"I'm achy," she groans, gripping Jeff's forearm like a pale little vice as she reaches down with her other hand to right her shoe. Her touch burns white hot even through the blue swath of his shirtsleeve and he can feel every inch of her body pressed close against his as she wobbles precariously on one foot. His cheeks go warm and red in the cool Colorado night but it's dark, so for once he doesn't jerk away from her.
"Where are you parked?"
"On the street, the lot was full. We were running a little late." Punctuality is practically Annie's middle name. It's not at all like her to be late and of course, by late he means on time by a normal person's standards. Although she wasn't involved in the Fumigation Dance in an official capacity, she wouldn't be Annie if she wasn't overreaching. He shoots her a questioning glance. She shrugs. "Troy and Abed had some last minute revisions to their elaborate history of dance in film mash-up."
"And might I say, it was time well spent. I had no idea Leonard could 'bust a move' like that." Her laugh is deep and mirthful and hits him hard in the chest like a punch. Or a kick. Or a punch with the power of a kick. That Kickpuncher dance segment really did a number on his psyche.
"It was a uniquely Greendale experience." She peeks at him, just out of the corner of her eye and in a burst he's with her on the concrete steps outside the pep rally, forever ago. It does seem like a hundred years ago, that night, they'd hardly even known each other then, before they'd ever competed or conspired or kissed. God, it's been three years since they kissed.
"Milady?" He murmurs, fingers bumping hers playfully. Annie grins, toothy and brilliant, and bites down on her full bottom lip. She ducks her head and threads their fingers together, and they're holding hands in the dark outside a school dance and it should feel trite or juvenile but it's just Annie, so it's just right. And she is so beautiful against the metal and asphalt with the streetlight flickering overhead and he loves her. He wants to tell her then, with her hand in his, but he won't, maybe not ever.
"Milord," she almost sighs and he can't help feeling like it's the answer to a question he's not smart enough to ask.
They don't kiss, because in the end their minds work in the same circular patterns and they both know from experience that a spur of the moment kiss, when they both smell just a little bit like the grease that seems to permeate Greendale's cafeteria, won't lead to anything but hurt feelings and a broken nose. It's almost better for lack of a kiss, like a suspended world, a golden moment. Literally, thanks to the streetlight.
"Do you have any resolutions?" She asks suddenly, perking, and wiggles their hands excitedly. Jeff bites back a startled laugh and smiles down at her. He can just make out the tinge of pink along her cheeks and at the tip of her nose, a flattering flush in reaction to the nip in the air.
"It's not January." It's damn cold out, but the new year is months away. It hits him then, a lightning bolt of bleak reality, that by the time snow blankets Greendale's campus, he won't be there to see it. He's practically waxing poetic about frozen water on the roof of a rundown building and it doesn't shock or horrify him like it should, like it might've once. They've changed him, they've fucked him up beyond repair and even though he's getting out, he won't ever really leave it. Like some sort of shitty, publicly funded Hogwarts.
"I know, but it sort of feels like…I don't know. Like a fresh start. You know?"
"Yeah, I do." He tightens his grip on her hand and takes another step towards her until one of his legs is pressed between hers and he can feel the warmth of her breath all along the column of his neck each time she exhales. Fuck. "I don't want to run away anymore."
It's for her, and she knows it. Jeff watches her bask in the words for a moment, pulling them tight around her, a tangible swath of emotion and admission, and it's like seeing the sun slant over her face. Her smile is punch drunk and her eyes are wild and he wants nothing more than to never ever look away from her. She's beautiful, and of course she is, because she's Annie and Annie Edison is beautiful, but it's more than just that. She's literally full of beauty, like something she exudes so effortlessly and so overwhelmingly it's impossible not to love her.
"It seems we've come full circle." He nods and swallows and starts to speak again, but she silences him with her free hand flat against his chest. Annie traces a lazy pattern with her index finger, meeting his eyes from beneath her eyelashes. Her hand stills. "I haven't told you what my resolution is yet."
"What is it?" He manages to croak out, covering the hand on his chest with his own. She lifts herself onto her toes and angles her face towards his, tugging his collar until he's at her eye level. Annie slides her hand out from its place on his chest to curl around the back of his neck, lips brushing his cheek before settling at the curve of his ear. He shivers and it's half cold, half Annie.
"I want—," she stops, huffing out a little laugh that he feels all along the column of his neck, a wave of laughter breaking at the shore. "I want to get a puppy."
She drops back onto her heels, grinning.
"Annie Edison, you are…," he trails off because he can't think of a single word or phrase or vocalization that can sum up how he feels about her, what he feels for her. Jeff fucking Winger, speechless.
"I know." And she probably does, he thinks.
He's always been ten steps behind when it comes to Annie Edison.
A curious feeling takes root in his chest as she pulls away, like an unfurling ache. If he was anyone other than Jeff Winger he might even call it yearning.