Hello new fandom! I recently fell in love with this series and found myself writing a little bit here and there about Abed as I watched it through for the first time. This is the first of many, so I hope you enjoy! I don't own it, don't claim to. Reviews are love =)
Dental Hygiene 202
He doesn't know when or how it began, or why it still continues to happen. Neither does she.
But every morning, exactly 15 minutes before they leave for school (or exactly 5 minutes before cartoons begin on weekends) Annie and Abed brush their teeth together. And neither could really explain why.
Abed would blame it on Annie's crazy bathroom schedule. When she had moved in, she had brought a whole assortment of girly, crazy schedules and 'organizational devices' with her. One of these had been a schedule for who got to use the bathroom at what time. This was all well and good (and oddly reminiscent of something he would do) until he or Troy had a potty emergency. Or when he needed to brush his teeth right in the middle of Annie's extra 10 minutes of 'girl time'. Hardly a fair demand to begin with. It wasn't his fault that his tooth brushing time fell right in the middle of her schedule. And what could she possibly need all that extra time for anyway? It was completely unnecessary, and it would be illogical for him to change his natural body rhythms for it. The clash was inevitable, really. And he would swear it was all her fault.
Annie would blame it on Abed's utter inflexibility. It seemed like Troy had just dropped all his living expectations (not that she guessed he'd had many that didn't line up with Abed's) to cater to his roommate's every whim, utterly spoiling him. When she brought up all of her original living expectations and schedules and 'organizational suggestions', he'd gone utterly catatonic, and had come close once more each time she thought up a new addition. She had had to compromise much to get the absolute essentials, like a bathroom schedule, and still he balked and wheedled with her. Completely childish and spoiled. It wasn't her fault that she needed time to put on her make-up in the morning. Why the heck did he need to brush his teeth at the exact same time every day anyway? It was impractical, and she certainly wasn't abandoning what she had rightfully claimed as her bathroom time. It seemed that their stand off had been inevitable, really. And she would swear it was all his fault.
And so it was that, at Annie's appointed 'girl time', and Abed's natural teeth brushing time, they both found themselves in front of the sink, and, unable to arrive at a compromise and with neither willing to yield, they simply began to brush their teeth together.
As they were both only children, and both had lived alone, or at least had their own bathroom time, for most of their adult lives, they weren't very good sharers. A bumped elbow here, an extra squirt of toothpaste there, an incident of spraying mouthwash on the other's hand once or twice (always resulting in a simultaneous panic attack) led to strained relations.
It was strange and uncomfortable. But only until they finally tuned to each other's rhythm. And then it became a thing of beauty. Troy often watched from the doorway, awestruck as the two usually uptight and inflexible roommates performed a perfectly choreographed dance of toothpaste passing pliés and elbow avoidance arabesques and mouthwash swishing saut de basque solos. Truly, it was a moving sight. Unless Troy had just been thinking too much about dance lately.
Annie and Abed didn't talk about it, but brushing their teeth together brought them a strange understanding of each other. Their fights (if one could call Annie's hysterical crying and Abed's keening alarm noises that) about how things in the apartment were to be run practically disappeared. Annie spent more time watching movies and playing in the dreamatorium with Abed, and Abed spent more time helping Annie study and clean the dishes. They both spent less time worrying about petty adjustments. Troy breathed many an overdramatic sigh of relief.
A balance had been struck, and neither would admit whose fault it really was, because it really didn't matter. All that mattered was that every day, 13 minutes before they left for school, or 3 minutes before cartoons began, they clinked their toothbrushes together in triumphant achievement (his shaped like a mini blue lightsaber, hers pink and polka-dotted) and shared a moment that was bigger than just mere tooth brushing. This was their adventure, their bonding, in a way that only made sense to them.
Sometimes, when they finished, Abed would flash Annie one of his rare lip quirks that could almost be considered a smile. Sometimes, when they finished, Annie would pat Abed's hand, a rare occurrence that he always cherished. One morning, for no particular good reason, she dropped a light kiss on Abed's cheek.
He doesn't know when or how it began, or why it still continues to happen. Neither does she.
But neither would ever change it now.
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