Off.
Just a little bit.
Off.
At every event, every social gathering, every birthday party and wedding, any opportunity to mingle, really, people would make the same comment.
"He's a little bit off, don'cha think?"
Most of the time Annie Edison-Nadir had the displeasure of overhearing these remarks, unintended for her ears. Sometimes, a smiley, bold-faced acquaintance would approach her directly, hunch over a little bit, or lean on something- for whatever reason, they always contracted first- and delivered the punch firsthand. Annie couldn't tell which instance felt worse. They both made her feel powerless. The first gave the problem- their problem, not hers... not his, she reminded herself- the issue a weight, the air of an all-encompassing, passive-aggressive threat. The second made Annie feel like a temp on her first day of work given an overwhelming and unsolvable problem to figure out by lunch, completely at the mercy of the Powers That Be.
Abed Edison-Nadir was not easily explained. Annie had always found that charming. When they had gone to college together, he'd been sheltered. Everyone at Greendale was weird. Abed was king of the weirdos. And, well, Annie didn't necessarily want to go so far as to call herself the queen, but-
"I'm a little bit off myself," Annie would chime back, putting on her best I'm-Not-Going-To-Kill-You-Today smile.
"Aren't we all."
Off.
Annie put her book down, and let herself slowly sink into the queen sized comforter that ensconced her. She stared up at the ceiling as each unpleasant memory swirled in her mind, curdling pleasantly insulting interactions into an unbearable composite of hostility and isolation. Annie shut her eyes tightly and counted her blessings.
15 years of marriage. Two beautiful children, Rachel and Basir. A good job with the FBI; she was climbing the ranks as fast as possible. Good friends, who knew and loved Abed, scattered across the country. A modest living. Life was simple.
Life was simple.
Life was simple, God damn it.
Life was off.
Annie opened her eyes, and sat up abruptly. She rubbed her temple, and sighed deeply. The day was full of external chaos, things to focus on. Things could be sorted, arranged. Things could be fixed.
Could Abed be fixed?
Annie hated herself when she started thinking like that. There was nothing wrong with Abed. There was something wrong with the rest of the world. The pleasantries of the neighbors were a poor mask for deep-seated ignorance and intolerance. People didn't like Arabs, and they didn't like autistic people.
Annie didn't have a lot of good childhood memories. People didn't like Jews. Kids didn't like introverts. Boys hated girls. A lot of the time, girls hated girls. Whenever somebody insulted Abed, or pretended not to, it took Annie back to those days. She felt surrounded by bullies on the playground.
Of course Abed never seemed to care one way or the other how people thought of him. Why did that make her so mad? Why did she see it, objectively, as bravery? Abed could be selfish. Abed could be downright cruel. Did he know that?
Did he know that he was off?
She turned to look at him. He was lying motionless, sound asleep on his side of the bed. Annie couldn't help but smile. She once read that every day, you choose to continue loving the person you're with. No love is a guarantee. Sometimes, when he was asleep, and she watched him breathe, the choice was so easy. The rhythm of his breath soothed her. The fact that he managed to look both completely at ease and alert simultaneously, as if he could spring to action the second something went awry, appealed to an ingrained desire for security. Abed was fearless, in his own way. Annie loved him for that.
She turned the light off, and snuggled up close to him.
Annie Edison loved Abed Nadir.
Before she nodded off, she hazily recalled her grandmother's funeral. She remembered how easy it was to love a dead person.
The Dreamatorium was the best- if not the only- place to have sex in the apartment. Annie's room was too close to the blanket fort room Abed and Troy shared, and the fort itself made Annie feel too much like a little girl to be comfortable engaging in the act. The Dreamatorium was nice and out of Troy's earshot.
"Why does that matter?" Abed asked in the beginning, when Annie had first moved in.
"Because... it's embarrassing to be heard... while it's happening," Annie replied shyly. Both of them were new to the whole intimacy thing. "You know that I can get... pretty loud," with this remark she slid closer to her boyfriend, trying her best to sound sexy. It was no use; Abed was clearly focused on his 3rd rewatch of the Dark Knight that month. Annie settled for laying her head on his shoulder.
Abed later assured her that he had soundproofed the Dreamatorium. Even though she knew better, Annie couldn't help but brim over with happiness. Abed really was listening. He really was paying attention. Sometimes.
On top of the security measures the Dreamatorium enforced, it made for killer foreplay. It was difficult for Annie to establish a rhythm with Abed in the early going, but it was always fun to role-play. She liked his Don Draper, she liked his Han Solo. She liked disappearing into a character. She liked it when they both disappeared.
When Troy eventually left the apartment, Annie maintained that the Dreamatorium was still the only good place to have sex in the apartment.
Annie was not a huge fan of Abed's Lou Dobbler.
"He's really-" Jeff Winger turned to Abed, who, never one to break character, hoisted a comically large boombox above his head- "would you turn that down? He's really sorry Annie!"
"I don't care! Abed, you don't-" Annie had finally, at least, come to the window to aifr her grievances.
"Say anything!" Abed yelled triumphantly, as if Annie had only gotten the reference just then, as opposed to ten minutes prior when the strains of "In Your Eyes" began for the first time.
"You don't listen," Annie muttered. "I'm sorry he dragged you into this Jeff. He's not allowed back in the apartment right now."
"No, it's fine. I very much enjoy playing marriage counselor for the two of you. At like, whatever ungodly hour it is in the morning right now."
Annie stared down at the engagement ring surrounding her finger. "We're not married yet," she finally corrected him. The statement came out as more of a threat than she initially intended, but it felt good. It felt necessary.
Even in his exhausted state, Jeff caught on quickly. "Abed. You can crash on my couch, okay? Let's go. This was a bad idea," he touched Abed on the shoulder.
"I thought you would like this," Abed looked, with an expression of confusion and hurt, up at his fiancee.
"I liked it the first time. Maybe. But it's the same thing, Abed. It's the same thing over and over."
"I'm sorry," Abed said. "I'm really sorry."
In the five years Annie had known Abed, this was the first time he'd ever said it.
"Go to sleep, Abed. I'll... let you know if I believe you later," Annie turned from the window.
"What if next time I screw up I do 'Streetcar?' STE-!"
"That's enough of that," Jeff shut his friend down, lest he wake the neighborhood any more than he already had. Annie couldn't help but smile a little at her fiancee's antics. Did he know he was so damn charming sometimes when he had no right to be?
"This is the end of the movie. Or, it's the end of a lot of movies. The two romantic leads meet, separate, reconcile: they survive the obstacles, whether those obstacles are the product of their own dueling egos or a greedy land developer. Then they get married. And then the movie ends.
"But not all movies end like that. Some of them even begin with a married couple. Sometimes they're really happy, but sometimes they're not. I know our story doesn't begin that way, but I also know it doesn't end after today. I know that marriage isn't always easy. Maybe it's not supposed to be. Maybe love isn't supposed to be.
"I love you, Annie Edison. Because you came into my life, and you loved me. Like when Sally met Harry. Or like Goldie Hawn in Overboard. You love me even though I can be... off. Sometimes. I am sorry if that is ever a problem for you.
"I love you, Annie. I love yo so much that I never want the curtain to drop. I don't ever want the credits to come up. I don't ever want the screen to fade to black. I don't want our story to end. I love you. I will do anything I can to make sure our movie doesn't end."
As he recited his vows, Abed never once broke eye contact. He'd been practicing, just for her.