Work Text:
"I can't believe Abed sent me that You're The Worst episode as 'required viewing,'" Jeff complains to Britta as he drives them to Sunday brunch with the rest of the group. "First weekend of summer break and I might as well be back in Advanced Sitcom Analysis with all the notes he sent me."
"Well, you haven't really offered up many interesting activities for Sunday Funday," she answers reasonably.
"Don't tell me you're getting sucked into this as another group thing, too."
"What?" She fiddles with the radio. "It's an excuse to day-drink and do harmlessly stupid stuff. That's kinda my jam."
Jeff lightly swats her hand away from the dial. She ignores him, keeps flipping through stations until she comes across something she likes, swaying ever so slightly to Zella Day.
Jeff sighs. "I should just accept that I'll never have control over music whenever we drive together, shouldn't I?"
Britta nods proudly. "Happy girlfriend, happy life."
"That isn't the saying…"
He sighs again and gives a wry chuckle.
"Hmm?" Britta tosses a look his way as they park down the street from the Denver Biscuit Company.
"There are an awful lot of battles to pick with you, Britts," he comments lightly. "Gotta save myself for the ones that matter."
Honestly, he doesn't really mind it-he'd realized long ago that they could never completely wipe away their banter, though their petty, stupid fights are now few and far between.
"Oh, please," she scoffs, but her voice, too, holds way more kindness than heat; they're still kinda getting used to the change. "This coming from the man who tried to argue the other morning that my smoothie was actually a milkshake," Britta teases.
He can't quite let that one go.
"You put cookies and cream in it."
"Cookies and cream Greek yogurt, not ice cream," she corrects him.
"Greek yogurt can be an ice cream substitute, though."
They narrow their eyes at each other for a second. Until Britta's pulling him in for a quick kiss.
"I'm really glad we've started defusing dumb arguments like that," she murmurs afterwards, giving a pleased hum as they link their arms together on their short walk to the restaurant.
He presses a kiss to the top of her head. "Agreed."
The rest of their little gang-Shirley, Abed, Annie, and Troy-is already there, posted up on the patio, given the beautiful weather, and they've barely sat down when Annie's pointing around the table.
"Mimosa pitchers? Mimosa pitchers? Mimosa pitchers?"
Britta grins. "Yes, please. I like how summer vacation Annie thinks."
"Just remember, it's a marathon, not a sprint," Jeff warns Annie as he flips open a menu. "We don't want another Caroline Decker incident."
She rolls her eyes. "I get drunk off fishbowls on one Thursday at Don Tequila's and no one will ever let me live it down."
Shirley flicks her eyebrows up at her. "You stole some of my mango margarita and poured water in it thinking I wouldn't notice."
"And then you told us to feed you tortilla chips on the couch like they were grapes when you got home," Troy remembers.
"To be fair to our Annie," Abed cuts in, "That was when we were all in our maladaptive coping strategies phase. I think. Reality and the Dreamatorium simulations got a bit fuzzy around then."
Troy grimaces and nods. "I did, like, four puzzles in a week. I even started trying to do the jumble in the Greendale newspaper."
"It was a strange time for us all, to be sure, but," Annie shoots a shy smile at her boyfriends, "I'd say it worked out. And we got through another year at Greendale."
"The time off is a blessing, so we'd best use it wisely," Shirley notes, her tone striking her normal chord, somewhere between kind and warning.
"Although…" she eyes the mimosa pitcher their waiter is bringing over. "Even the Lord rested on the seventh day."
"We don't want to rest too much today, though," Abed pipes up. "It's our first Sunday Funday of the summer."
At that, five sets of eyes shift expectantly to Jeff.
"We're doing this?" he asks the table at large. "Okay, um, just a sec."
He takes an extended gulp of a mimosa.
"And one more sip for a top-up of inspiration…" he savors the blend of OJ and champagne before starting to hold court, ever the orator.
"To my friends and peers, be you devoted mothers-" he nods to Shirley, gets an, "Aww, Jeff-rey," in return.
He puts his hand over Britta's. "Or ridiculous girlfriends-"
She rolls her eyes at the description, but still smiles for a fraction of a second before Jeff continues.
"Or wholesome, polygamous sluts-"
"Hey!" Annie, Troy, and Abed interject indignantly before they sneak glances at each other.
"You're not exactly wrong," Troy acknowledges, with Annie blushing and Abed adding, "So far, Jeff, your speech would earn a passing grade in my drama class from last semester. Continue."
