you’re gonna single-handedly do that by picking a fight with a barely sentient valley girl?”

“I’ve done more with less,” She said, folding her arms. 

Jeff rolled his eyes. “Go be the litter police later. Right now, we have to fix this.”

Britta bit the inside of her cheek, reassessing the scene. Vaughn was in deep conversation with Annie again (why she hadn’t started avoiding the quad altogether was beyond her) and Quendra was already pivoting away, totally uninterested in the note she had just cast aside. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

Britta turned to Jeff. “New plan.”

His expression remained unimpressed. “Do I need to be concerned?”

She sprang to her feet and, before Jeff could even react, grabbed his sleeve and pulled him up with her.

“You get Annie out of there and distract Vaughn. I’ll handle Quendra.”

He blinked. “Did you just physically pull me into a Plan B?”

Britta pointed aggressively. “Go!”

Jeff sighed, grumbling about the trajectory of his life choices, but ultimately obeyed. Britta took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and marched straight for Quendra. She caught up to her just as she was about to leave, stepping directly into her path with all the urgency of someone stopping a major injustice.

“You just littered,” Britta blurted out, pointing at the abandoned note on the bench.

Quendra stared back at her. “What?”

“That note. You threw it away without reading it. What kind of monster does that?”

Quendra followed Britta’s gaze, giving the piece of paper a barely interested glance. “Oh, yeah. It looked like words.”

Britta pressed her lips together, resisting the overwhelming urge to scream. Okay. New angle.

“Yeah, but it wasn’t just words,” she said smoothly. “It was a confession.”

Quendra’s expression shifted to mild intrigue. “A confession?”

Britta nodded solemnly. “Of love.”

Quendra tilted her head, considering. “Ew. From who?”

Britta almost groaned. This was so much work. She steeled herself and said, with the seriousness of a courtroom attorney, “Vaughn.”

Quendra blinked. Then, to Britta’s absolute horror, she wrinkled her nose.

“No thanks.”

Her brain short-circuited. “Wha— uh, wait, don’t you want to, like, hear him out?”

“Not really,” she said with a shrug.

Britta, who was now starting to run out of ideas, sighed dramatically as if she was about to admit something she really wasn’t supposed to, lowering her voice conspiratorially.

“Look,” she said, leaning in, “you didn’t hear this from me, but you’re kind of his muse.”

Quendra’s demeanor changed immediately. “Really?”

Hook, line, and sinker.

“Yup,” she nodded. “He’s too shy to tell you himself. But that poem? It’s got some real deep stuff. Lotta talk about auras and, uh, stardust.”

Quendra let out a squeal, immediately spun on her heel, and headed straight for Vaughn, making this the first manipulation success story Britta had to her name. Basking in the glow of achievement, she scurried out of earshot and immediately whipped her phone out to call Jeff. He picked up on the first ring.

“Tell me you fixed it,” he said, instead of hello.

“She squealed before she left,” Britta reported smugly. “Like, actual high-pitched, girly squealing.”

There was a pause on Jeff’s end, then an approving hum. “Yeah, okay. That does sound promising.”

Britta craned her neck, trying to find him in the crowd. “You good over there?”

“Well, Annie’s free,” he sighed. “I sent her off to talk to Frankie about budget stuff. I don’t know. I made it up.”

“And she took the bait?”

“Please,” Jeff scoffed. “I framed it as a student leader initiative and threw in a passive mention of civic duty. She was halfway to Frankie before I finished the sentence.”

“Wow. You really are the king of manipulation,” She quipped sarcastically.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” he remarked. “But thank you.”

Britta directed all of her energy into suppressing a grin.

“Alright, where are you?” Jeff asked.

She glanced around. “Near the cafeteria.”

“Perfect. Be there in a minute.” The line clicked dead.

By the time Jeff rounded the corner, Britta was fully captivated by the meet-cute unfolding across the grass. He fell into line beside her and, without a word, they both leaned forward against the railing, pretending they weren’t actively spying. She’d forgotten how fun it was to do stupid shit like this with Jeff, before everything between them got so loaded. The inescapable truth was that they made a good team, and that truth had always remained a pillar of their dynamic, regardless of how earnestly she’d tried to pretend it didn’t.

Maybe Abed was right and they had come full circle. Today was, if anything, a testament to their ability to coexist in the aftermath of, well, everything. Britta hated to admit it, but the whole thing really had felt vaguely reminiscent of freshman year. Maybe they were on a good path.

“Oh my God, she’s got him,” Britta said suddenly, the change in Vaughn’s demeanor snapping her out of her own head.

