Chapter Text
Jeff is on sabbatical.
This means the dean has put out an APB on someone just as ruggedly handsome to fill his spot, keeps sending Jeff pictures in ridiculous outfits to get him to come back, and Leonard is rejoicing, or so Jeff says over drinks.
"It's only for a month or three, I don't know why everyone is making such a fuss," he shrugs with an abashed smile. Abed nods, knowing that Jeff would probably have a mental breakdown if people didn't make a fuss.
They're in a sleek place. Los Angeles has a lot of casually snobbish bars, the kind that don't take themselves too seriously but have a handbook of rules anyway. Abed went for scotch on the rocks as per Jeff's recommendation. Momentarily, their drinking is at a pretty uneven ratio, with Jeff having gone through three rounds while Abed is still working on his first glass.
"They appreciate you over there," he tells Jeff.
"Yeah, I guess they do."
The liquor burns but Abed doesn't mind it much. He hasn't been having the best time lately. Production on his first movie got delayed because of location changes. The blinking light on Troy's GPS signal went out for a while, and Abed only had his call to rely on. On top of that, he's been thinking far too much again.
"What does Britta think about the sabbatical? I'm sure she was eager to psychoanalyze you."
"Ha, you think I let her? I've learned how to turn her off from doing that a long time ago."
Jeff smiles, proud of his ability to discourage people from trying to help him. He looks like a douchebag, but that's not new. He fits here, in this pretentious city. Abed doesn't.
"Britta's pretty persistent," he says.
"Yeah, well, my former job was literally to be persistent. Pretty sure it's actually in the job description. I think I'm good."
"Maybe Britta doesn't want to psychoanalyze you, maybe she just wants to talk."
"Maybe if she wants me to talk to her, she should stop with the annoying questions."
Abed narrows his eyes at him.
Jeff showing up had been a surprise. Not an unwelcome one, just strange. Jeff wasn't the type to seek out company, much less from Abed. Normally if things were bad, he'd just sleep with a hot babe and forget all about it. And Abed doubts he checks Jeff's boxes, that that's the reason he came here.
"Why are you on sabbatical anyways?" he asks, the words feeling precarious in his mouth.
Jeff scoffs. "Good example of an annoying question."
"Good example of avoidance."
Frankly, Abed is of the opinion that Jeff can't just show up after months of strained contact and then refuse to provide backstory.
"Look Abed, it doesn't matter. What matters is that I came to see you during my limited time off and I wanna hear what's going on with my buddy."
Like Abed should be grateful. And fine, maybe he should be. It's not like his existence has been all that dreamy lately. At least Jeff provides a divertissement, a B-plot from the main storyline that is Abed's professional life sadly falling apart before he even gets properly started. This is a trope to cling onto; an old friend in town. This is good.
"Sure, I'll let you divulge from the topic," he resigns. He takes a sip from his drink, feels it trickle down his throat. "Just so you know, you used to be better at this."
"Shut up Abed. Talk to me about the American Dream."
"It's good." Abed swirls the glass on the surface of the cherry-wood bar. "Working on my movie."
"Still making movies. That's good."
Like Jeff was afraid he wouldn't be. That he'd crumble.
"I guess it is. It's all working out pretty much how I wanted it to."
"But-?"
Abed clicks his teeth. "Pretty cliché how there always has to be a 'but'."
The lines in Jeff's face stretch as he smiles, a shimmer of pity in his eyes.
"Well buddy, there nearly always is. C'mon, give me your but."
"I'm not interested in sleeping with you Jeff."
"Ha-ha, very funny Abed."
"I'm snarky now. The student becomes the master."
Truthfully, Abed had learned a lot from Jeff. How to encourage people. How to cover up problems with piles and piles of debris. How to make it work.
"I never taught you to be lame," Jeff tut-tuts. Another sip. "So are you not content, is that it?" Movies don't make you as happy as you hoped?"