He inclines his head slightly. "Thank you, Abed. To all of you-I'd like to first offer an apology, for being the last to come on board for the whole Sunday Funday idea."
"Wish you came last some other times, too," Britta mutters under her breath, much to Troy's amusement.
Jeff cocks his head to the side, asks with fake thoughtfulness, "I'm sorry, who sent the 'you up?' text that got us together in the first place?"
That wipes the shit-eating grin off Britta's face, and Jeff can't help but smirk as she blushes furiously and looks away from him while taking a healthy sip of her mimosa.
"And second-assuming there are no more interruptions from the peanut gallery-" he glances over at Britta and she flips him off, but also offers him a little "keep talking" nod, so he does.
"Happy summer, everyone. Let's revel in the fact that Mondays won't possess their normal, soul-sucking powers for the next several weeks, and enjoy these Sundays while we can."
He raises his glass to shouts of "hear, hear!" from the rest of them, and he thinks they'll leave it there until he sees Britta shimmying her shoulders.
"Sun-day Fun-day, better than a Monday…" she belts, pointing excitedly at Annie and Troy as they join in.
Jeff grouses, "Just once, couldn't we leave out the song?"
"No, dummy!" Britta insists.
"Why not?"
"Because then it's not Sunday Funday. It's the distinguishing feature from our other nonsensical, alcohol-related adventures," Abed argues.
"Once more, from the top!" Troy calls, and Jeff groans, "For fuck's sake," but he joins in, too, to add to their rising crescendo of noise and idiocy: "Sun-day Fun-day, better than a Monday-only do it one way, and that is the drunk way!"
Once the commotion dies down, Abed hams up his voice, going into full sports announcer mode.
"And now, presenting today's festivities-stay in your chairs for our fearless, sometimes reluctant leader. That's right, folks, let's give it up for Jeff Winger!"
Troy repeatedly slams the air horn app on his phone, to much fanfare from the rest of the table.
Jeff can only laugh at the ridiculousness.
"I'm not sure what's crazier: showing up to this at all, or putting actual time and thought into planning our little outing," he thinks to himself as he makes a show of grabbing the itinerary from his back pocket and unfolding it.
"Still...my life's better with all these nerds in it."
Jeff glances up hopefully at their server, but he's not coming their way just yet. "So, I figure I can at least lay out our first stop before the food arrives…"
**
Troy frowns as he works out the numbers-to-letters code in the first area of the escape room. "The secret of the...wait, isn't this place family-friendly?"
Abed crosses the small room they're in-the first of three, according to their guide-to stand next to his boyfriend and inspect the chalkboard. "Oh, there's a fifth letter, buddy."
"How's that any better? Wouldn't it actually be worse?"
"It's the secret of the old clock!" Britta exclaims.
Everyone freezes for a second at the certainty in her voice, and Troy lets out a quiet, "Ohhh, I didn't notice the number that would've been the L."
"What?" Britta glares defiantly at each of them. "My mom might've forced me to read the books at first, but I liked Nancy Drew growing up, sue me."
Annie, naturally, is already pulling the book off the shelf.
"Okay," she murmurs to herself, "cross reference the time on the broken clock that hasn't been used for anything else yet-seven o'clock should mean page seven-no, nothing there, let's try chapter seven-ah-ha!"
She triumphantly retrieves a small key from the hollowed-out section of the book, inserts it into the door to the next room, and unlocks it.
"One step closer to exposing the corrupt cops on the force," Shirley declares as they cram on into the next room.
"Nancy Drew?" Jeff quips at Britta.
"What, like you never read the Hardy Boys?" she challenges him.
Jeff snorts. "Of course not. They were total losers. Who goes steady with one person in high school?"
"That's fair," Britta concedes, "but they might've grown up to be the kind of people who would geek out over doing an escape room with their friends, like a certain someone I could mention, so…"
Britta brushes by him with a smirk, and he lets her-it's mildly infuriating when she gets the last word in, but he doesn't mind admiring the view.
"Jeff, you can stare at Britta when we get out of here!"
"I wasn't staring," he lies to Annie. "Just planning where to go."
He and Shirley quickly work out the clues to make the model train move after Troy and Britta connect the tracks, and after retrieving a scroll of paper from the last train, they've got…
Jeff frowns. "It's gibberish. Just a bunch of letters."
Abed grabs the piece of paper and quickly scans it. "Not letters." He points to the upright piano in the corner. "Notes. Let's see what this does."