Jeff watched as he held his hands out to Quendra, emulating the stance of a prophet. “Yep. That is the face of a man ready to freestyle spoken-word poetry,” his eyes cut towards Britta. “So. Are we geniuses or what?”

“I mean, I’d say it was borderline genius but I wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

He smirked, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”

She grinned back and shifted her weight, catching Quendra latch onto Vaughn’s arm out of the corner of her eye. Their scheme had worked. Obviously. The two of them successfully redirected Vaughn’s interest and saved Annie’s ass without causing complete social destruction, which was more than she could say for the scheme they’d pulled on Annie and Vaughn years prior. Britta’s gaze flickered back to Jeff, waiting for the inevitable self-congratulatory smirk, the smug comment about how the whole thing would’ve been a disaster without him. 

But it didn’t come. He just looked over at her and said, “Nice work, partner.”

Britta’s brain stuttered for a fraction of a second as she tried to make sense of the moment. The words were too easy, too sincerely congratulatory. As if the win was enough on its own, even if he had to split the credit with someone else.

“Wow,” she said slowly. “No monologue? No victory dance?”

Jeff gave a dry shrug, hands tucked into his pockets. “Feels like overkill. Also, I may or may not be test-driving this thing called restraint,” he paused, glancing sideways at her. “Keep that quiet, by the way. I have a reputation to uphold.”

Britta scoffed, but it was purely reflex. Her brain was still lagging behind the interaction, trying to parse through what the hell was happening. Eventually, she abandoned the thought process and straightened, brushing a stray hair from her face. 

“We should find the others before Vaughn starts roping people into group meditation.”

The East Lawn was already filling up by the time Britta and Jeff rejoined the group. Students were sprawled across the grass, some lingering near the makeshift stage where Vaughn’s band was setting up. A booth selling “mystical” accessories (aka repurposed Hot Topic jewelry) was set up off to the right, and the air smelled like incense and whatever concessions the cafeteria had deemed safe enough to serve outside.

As they made their way through the crowd of people, Jeff mused, almost absently, “I think Vaughn and Quendra might actually work out. Weirdly.”

Britta blinked. “What?”

“They make sense, in a mutual-delusion kind of way. We might’ve done a good thing.”

She stared at him, recalibrating. That was two for two on Jeff sounding like a normal, well-adjusted person.

“Okay, but—” she hurried a few steps to keep up. “You hate Vaughn. And Quendra’s basically a walking cry for help.”

Jeff shrugged again, unbothered. “People surprise you. Plus, it’s none of my business. We already played our part.”

Britta stopped in her tracks, narrowing her eyes. “Are you concussed?”

Jeff shot her a look over his shoulder. “Did you want me to sabotage them out of spite? Cause we can send him right back to Annie—”

“No, I— no,” she shook her head slightly, trying to snap herself out it. “This just feels out of character for you. It’s unnerving.”

“Good,” Jeff said, a smirk playing at his lips. “I like to keep you guessing.”

Britta watched him slip past a cluster of people, disappearing ahead of her like he hadn’t just detonated a tiny emotional smoke bomb.

The second they approached the group, Annie grasped onto Britta’s arm, her expression vaguely bewildered. “Vaughn just rejected me. Out of nowhere. He said he needed space for personal transcendence and just… walked away.”

Britta barely heard the last part. She was laser-focused on Jeff, waiting for him to take the moment and run with it.

“Huh,” he said, like it was barely worth thinking about. “Weird guy.”

At this point, Britta’s eyes were practically drilling holes into the side of his head, but it didn’t seem to make a difference. He was already shifting his attention elsewhere, watching Troy fiddle with his soda can. An odd flicker of something settled low in her stomach.

Jeff always took credit for things. Even if it was a stretch, even if it was blatantly untrue, but especially if he deserved it. Most of the time it wasn’t even about arrogance, just his instinct to play to the room and control the narrative. It didn’t matter, obviously. If anything, it was good. It meant Jeff was learning not to turn everything into some grand display of how clever he was. But her brain kept circling back to it, tripping over the unexpected ease of it all.

Britta caught movement from the corner of her eye and turned just in time to see Shirley, watching her watch Jeff with slow, deliberate curiosity. She wasn’t exactly smirking, but the knowing tilt of her head and the way she sipped her drink without breaking eye contact was somehow worse.

“Okay,” Britta pivoted, her voice a little too loud and trying a little too hard to be authentically casual. “What’s the over-under on this concert being a complete disaster?”

