Even after two weeks, she still can't explain it.

The textbook is open in front of her, and she has a pencil in hand, but she's not reading, not writing, not even trying to absorb the knowledge laid before her. The class on relaxation can't come soon enough because, to be totally honest, she's more wound up now than she ever was before. (Okay, well, maybe the thing with Jeff had her more tightly wound than this, but it was a hopeful kind of wound that turned into an angry kind of wound and finally a disappointed kind of wound and okay, so maybe Britta was right about her being tightly wound, but fragile?)

It all comes down to a question she never thought she'd ask herself again.

Why did she kiss him?

It wasn't even like it was a romantic kind of kiss. It wasn't even like she'd kissed him on the lips. It wasn't like he'd whispered soft, faintly suggestive words in her ear and a shiver ran down her spine and she had to remind herself that this was Abed, not Vaughn, and it wasn't right to think things like this when she had a boyfriend. It wasn't like she'd felt his breath on her face and smelled banana toothpaste. It wasn't like they'd been so, so very close that his bottom lip just barely grazed hers as he turned away.

She had kissed him on the cheek. No explanations. No warnings. No consequences.

Well. Sort of.

Abed certainly doesn't seem to be having trouble with it. But he had also thought they were in the Cave of Frozen Memories and she was about to go down an icy slide and there was also that fact that he'd thought she was a wind-up ballerina. Which she still doesn't get. Was he really saying that he thought she was fragile and tightly wound, or was there something in there about her being pretty and graceful? He'd never really said.

The thing is, while Abed was imagining everyone else as Christmas versions of themselves, she noticed that he remained Abed. She assumed this was true of most characters who went on Christmas journeys to find themselves (or the meaning of Christmas, Annie isn't picky how you say it), but it makes her kind of sad that Abed didn't get his turn at being something more than he is—because he's really more than just Abed.

At least… to her, he's more. He's a great impressionist and a good listener and one of the best friends she's ever had in her life and she thinks (sometimes—only sometimes!) that he might be a really good kisser and she would know by now if Shirley had waited just a couple more seconds. She wonders if he knows, really knows, how much potential he has to be a great filmmaker. It's not like she's some great film critic or expert, but even she can see that he's so talented and he takes these ideas and turns them on their heads and she cries just reading his scripts sometimes.

And she wonders when this train of thought went from "why did I kiss him" to "my God, he's just amazing."

There's this idea she has, in her mind, something that she hadn't expected and until now didn't want to think about. She shoved it away before, told it to be quiet because she didn't want to listen. But now she thinks that maybe it's time to listen—maybe it's time to accept what she denied before.

She's falling for him. It's not like it was for Troy, that double pang of happiness and sadness every time he looked (or didn't look) her way. It's not like it was for Jeff, that sudden intense fire that screamed at her to taketakeTAKE right this very minute, right this very second. This time, it's like a slow burn, a quiet ache that she doesn't even remember until her thoughts turn to him. It's been building for a long time now, this fist that closes around her heart every time she sees his face. When did it start? When he pretended, almost kissed her? Or was it before? There was a tightness, a strange unease the one time he was angry with her—she couldn't even bear the thought that he was upset, apologized as soon as she could.

It's a moment before Annie realizes she has an answer to her question. She kissed him because she couldn't not kiss him—not when it was safe and no one would judge her and he might even think it was his own imagination. How could she waste an opportunity to express what had been bubbling up inside?

Unfortunately, she had a whole new set of questions to answer, starting with Why in hell didn't I just kiss him on the mouth? and Cheek kisses count just as much as regular kisses, right?