He pulls out the bench, sits down, and taps out the melody with his right hand.
"I think that's Camptown Races," he comments. "But it didn't seem to-"
The piano starts rotating.
"Okay, never mind, it worked. Cool, cool, cool."
The rest of them duck through the openings on either side of the piano as Abed gets off the bench.
"This has gotta be the last room," Troy notes as they all take in the sight of the poker tables, decks of cards, and betting lines written out on the chalkboard. He glances at the clock above the door. "And we've still got about ten minutes."
"What haven't we solved?" Shirley asks.
"Was anyone able to unlock that giant chest in the previous room?" Jeff responds.
All he gets are headshakes.
"Okay, that must be one of the final parts to solve."
Annie dashes back to investigate it and calls, "It's a number lock. Six digits."
"Okay, it looks like we've got the poker games and the horse betting to work out, so we should have some figures available soon," Abed muses.
Jeff studies the tables and makes a beeline for the one with the biggest pot of chips in the middle.
"Looks like Texas Hold 'Em," he tells the group, "and the winning hand was a pair of nines, so ninety-nine could be one of the numbers."
Britta nods in approval at the suggestion. "Nice one."
"Got more than my good looks going for me once in a while," he gloats.
"Ninety-nine," Troy mutters to himself, writing it on the chalkboard while Shirley starts reviewing the dollars bet on the horse race.
"The person who bet on the winning horse only cashed out with eighty four dollars. Slow day at the track."
Abed shrugs. "Has to conform to the restrictions of the game. And it could be they didn't want to arouse suspicion by putting large sums of money down. Eighty-four!" he shouts to Annie.
"We've got two numbers left, assuming what we have so far is correct," she calls back.
Troy comes over to the poker table. "Do we know how much money the winner earned? Maybe that could be the last two digits."
Jeff grimaces. "Nope. We don't have a conversion of chips to dollar amounts, and even if we did, I think it'd be in the hundreds, so it wouldn't fit."
They all spend another couple of minutes fruitlessly scanning the room for clues, including Annie, but their time's dwindled down to five minutes and they're no closer to solving the last bit of the final puzzle.
Shirley buzzes the employee watching them play on their walkie-talkie. "Chris, help us out here, please, if you can."
"You're trying to figure out that chest, right?"
"Yes."
"Okay…" he pauses for a second, then slowly replies, "Think solo to find a duo."
"Think solo to find a duo," they all chant together.
"Could he mean so low?" Annie wonders. "Like, under a table or something?"
"No, it sounded like one word to me," Shirley asserts.
"Solo...solo…" Abed mutters to himself for a second before his eyes pop. "Han! Han Solo!"
"And that gets us where?" Jeff asks, aiming for detachedness, trying to pretend he doesn't care about winning and beating the room with his friends.
"It has to lead somewhere. It's a hint, Jeff."
He's about to retort when Troy, of all people, shushes him with a wave of his hand.
"Abed's right," Troy murmurs under his breath as he goes back to the chalkboard again, considering the figures that were up before they started writing on it. "Han Solo...Han Solo…"
He gasps, snaps his fingers, points at Abed. "Never tell me the odds!"
They trade a quick high five as Abed crows, "Of course! The odds-"
"On the winning horse!" Annie completes their thought, dashing back to the chest.
"It's seven to one!" Britta, Jeff, and Shirley all shout together.
They all crowd around Annie as she flips the last two dials to a seven and a one.
"Let's see if this works."
She tries to unlock the two hinges.
"Yes!"
Jeff can't really say who, precisely, initiates the group hug when Annie stands up, after they've grabbed the evidence out from the chest, but he's happy to be in it-a far cry from when he would've invented at least three different excuses to get out of seeing these very same people whenever he wasn't on Greendale's campus.
Chris opens the door. "Congrats, guys! You made it out with a few minutes to spare. Let's snap a couple pictures and we'll have you on your way."
Jeff grabs the "I'm With Stupid" sign from the box of props.
"Perfect," he mutters when Britta sidles up next to him.
"What's that?"
He aims a slightly smarmy grin at her. "Said you look perfect, babe."
Chris points at the two of them, commenting, "That's a classic picture. We get it all the time."
They glance down at their matching signs and crack up.
"Fuck you, Jeff," Britta murmurs, leaning in close to him for the photos, just the same.
He traces his thumb over her waist, lowers his voice to match hers.
"Fuck you, too, Britts."
He never knew he could crave a love language littered with expletives before he'd met her.