The sun was starting to dip lower, casting long shadows across the lawn, and the crowd had thickened considerably. It was mostly students, but a handful of professors had wandered over too, some clearly just there for the free food. The study group had claimed a decent spot off to the side, close enough to see the stage but far enough that they wouldn’t be accidentally recruited into some audience participation bullshit, since Greendale events had a way of spiraling into things no one signed up for. Britta had learned to keep an exit route in mind at all times.

A loud burst of microphone feedback cut through the air, earning a collective wince from the crowd. Abed reappeared beside them a second later, balancing two plastic cups in one hand and a camera in the other. He handed Jeff and Britta the drinks without comment and then sidled up to Troy, who looked over his shoulder as he adjusted the exposure of his lens. The band filed on stage a minute later, dragging amps and untangling cords in a way that suggested zero soundcheck had taken place in the hours leading up to this moment. Vaughn bounded on stage behind them, his tiny nipples on full display and a guitar slung across his back. Britta took a long sip of her drink, which turned out to be beer (thank god for Abed) , and watched as he adjusted the mic stand with one hand, giving a peace sign to the crowd with the other. 

“Yo, what’s up, Greendale!” he called out. The audience erupted into cheers. “It’s so good to be back in this space.”

Troy leaned in towards Abed. “Have you ever seen him wear shoes?” Abed just shook his head.

Their set, which thankfully only ended up being about 45 minutes, portrayed that laid-back, vaguely coastal vibe Vaughn had always aimed for; somewhere between Jack Johnson and a band you would accidentally discover because they were opening for an opener for an opener at some music festival in the desert. Britta, who had (for obvious reasons) never been an avid listener of Vaughn’s stuff, didn’t recognize much of anything they played. That is, aside from their cover of Sweet Caroline, apparently obligatory for every white dude with a guitar to play when given a microphone. Absolutely brutal.

“Greendale, you’ve been so good to us!” He shouted, eliciting a roaring cheer from the crowd. “Big thanks to Benjamin Chang and Frankie Dart for making this happen, we owe it all to you guys.”

Britta looked over at Frankie, shaking her head in slow, sarcastic disapproval. She mouthed back, Sorry, wincing apologetically. Chang, on the other hand, was jumping up and down in the crowd, shouting, “THAT’S ME! I’M BENJAMIN CHANG!” like Vaughn was fucking Adam Levine and not just some guy that took his spanish class over a decade ago.

“We’re gonna finish off with a classic,” Vaughn said, pulling back from the microphone and whispering something to his bandmates, who all nodded solemnly like they were about to perform Bohemian Rhapsody.

Jeff leaned over to Britta and lowered his voice. “I hope for your sake that this is Pierce, You’re a B.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed, brushing him off. “Vaughn may be dumb, but he’s not stupid. He knows better than to—”

But as soon as the starting chords rang out over the speakers, Britta was filled with the kind of dread only triggered by walking directly into a joke at your own expense. Beside her, Jeff turned his head slowly, a knowing look plastered across his face.

“Still think he’s not stupid?”

“There’s no way,” She insisted, eyes narrowed and fixed on the stage.

Vaughn stepped back up to the mic. His eyes scanned the crowd for a moment, finally landing on the study group. And then…

“Saying goodbye to Britta was the hardest thing to do—”

Her jaw dropped about twenty stories. There was no edit to the lyrics. No disclaimer beforehand. Just that same fucking breakup ballad—which she’d spent years trying to pretend didn’t exist—blasting across the expanse of the East Lawn. And then, to her horror, the crowd started whipping out their phones.

Abed leaned over to her. “You’re about to trend,” he said, taking a gentle sip of his beer.

Britta braced herself for the familiar wave of fury she expected to overtake her. The whole situation was absolutely batshit insane and deserved a comparable reaction. She should be completely mortified and indignant and cause a scene that would derail the entire evening. But the fury didn’t come. Instead, she just stood planted in her spot, strangely calm despite knowing that Vaughn was about to defame her in front of the student body again.

Jeff, on the other hand, was not so calm.

Britta sensed his reaction a millisecond before it happened and, as soon as he took a step forward, immediately grabbed his sleeve and tugged him backwards. The last thing she needed was for him to try and ‘defend her honor’. Or to become the reason for a faculty misconduct hearing.

He looked at her incredulously. “Britta.”

“Jeff.”

“Are you seriously cool with letting this continue?” His voice was controlled in a way that meant he was about one lyric away from starting a very public fight.

“Are you seriously telling me Vaughn is worth whatever reaction you’re gonna give him?” She raised an unconvinced eyebrow. “I mean, look at him.”