For a moment, Abed ponders it. If movies have ever been a way to make him happy in the first place. They've been a way to make him not sad, that's for sure. But happy? They might have just been a tool, a cover-up. A crutch.
"I don't know what will make me happy, to be honest," he shakes his head. He dares to lift his eyes, picking up on Jeff's meditative gaze.
"Oh," Jeff says quietly. There's a sadness after the revelation. Abed almost feels like he's dissappointing him.
"Movies keep me busy," he explains. "They always have. Just like- like other things, I guess. Sometimes I think life is just a constant search for distractions."
"That's kind of insightful for the guy who claims he doesn't have emotions."
"I never claimed that. Others do, so I just accept it,"
"So, not a computer after all, are you?"
Abed wishes sometimes, that he was. His biggest weakness is his wild emotionality, the way he gets attached. It's driven people away time and time again.
"Never been. You know that," he says with a wry smile.
Jeff nods thoughtfully, his fingers fiddling with the rim of the glass.
"Yeah. I know. I think everyone does."
Not everyone does, in fact. Abed's quite experienced with people dismissing him. It's okay though, the dismissal. Teaches him to keep it down. Teaches him to be more normal.
"Right," he nods. "Everyone knows you have emotions too, Jeff. It's not a bad thing."
"Then how come it feels like it is?"
Got me there, Abed thinks.
Living LA has oversaturated his head with self-help flyers, colleages posting about mental health acceptance, mindfulness, invitations to seminars where people talk about how men should be able to show emotions and how it shouldn't be a big deal. Still- it never felt like it wasn't. Because every time Abed did show his true feelings, the ones brewing menacingly under the surface, it had turned into disaster. He thinks about lava, pushes the thought down with a gulp of whiskey.
"I don't know," he shakes his head.
Jeff throws back the remnants of his drink, gestures the waiter for another one. He raises his newly filled glass then, grins. "Cheers to that."
"You're on your fourth one," Abed says as he clinks his glass against Jeff's.
"Concern doesn't suit you."
"Just an observation Jeff, I think you're interpreting it as concern. It's okay if you use alcohol as a distraction or a coping mechanism. I do it too, with other stuff."
"Fuck, I guess we all do. What else is there?"
"Nothing. We just have to make do."
Back at Greendale, there had been a thin veil of judgement clouding Abed's mind whenever he thought of Jeff. Troy said Jeff was 'emotionally blocked up', murmured how real men cried and how Jeff was lame. Right, Abed had said. Troy was much more skilled with all that stuff. Abed wished he was like him, but he knew that the sickening truth was that he and Jeff were cut from the same cloth.
"So, what's your poison?" Jeff smirks.
"Movies. Making movies," Abed shrugs, "Sex, I guess."
Los Angeles is a wasteland of dating app aces. When Abed was a PA, his team insisted he get on all of them. At some point, Abed got comfortable.
"Same on the last one."
"It's not my proudest habit."
It was almost as easy as fixing hook-ups at Greendale. By now, he's ran through a slew of women, men, other people. None of them ever stayed for more than just the night though.
"Really? The art of fucking to forget is to at least recognize the pride that comes with it," Jeff laughs smugly. Typical.
"I don't see my sexual encounters as awards."
"No, you see them as replacements."
That stings. Abed takes a bigger sip than he has all night, nearly finishes, instead leaves some, for further confrontational comments.
"Ouch," he remarks dryly, "For what, do you figure?"
"You know," Jeff suggests with the rise of an eyebrow.
"I wanna hear you say it."
"It's Troy, isn't it?"
A brief silence sits between them, electrified with something beyond tension. Recognition, maybe. Abed feels translucent, like Jeff sees right through him, like everyone does. Of course it's Troy, how could it be anyone else?
"Got me pegged," he smiles, but it hurts.
"Are you in love with him?"
Abed makes a tornado in his glass, lets the alcohol do pirouettes, watches until he's dizzy.
"Do you even care Jeff?" he says through gritted teeth.
Another moment of quiet. The bar murmurs around them.
