Notes: What was supposed to be a 300-word drabble turned into this…I JUST HAD TO GET IT OUT OF MY SYSTEM OKAY.

It happens like this:

It's midnight, and the second Greendale dance of the semester is just starting to break up. He's standing alone, outside, in front of the library steps, partially hidden in the shadows and illuminated only by the yellow twinkling lights dangling from the bushes. He's not really sure what he's waiting for—maybe nothing, maybe something, maybe someone, he's not sure; he just feels compelled to stand there, slightly shivering in the cool night's breeze as he stands and waits, waits, waits.

Britta and Annie walk out the door just then, giggling with their arms linked, and they brush past him on their way to the parking lot. He watches them go, and he's still there, feeling like he's standing on the edge of a cliff, feeling like he's on the brink of something that's right there in front of him, that's right there on the tip of his tongue that he can't wrap his mind around. Feeling like he's missing something.

Suddenly she turns around, and she's smiling, and she's waving, and she's yelling, "See you tomorrow, Jeff!" He's smiling and waving back when she suddenly untangles her arm from Britta's and walks toward him, and he doesn't really register that his arms are slightly held out to catch her in a hug that almost comes as second nature to both of them.

"Bye, Jeff," she mumbles against the lapel of his suit, and he wonders why he's not more annoyed that she's smudging her lipstick against the expensive fabric.

Instead he just smiles, and he presses his lips against the top of her head, and she smells like strawberries and perfume and Greendale and—

And she gives one last smile up at him before turning to catch up with Britta who's offering him a half-hearted, slightly intoxicated wave, but he barely notices, because his mind is still whirling, still thinking, still wondering what's missing.

::

It happens like this: suddenly.

He's still standing there, and people are walking past him and bumping into him on their way home from the dance, and it just hits him.

It's been four years since he kissed her.

It's been four years since he kissed her (or she kissed him). He forgets who kissed whom; what he remembers is that they met somewhere in the middle, and he remembers the feel of her lips against his and the taste of her tongue in his mouth and the warmth and feel of her body pressed against him.

It's been four years since he kissed her, and he thinks, it's one kiss from four years ago but he can still picture it as if it had only happened yesterday.

And then he thinks, Holy shit.

::

Why didn't he see it before?

(Or, more appropriately: why is he such an idiot?)

::

Now he looks at her and all he remembers is that one kiss, and it's almost impossible to restrain himself from just grabbing her and putting his damn misery to an end. Because he's Jeff and she's Annie and he remembers a kiss from four frigging years ago, and he actually cares about her, and he thinks that maybe that's the scariest part about all of this.

::

One day he just looks at her and he wonders, What if, what if, what if?

One day he just looks at her and he wonders how many more years he's going to have to deny himself of this, of her, of Annie. Annie, Annie, Annie. Annie, whose kiss he remembers from so long ago, whose eyes have some sort of weird Disney power over him; Annie, whom he can't say no to, Annie, to whom a ridiculously large part of his heart belongs, and holy shit, he really could use a large bottle of scotch right about now.

(Annie, who's been waiting there for him for so fucking long, and he thinks:

She's not going to wait forever.)

One day she just looks at him from across the study table, and the library is quiet, and she's talking and laughing, and he just looks at her—from her eyes to her smile to her dainty little fingers reaching across the surface and fitting into the spaces between his. There's a curve to her lips and a softness in her eyes he's always, always, always noticed, but there's something different about today, about now, about this very moment.

She notices he's not listening, and she laughs, waves a hand in front of his face. "Jeff!" she reprimands, in this tone that's equal parts playful and amused and fond. And she's sitting there in her button-down and pants and her hair pinned back, and she's laughing from her eyes to her mouth, and just—

His heart pounds against his ribcage, and his hand finds its way to the back of her neck, and his fingers tangle softly into her hair. She falls silent, and there's this tense beat; she's looking at him tentatively, apprehensively, and she just says, "Jeff," and lets it out with a deep sigh. Her eyes soften afterwards, and, seconds later, they flutter closed.

He brushes his nose against hers, and she takes in a sharp breath, her dainty little fingers barely touching the stubble on his chin. He sees her smile as he leans in.

::

Really, it's almost impossible not to kiss her.

::

It's every bit the same as he remembers it, yet it's different, because they're Jeff and Annie, but they're also not the same people they were four years ago.

But she tastes exactly the same way he remembers and he thinks, yes, yes, this is exactly what he's been missing, and in his mind he pictures his fingers, stretching out for that unreachable thing in the distance, and that thing is Annie.

Annie pulls away for a minute, and he tries to catch his breath, because holy shit, why has he waited four whole long fucking years to do something that feels as amazing as this?

"Took you long enough," she softly whispers against the base of his neck, as if she can read his mind, and he laughs, the sound deep and slow. His fingers dance against her collarbone almost absentmindedly.

"Sorry," he says, and in his mind he says, Sorry for hurting you, Sorry for being such an asshole, Sorry it took me so damn long.

He feels more than sees her smile against his skin, and she brushes a light kiss under his chin.

"It's okay," she says, and she doesn't really say a lot more after that, because her mouth is sliding over his again, and her tongue is curling around his, and his brain is pretty much short-circuiting.

::

(Annie's right. It did take him long enough.

Her fingers close around his, in this perfect symmetry, and she smiles, and his heart gives a beat, and he thinks, no, he's not going to waste any more time.)