He followed her gaze to the stage, where Vaughn had just finished a set of twenty consecutive headbangs and had to physically steady himself before the chorus. Britta shook her head in amused disbelief. Jeff stared at her like she’d grown three heads.

“Look,” she continued, waving a hand dismissively. “If he still needs to get it out of his system, like, ten years later, then fine. I officially release him from my emotional debt.”

Jeff was aghast. “That’s not how emotional debt works.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. I’ve decided I’m past it.”

Jeff turned back towards the stage like he was physically restraining himself from heckling Vaughn off the mic. “This is insane.”

Britta let out a slow, long-suffering sigh. “Look, we can either waste our energy fighting it, or we can just let Vaughn sing his dumb little song and move on with our lives.”

“You’re missing the third option where I go up there and break his guitar over his head.”

Britta gave him a flat look. “What about all your turning-over-a-new-leaf crap? What about ‘Vaughn and Quendra deserve each other, we did a good thing’?”

Jeff exhaled sharply through his nose. “Well, I wasn’t expecting to be personally tested by God tonight.”

It was then that Britta caught sight of the rest of the group, all visibly struggling not to look entertained. Shirley was humming slightly, arms crossed in her attempt to fight the rhythm. Annie was nodding along and watching with keen interest, eyes darting between Britta and the stage as she tried to gauge whether she should step in. And Troy? Troy was already moving.

“What did he put in this song? It’s so danceable,” he whispered, eyes wide as he bobbed to the beat.

Jeff looked horrified. “Not you too!”

Troy raised his hands defensively. “I’m not endorsing it! I’m just saying it’s got a strong hook.”

Shirley clasped her hands together, eyes closed like she was praying for strength. “I hate that he’s right!”

“I'm gettin' rid of the B (she’s a GDB!)”

Britta turned back to Jeff. “Okay, now it’s a little humiliating.”

“I’m begging you to give me the green light,” he replied.

“Awww, this really is like freshman year,” she teased, a grin splitting across her face.

Jeff opened his mouth, probably to deliver some half-sarcastic comeback, but before he could get a word out, Troy sidled up beside them and tapped Britta on the arm.

“C’mon,” he said, grinning, already swaying slightly.

Britta frowned. “C’mon what?”

“Come on,” Troy repeated, wiggling his shoulders.

Abed turned the camera on them. Annie and Shirley joined in.

Britta shook her head, trying not to laugh. “Okay, you guys, this is where I draw the line.”

Annie grabbed her hands, pulling her forward. “Pleaseee?”

“You know you want to!” Shirley insisted. 

Britta did not want to. At all. Except, well… Maybe a little bit.

That moment of hesitation opened the door. One second, Britta was watching Vaughn with exhausted disbelief and the next she was, against her better judgment, dancing along to her own diss track. Abed moved in deliberate circles around them, capturing the moment on his SLR. Frankie and Jeff lingered a few feet back, observing; Frankie amused and Jeff visibly trying not to be.

Annie clocked them both and called out, “You two look ridiculous just standing there!”

“I’m fine with that,” Frankie called back.

“Ditto,” Jeff added.

No one argued. Instead, Shirley drifted over and beckoned them with her hands. Annie crossed back and bumped Frankie lightly with her hip. Troy gave Jeff a look as if to say, don’t make it weird, man. After a beat of consideration, Frankie stepped forward with all the awkwardness of someone who’d just had a full body cast removed. Annie squealed and pulled them into the throng of people. Britta’s eyes skimmed over to Jeff, locking onto him for a second.

Jeff knew he was being a little dramatic. It’s not like the world was going to end if he decided to abandon the cause. In fact, if anything was going to break the campus out into full-on warfare tonight, it would probably be him storming the stage and effectively inciting a riot. He tried to think about it logically: what was he actually accomplishing by huffing and puffing about the song instead of just letting it go? It wasn’t even about him. If Britta was able to let bygones be bygones then shouldn’t he?

But none of that was what ultimately pushed him over the edge into surrender. What did him in was the voice in the back of his head reminding him that, what he was doing right now—brooding, scowling, sulking—was what the old Jeff would be doing. He was watching his friends have fun from the sidelines, arms crossed like it was a point of pride, too rigid to meet the moment halfway. 

Jeff stepped forward, without a dry quip or performative shrug to ease the transition, and started swaying slightly. Britta looked at him across the crowd, her expression some mixture of pleasant surprise and attempted psychological analysis. He sort of enjoyed being someone she was still trying to figure out, especially after so many years. Something about it made his chest unclench. 

He let it, just a little.