Notes: Originally written for Galentine's Day 2013, and somehow I missed posting this here.

Annie knew things.

She knew things that other people didn't always know - like she knew that two plus two doesn't always equal four, except when it does, and she knew that Greendale wasn't the end of the road for any of them, no matter how many times any of the others protested to the opposite, and she knew that there were things that were beyond her understanding. Although, with those, she would try her very best to understand them. One day.

She also knew that Britta was into her. Like, really. It couldn't have been more obvious if she tried, and she didn't think Britta was trying, but she didn't really know for sure. It was hard being certain about another person's feelings, but shewas certain that Britta was into her.

That much, she felt as if she knew.

If asked how it was that she knew, considering Britta was notoriously reticent in showing her emotions like that, she'd say it was all in those eyes. All in how those eyes would flick over to Annie, all in how they would dilate ever-so-slightly when Annie would agree with her. It was telling, in so many ways, so many ways that words could not properly express.

She wasn't going to have Annie's big lesbian freakout, except that she was, because she'd always imagined herself with a guy, because that was all she'd ever really seen in her own experiences. Except now that as she would close her own eyes at night, it was Britta's face that looked back from her dreams, with that eerily even half-smile enticing her in so many ways, beckoning her. It was Britta's lips that dream Annie was gravitated toward. Still. There were ways to approach this scientifically, with a minimal amount of freaking out necessary.

Britta, a girl, was interested in her. More than likely. It would make a lot of sense, anyway, and she didn't dare think about the implications of what would happen if she was wrong with this particular assumption. It shouldn't matter if they were two segments of the craziest love heptagon she'd ever heard of - or whatever it was you called a heptagon that occasionally sprouted additional rays from the various points and made it look more like a love heptapus or something else instead. None of that should matter.

She liked the idea, even if it was different. The difference thrilled her, instead of repulsing her. It was something tantalizing.

Now she had to find it within herself - within herself, and from within the information from the various "so, you think you might be a lesbian" pamphlets that she had surreptitiously collected from the Greendale Queer Issues Center - to do something about it. After all, there was no way to know if something was real without doing something about it first.

Getting Britta to stand still long enough to talk to her for very long was like trying to nail tiny little blocks of Jello to a wall. Which would probably be a sport at Greendale before very long, so maybe this was good practice. "Annie -" Britta said, her nostrils flaring as she darted this way and that from Annie's moving and flailing hands, "what in the world are you doing?"

A million possible answers floated through her head, but the only one that came to mind was the one that was the most honest. "Can we talk?"

"All of that flailing for a talk? Edison, you're going soft on me," Britta said. She sat down on a chair and crossed her legs. "What's going on?"

I think I notice you staring at me and that makes me feel fluttery and -. She cut off the inner monologizing. Britta wasn't going to be able to hear her, no matter what she said, and it was enough that they were sitting here, just the two of them, and Annie pursed her lips together. When did talking become so hard?

"When did talking become so hard?" Britta said, and Annie gasped, and covered her mouth with one hand. It was almost as if Britta could read her mind. "It's not like I can read your mind, so say whatever it is you want to say. I'm a big girl, I can handle whatever you throw at me." She paused for a moment. "Except hand grenades. Those wouldn't be good."

Maybe her emotions were hand grenades. What of it then, Britta? What of it? What would you do then?

"Do you like me?" As soon as she said it, she realized how she sounded; how immature, and high school-like - she'd practically tossed Britta a note that said check yes if you want to kiss me behind the bleachers after homeroom. "I mean - you kinda stare at -"

Britta shrugged her shoulders forward and let her sweater ruffle around her. "I kind of fail at being subtle, don't I?"

"Only a little."

A spark of realization came over Britta's face. "But I didn't offend you with the staring."

"No, you didn't," Annie said, with a tentative grin. "I - I actually -"

"You actually liked it, didn't you? Annie, Annie, Annie, you sly little minx you," Britta said, laughing and resting the back of her head on clasped hands. "And so I'm sure you came here today looking to have me kiss you, see if this whole thing is just a fluke of natural college-age experimentation or something more, am I right?" Britta breathed out a small, tiny huff of air and Annie narrowed her eyes.

"You're good." Scary good, even. And now the control was in Britta's hands as opposed to her own, and it felt kind of good - but also kind of scary, because she didn't know what was going through Britta's mind at that moment. Probably a thousand similar things to her own mind, maybe coupled with some a-ha type moments. Something like that.

And then she felt it, the brush of Britta's lips against her own; they were soft, yet forceful, and Annie felt herself smiling. "Did that satisfy your curiosity?" Britta asked, in a hushed half-whisper as they pulled away. "Are you content to go back?"

Never. That was all she could think. All she could feel. And she reached out for Britta again. "Never," she echoed her inner voice for once, as she folded her hands over Britta's cheek and clasped her close for another kiss.