**
"You've gotta show those pins you mean business, An-nie!"
"I only have a nine-pound ball, Shirley."
"Yeah, but you can still throw it harder than you have been," she encourages. "Picture someone you hate on the front of the pins. Or someone you don't respect."
Annie gets a glint in her eye at that, and she grunts, "Screw you and your dumb food reviews, Leonard!" as she heaves her ball down the lane.
She gets an eight, converts her spare, and eeks her way past 100 in the final frame.
It's Jeff's turn, but he's taking his time drinking his beer and drinking in the ambiance, plus the hilarious scene of Annie, Abed, and Troy trying to perfect the rare three-person chest bump.
The booze must be warming him up. There's no way he's actually enjoying Sunday Funday with his friends this much. No way.
He can't quite convert a 5-10 split and ends their second game with a 137.
"Looks like I'm once again superior to all of you," he brags as he checks the scores.
"Your hubris may be your downfall, Jeff," Shirley warns. "Though you did bowl well today."
Abed frowns as he checks the scores and remarks, "Britta could still beat you."
Jeff reviews the math and gives a dismissive wave. "She's down sixteen in the tenth frame, I don't think she'll make that up."
"You don't?" she challenges him. "Wanna make this a little more interesting, then?"
Jeff grins. "If you wanna bet from a position of weakness, that's your fault. So how about...if I win, you have to cook dinner for me in lingerie sometime?"
"You're a pig," Britta sighs, "but you're my pig. And I'm fine with that. No making me fry or pan-sear anything, though, since I'd rather not have to worry about hot olive oil splattering me."
"That's fair," Jeff agrees.
"And if I win," she continues, "you pay for our next three dates, and one of them's classy."
"Two dates," he barters.
"Two and you buy me two fancy mixed drinks today."
"Deal."
Britta's first attempt isn't too far off the pocket, but she leaves a 3-7 split and scowls as Jeff calls, "Still think going for that bet was a good idea?"
She ignores him, focuses on her next shot, and carefully throws her ball down the right side of the lane. A tiny part of Jeff's brain whispers, "That shot looks pretty good."
The 3 pin skitters across the lane, doesn't quite clip the 7, and slams into the side wall.
"Ha!" Jeff yells triumphantly.
Just before the 3 tips over to the right and topples the 7 pin over with it.
"Ha!" Britta yells back mockingly as she stares him down.
"You still need to get 7 to win," Jeff answers as Annie, Abed, and Troy start an impromptu, "Let's go, Britta!" chant.
Jeff scoffs at them. "No one wants me to win?"
"We're more cheering from an anti-lingerie angle," Troy explains.
"Plus your reactions to losing are funnier," Annie adds as Britta starts her approach.
It's a perfect strike, and Jeff can't even be mad when his girlfriend gives a little excited leap and runs back to get high fives and fist bumps from everyone.
"Show me the money, Jeff!" she shouts as she sashays towards him.
"Yeah, yeah, you win," he concedes, grinning at her moment in the sun. "That was a great pickup."
"Thanks."
They all get changed out of their bowling shoes, but Britta pulls him back the tiniest bit from everyone else as they walk up to the front desk.
"You know," she murmurs, "if you wanted me to wear lingerie while cooking, all you had to do was ask."
He gives a double-take at that. "Wait, seriously?!"
"I mean, it wouldn't be a regular thing, but as a treat, sure. If I think you deserve it."
"Have I mentioned you're the best?"
Her smile shines bright. "I've been hearing that from you more and more, lately. If you're not careful, I'll start getting used to it."
"You could do that," Jeff answers, a bit surprised at just how much he means that-and how much he wants Britta to believe it-as they go to catch up with the rest of the group.
**
"I'm not trying to be rude," Abed observes, "but it's probably a good thing Shirley had to leave after bowling. I don't think she'd approve much of this particular activity."
He turns to Jeff. "And I can't believe you've never done this before."
"Was your mom super strict when you went grocery shopping or something?" Troy asks.
"A little," Jeff concedes. "And this still feels kinda stupid, but after you all made such a big deal of it…"
It being riding a grocery cart he'd liberated from Target down a hill.
"No pressure," Troy reassures him as he and Abed help Annie clamber into their cart. "But it's a pretty freeing experience, in all honesty."
Jeff blows a long breath out and turns to consider Britta.
"You up for a little ride-along?"
She shrugs. "I'm already giving you my heart. This doesn't seem too dangerous by comparison."
