Notes:

1. Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Community, its characters, storylines, etc.

2. Thank you to everyone for your feedback on the first chapter! It really means a lot to me that you guys took the time to leave a review, or follow the story! Sorry this chapter has taken so long to get going. I posted the other one right before I went back to grad school, and needless to say, the past month has been a vortex of lots of stress and very little time. I appreciate your patience.

3. Sorry in advance that this chapter isn't super action-packed. It's more along the lines of inner monologues, which I know can be boring, but I thought was important to set up some stuff for the rest of the story. Bear with me, I beg of you!

Thanks again, and here's Chapter 2!

-Lily

Chapter 2: Lines

She waits for him outside of class. She feels weird doing it – for one thing, he's usually always the first to leave, and for another, she knows it's probably treading dangerously close to one of the weird, unspoken lines between them. But she wants -no needs - to make sure that he's holding up okay, and so she leans awkwardly against a locker and fidgets nervously with her backpack straps while he puts on his jacket and takes his phone off silent.

He tries to brush past her as soon as he sees her lurking near the doorway, but she chases after him down the hall, her feet scurrying to keep up with his long, determined strides.

"Jeff!"

He keeps walking, head down, phone in hand, eyes glued to the screen.

"Jeff, I need to talk to you."

He picks up his pace.

"Jeff, wait. Please. It's important!"

He stops and turns to look at her. "Introduction, sections 1 and 2. 12 point font. Got it. I promise."

"You know that's not what I want to talk to you about," she hisses, finally catching up to where he's standing. She lowers her voice to a whisper. "And, I'm a little hurt that you really think I would be on your case about schoolwork when you're going through this….very…difficult…thing…" She trails off lamely, unsure of the etiquette for describing the situation.

"Oh, well I'm sorry you're feeling hurt right now."

Her cheeks flush as she inwardly winces at her faux pas. "I-I'm sorry. That was inconsiderate."

He sighs. He hates the sound of pity in her voice. "Annie, like I said before, please just don't. This is not a big deal. It's fine. I'm fine."

"I know you're fine," she says quickly – too quickly for his liking. "But if you ever decide that you're…not fine…I just want you to know that I'm here for you. I…care about you."

The words feel awkward and clunky as they fall off her tongue. Somehow, in all of their conversations, she realizes they've never really talked about anything. And now these words of reassurance that should be so easy for friends to say to each other sound foreign and strange. She attempts to read his face for any hint of what he's really thinking or feeling, but there's nothing there. She tries not to let that bother her.

She waits for him to respond, but he only turns to start walking again, so she blurts out more words, hoping that he'll stop, and just…say anything. "And um, I'm really sorry. I know it's a big loss and I can't imagine what you must be feeling, and –"

He scoffs. "Annie, I appreciate the sentiment. But like I said, it's fine. I'd hardly call it a loss."

She flinches. "Jeff, don't say that. I know you don't mean it -"

"Oh, but I do. Because it's the truth. You can't lose something you never really had. Now at least I can have the satisfaction of knowing that the reason I'll never hear from him is because he's dead, and not because he's a giant jackass."

She opens her mouth to interject, but he continues. "Look, I know that everyone probably expects me to have some big emotional breakdown, but I operate in a world based on reality and not inane psychological theories, religion, or television clichés. And the reality is that I'm fine. And going forward, I'd really appreciate it if you would just let me be fine and not confront me in the middle of the hallway about how you think I should be feeling."

He storms out to the parking lot, and she lets out a shaky breath she didn't even know she'd been holding. She feels tears welling up in the corner of her eyes and she brushes them away, wishing she had just stayed on her side of the line.

xxxxxxxxxxx

He starts to feel bad on the drive home. Maybe he was too harsh on her. No, he definitely was too harsh on her. She was only trying to help. At least he thinks she was.

But then again, he rationalizes, what did she actually think she would accomplish by playing Feelings Police? Even if he did want to talk about everything – which, for the record, he doesn't – he wouldn't just start to pour his heart out while standing casually next to Starburns' old locker. And he most certainly would not have picked Annie, of all people, as the one to open up to.

He lets out a short, bitter laugh at the image. "Why, yes, Annie, I was just thinking that I would love to ruin our…whatever this is…by burdening you with my deep, dark, fucked up feelings. You'll probably never talk to me again after, but gosh it would be cathartic. Can we start with the story about how I laughed uncontrollably at the hospital administrator when he told me my dad listed me as the next of kin? I'd really like to explore that."

He shakes his head. No, he'd done the right thing, harsh as it was. Annie may have meant well – at the end of the day, she always means well – but really, he can think of no good reason why she should be made privy to anything going on in his head right now. They're not her problems or her issues to deal with, and honestly, what could she even do about any of them that he couldn't figure out on his own?

"Nothing," he answers his own question out loud, startling himself with the sound of his own voice. He pauses, letting his thoughts sink in.

"She's better off not having to listen to all the details she probably doesn't actually care about. If anything, she should be thanking me for sparing her," he adds emphatically, as if speaking aloud would solidify the truth of his statements.

He also adds – silently this time – that, at the end of the day, he will be better off keeping her in the dark, as well. She is, after all, one of the few uncomplicated parts of his life. Ambiguous? Sure. He doesn't really know what they are or where it's going, exactly. Confusing? Maybe, since he also doesn't really know where he wants it to go, but that doesn't matter. What matters is that, despite all of that, somehow it's easy. Over the course of the past few months, they've carved out rules and boundaries between them, some openly agreed upon and others more implicitly so. But either way, they've all been adhered to, and there haven't be any problems. If he were to start now with the talking and the feelings and the emotional baggage, who the hell knows what would happen? And does he really want to risk something so easy for two minutes of delving into his psyche and probably coming up empty, anyway?

No, he decides as he pulls into his parking spot, he doesn't want to risk it. For his sake and for hers. Things get messy when they're not compartmentalized, so it's just better to keep them neat and organized and…separate. It's been working so far, and everybody wins that way.

Happy with his conclusion, he throws his car in park and heads inside, already feeling better and more clearheaded than he has in days. All he needed was some time alone to think, without six others chiming in. Sometimes, he tells himself, he gets dragged down into relying on the group for everything, when really he's had the answers all along. Sometimes, he just needs to remember that he's better off on his own. He smiles, proud of his newly remembered self-sufficiency.

His phone buzzes as he's unlocking his apartment door. He checks it quickly – a text from Annie, typed out in complete sentences and perfect grammar, as usual.

I'm sorry about earlier. I didn't mean to pry. If you need to talk, though, I'm always here to listen.

He smirks to himself, shuts off the screen, and tosses the phone aside on the kitchen counter as his front door slams behind him. He fixes himself a scotch, then sits on his couch, drinking slowly and reveling in the silence. Jeff Winger doesn't need to talk; he just needs space.