written for the lovely ozmissage-on-lj's birthday! happy birthday, dear!

Britta is- not a normal person, okay.

Jeff knows this. Jeff has her number.

Jeff calls her up at two in the morning when he's drunk and talks for an hour, listening to her breathe on the other end of the phone while he rambles.

(She always records the phone calls, just in case.)


Jeff remembers the day that they graduated Greendale- graduated college. The dean had made a speech, the stage had caught on fire.

But before all those things he remembers Britta, hair bright and curly against the unflattering collar of her robe, fucking glowing at him. And they should not be this happy, they are graduating from a community college, but it doesn't matter.

He kisses her, all dramatic, dipping her back with his hand in her hair. He knocks off her hat.

Dean Pelton gasps; his arms wave frantically. In his shock, he pinwheels, trips, knocks over the torch on stage- a representation of Greendale's flame of knowledge!- and then woosh, there goes the rest of the ceremony.

Backlit by panic and firefighters, Britta blinks up at him. "I'm moving back to New York," she says, and Jeff suddenly finds that he wants to punch something.


Britta ends up in a studio apartment in Astoria. It's fine by her. There's so much more sky here, even though it isn't enough. She has a job for a non-profit, a good one, she's actually helping people. Her office is filled with people like her, people who care. It's great, it's wonderful, it's fine.

She always picks up the phone when Jeff calls, even though it's late at night for him and later for her. She always listens.

Listening is what makes her kick ass at her job. It's what is probably keeping the weird friendship between her and Jeff alive.

They never Skype. It's too awkward.

And if sometimes at 5 AM Jeff texts her Radiohead lyrics, well, that's just the choice he's making in life. No skin off her nose. Really.


Jeff (5:04) you sit there wishing you could still make love

Jeff (5:10) don't leave me high, don't leave me dry

Jeff (5:21) don't leave me

Britta (5:28) you have got to be fucking kidding me.


She calls him.

"I have sex," Britta declares. "In New York. I totally do, with people who aren't you, so there." She crosses her legs and stares at the wall. Her cat is sleeping on top of the dresser. Sometimes Britta doubts her cat's sanity, sometimes she doubts her own.

"Who is this?" Jeff slurs. It's Friday night, she's assuming he went out with people from his firm. He's probably stumbling out of a car now, drunk on alcohol someone else bought, alcohol that costs more than she makes in a week.

"Britta, you ass." Britta chucks a penny at the wall. It bounces. "Please stop texting me with Radiohead lyrics."

"I didn't do that," Jeff insists. "And you are not having sex with other people."

"Check your sent texts. And yes, I am. There was Erik, who's from Long Island City and has a really great-"

Jeff hangs up. He calls her back two minutes later.

"Maybe I did, but it doesn't mean anything."

Britta pauses for a moment. "If I called and told you to get on a plane right now, what would you do?"

There's no response.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

She ends the call.

She should probably be pleased that he's kind of a mess without her, but instead she's way more freaked out. Because they weren't in a relationship, not really, and none of this was ever supposed to happen. It doesn't matter if he loves her or if she loves him, this is just- not how things are supposed to go.

And besides, shouldn't all their friends back in Colorado be taking care of him? What's with that, anyways- it isn't exactly her job.


Britta (12:47) I wouldn't mind if you visited for a weekend.

Britta (12:49) occasionally.

Britta (12:54) I mean, I'm not busy all the time. We could eat at a food truck and drink overpriced beer, it'll be fun.


Jeff (2:12) so, I'm looking at airline tickets now.