Jeff hastily turns his shocked gasp into a fake cough, trying to make like he's not both terrified and delighted to hear that particular development.
"That is usually why people get into long-term relationships," some part of him notes, with no small amount of snark. "They, y'know, love their partner and all that."
"Yeah, but she didn't need to just declare it like that! Give a man some warning," his more rational side butts in.
"What, so you can run?"
His cynical, guarded self is always the one that shuts things down with Britta, in particular. Poisons him. Says he's either too good for her or not good enough.
Not this time. For once, he knows they work. He's gotten nearly five months of proof just from them legitimately dating, not to mention three-ish years of their being friends, and more, off and on.
"Jeff? You okay?" Britta asks.
He realizes everyone's staring, waiting for him to make a decision.
Two, actually, even if the rest of them don't realize it.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good." He steps up onto the back of the cart. "Let's do this."
He lets out a whoop of excitement that nearly matches Britta's as they pick up speed, and a rush of affection ripples through him as he watches her turn to offer Annie a high five with a massive grin on her face.
He lets go of the cart with both hands for a half-instant as they get to the bottom of the hill, mirroring Troy and Abed's movement before reestablishing his grip.
"Didn't really think I'd ever check that off my bucket list," he admits as he fixes his windswept hair. "But it was more fun than I expected."
"Told you embracing insanity once in a while can be a good time," Troy mentions as he and Abed complete their handshake.
"Because going to Greendale isn't insane enough," Jeff deadpans, loving how all of them laugh in response.
**
"Sorry this final idea didn't work out," Jeff sighs as they all plop down at a table in the basement of the Ross-Cherry Creek Branch Library.
"I know we didn't find a hidden speakeasy here, but it was nice to visit a new library in the area," Annie offers.
Britta nods in agreement. "The record collection down here is awesome."
"They could do with a bit of organizing, though," Annie notes, frowning a bit as she approaches one bookshelf. "Some of these aren't alphabetized correctly."
"Wouldn't they be using the Dewey Decimal System?" Troy pipes up.
"You'd think-maybe they just do things differently in this particular section of the library?" she ponders, the tension in her shoulders clearly melting away once she's swapped a few books around to get them arranged properly.
"Got any other Sunday Funday plans, Jeff? If not, that's fine, this was an awesome episode," Abed remarks.
"I don't think so...I'll open it up to you all if there's anywhere else you're interested in visiting. Britta?" he asks.
"Nah, I'd be fine checking out a couple other floors here, but I don't really have to go anywhere else."
"Same," Troy nods. "What about you, Annie?"
No response.
"...Annie?"
There's a thump from behind the bookshelf, and an excited shout of, "You guys aren't gonna believe this! Just a second!"
And suddenly, the bookcase is spinning around to reveal…
"The hidden speakeasy does exist," Jeff breathes.
"Very cool, cool, cool," Abed whispers in a hushed, devout tone at the low lights and the bossa nova jazz playing softly in the background.
"It feels like we just stepped into L.A. Noire, buddy," Troy responds, his voice equally reverent.
"Your ego's already at risk of being overinflated," Britta comments to Jeff as they make a beeline for the bar, "but I've gotta hand it to you, Jeff: this Sunday Funday's been fan-fucking-tastic."
A bartender nods to both of them after they've had a second to consider the drink menu.
"What'll your pleasures be?"
Britta responds for both of them. "I'll have a hurricane, easy on the crushed ice, and a Lagavulin sixteen for him," she tips her head toward Jeff. "Neat, please."
"A hurricane for my hurricane," Jeff chuckles as he slides his card across the bar and tells the guy pouring their drinks, "Keep it open."
He passes their beverages over in short order, and Jeff clinks his tumbler with Britta's oversized cocktail glass.
"Happy almost five months."
Her smile-this new one, the one that says she's learning how to be soft with him, too-might just kill him.
"Thought you didn't put much stock in anniversaries," she quips.
He shrugs, decides to give the whole 'honesty' thing a shot in the moment. "I didn't have any that were worth remembering 'til you came along, Britts."
She nods, blushing slightly and trying to hide it as she sips her drink, and Jeff marvels, yet again, at just how stupid he was to write off the idea of them being a legitimate couple for so long.
Abed's excited call of, "Guys! There's an old school pinball machine in the back!" interrupts his moment, and Britta hops off her barstool.
"Wanna come play?" she asks Jeff.
"Not at this very second...just wanna enjoy my whiskey for now. I'll catch up with you in a minute."
Annie ends up stealing her seat a few minutes after that, and Jeff nods toward the bar.
"Feel like I owe you a drink since you found this place," he tells her, and she flashes him a grateful smile.
"Thanks, Jeff. I'll take a gin and tonic, please," she tells one of the other bartenders.
After taking a healthy pull of it, she gives Jeff her "let's talk" pose and an inviting, "So…"
He downs another sip of his whiskey. "So, what?"
She beams at him. "So, you and Britta are kinda disgustingly domestic, and we're all happy to see you've finally worked things out long-term."
"You're one to talk about domesticity," he answers a touch defensively. "You're literally dating your roommates, Annie!"
"Yeah, but…" she swirls her straw around her drink, then goes on, "We've shared this sort of weirdly intimate energy together since I moved in there, really. And that's not even counting how Troy and Abed have been since part-way through freshman year. With you and Britta, that's kind of new, isn't it?"
"I guess it is," Jeff admits after considering things for a moment. "In the past, one of us would've blown up our relationship for one stupid reason or another, but I can't imagine wanting to do that with where we are now."
He's still not always the best at reciprocity, but on this day, in a good mood, surrounded by his best friends in an adventure he largely created, he can manage it almost effortlessly.
"And things are good for you all?"
He gestures vaguely in Troy and Abed's direction-they're showing Britta how to hip-check the old pinball machine to fix the flippers when they get stuck.
"Yeah. Some days it's still a tiny bit weird, but," she gives one of her little "happy Annie" wiggles, "I'm thrilled that we're all each other's."
He smiles easily at her. "Glad to hear it. And thanks, by the way, for coming along for all the craziness today."
"Jeff," she answers almost disbelievingly. "You put together an awesome Sunday Funday, and it's the first weekend of summer. Like any of us would wanna be anywhere else."
"I didn't wanna be anywhere else today, either," he realizes aloud while he's looking at Britta.
Annie chuckles at his obvious staring, but it doesn't bother him.
"Like you haven't looked at Troy and Abed like this before," he sasses her, and she rolls her eyes as he grabs Britta's drink and gets up.
Her eyes light up as she spots him coming over. "Ooh, cocktail delivery!"
They waste a few more quarters, chat with their friends, dance to slow jazz.
Jeff suddenly recalls an important item on his not-Sunday-Funday to-do list.
"Did you sign up to renew your lease at your place through next year?" he asks as they sway back and forth.
"Not yet," she replies as she completes a little spin before darting in close to him. "I know I've gotta do it before the end of the month, but…"
Her voice trails off and her eyes dance away from his, ping-ponging between the floor, her drink, and some of the other speakeasy patrons.
"But what, babe?"
"I was thinking...it might be the last year I'm living there. Depending on how everything goes after graduation-she says, at age 33," she adds with a rueful laugh.
"Hey," Jeff murmurs, tilting her chin up so she looks at him despite the fact that her brilliant, dark blue eyes always make his mind go blank for a second.
"You've got that summer and fall internship at the LGBTQ Center starting in a couple weeks. The kids are gonna love you," Jeff promises, with a fervor that's nearly frightening to him, "and with that experience under your belt, you'll be positioned really well to find another one in the spring. Or just keep working there. Either way, Britta," he goes on, "you're gonna do great things, okay?"
She loops her arms around his neck, settles her head against his chest, and whispers, "Thank you, Jeff. But…"
She gazes up at him with something like adoration and he's still trying to convince himself he deserves it.
"I was also thinking about that from a perspective of...us, I guess," she comments carefully.
"How do you mean?" he asks, trying to keep his voice steady.
"Like, if we're both still around here, or in the general vicinity, if you'd wanna live together. If-if you wouldn't mind sharing a space with me," Britta continues, the trembling, halting nature of her sentence betraying her fear.
Jeff shakes his head, and as Britta blanches, he realizes his mistake.
"I wouldn't mind it at all," he hastens to tell her. "I mean...my apartment already feels more like home when you're there. And we'd be together, what, well over a year by then, anyway, right?"
"Mmhmm."
"Then…" he kisses her soft, slow, and certain, waiting for the right words to arrive.
Thank God for his law background, bogus or not.
"Then let's do what people do," he murmurs. "Let's plan out our future terrifyingly far in advance. Let's make a budget. Let's find an apartment together."
"You and me," Britta whispers, nodding along to each of his points.
"You and me," Jeff confirms.
Sometimes, the smallest words are the best ones to use.