"I didn't think you still thought I didn't," Jeff says then.
"I don't. I guess I just- it's hard to-"
"It's hard to talk about."
"Yeah. Hard to think about too."
"Right," he's nodding. His eyes are insistent on Abed, piercing, trying to communicate solidarity, apprehension.
"You know, I always kind of knew that you two were...you know."
"Gay?"
"No, fuck Abed, I mean in love!"
In love. Abed had ruminated it more than he would ever admit. Now still, he spends nights and nights awake, blinking into the dark, thinking of the shattered memories of the Dreamatorium and comforting hands running through his hair, strong, with warm glowing skin. Murmured words in the dark, whispered secrets, handshakes, stolen touches, denotations of best friends. Drives Abed crazy.
"Oh. But Troy didn't-" Troy didn't love me, he wants to explain. "I mean it wasn't like that, when Troy was still at Greendale. I guess I just kind of found out after he left. That I'm..."
He can't say it.
Jeff sits back, crosses his arms and chuckles with tempted amusement, saying- "It was so like that."
Abed's knuckles whiten, against the edge of the bar. "Jeff-"
"Everyone could see it."
"No-"
"You guys were so obvious with it."
"That wasn't-"
"I mean, even when Troy was with Britta, it was clear he was head over heels for you."
"Don't say that."
Silence, Jeff turns quiet, Abed watches his face drop. His heart sits heavy like a rock within his ribcage, weighing him down. He wants to rip it out, tear it to shreds, stomp it into the ground. He thinks about Troy's kind eyes, his face right before he left.
"Sorry," Jeff says carefully after too long of a time. "Are you talking to him?"
"We call once a week."
"Good. You'll figure it out."
Abed really isn't sure of it. He talks with Troy about surface-level things, about docks and bays and silly around-the-world anecdotes. Troy asks about his movies with a soft, gentle voice, and Abed misses him so much he wants to throw up. Doesn't tell him any of that, or how he thinks about Troy when he presses another faceless stranger into the pillow. Nothing to give it away.
"Speaking of figuring things out," Abed winces, "what about you and Britta?"
"We live together. We eat dinner together. We fight. We have sex. We also have sex with other people. What more is there to figure out?"
Abed feels dignified to make Jeff equally uncomfortable as he made him just now.
"Do you love her?" he asks, knowing full well Jeff would never say yes. He's not like Abed in that sense, doesn't want to eagerly say yes, doesn't need to surpress it.
Jeff catches on. "That isn't very nuanced."
"Have you ever known me to be nuanced?"
"Fair," he nods. "I don't know. It doesn't matter. I like this arrangement. I like her. Some days I think I should marry her, some days I want to strangle her."
"Sounds healthy," Abed notes.
"I think some people aren't wired to be healthy."
"Maybe. I don't know."
He feels himself start to get weird now. It spreads from his chest, a black cesspool there. His poison roots peek out from under vapid movie references, comments about scenes, characters, dialogue, reminding himself how he's still sick, always will be. The truth is, Abed knows he's not wired to be healthy. He might not be an alcoholic but he's the same, trying to get clean, aching to get back what his shuddering hands miss the most.
"Abed," Jeff nudges him quietly. "It's gonna be fine. You know that right? Troy loves you so much and-"
"Jeff, don't."
"It's true though. I've spent years being exposed to your stupid little relationship and trust me, it made me realize that it is in fact neither stupid nor little."
It's been so extremely long since Abed even talked about Troy with someone. Annie expertly avoids it. Jeff graciously did the same, up until now.
"Can we talk about something else?" he covertly pleads.
"Sure," says Jeff, his throat bobbing with liquor. "like what?"
Abed watches the bartop for a while, plays with his hands. Then he catches Jeff's gaze.
"Why are you on sabbatical?" he presses once more.
Jeff's expression drops, his countenance turning a little frantic. Good, Abed thinks, that's what you get for making me talk about Troy, and then he immediately hates himself for thinking it.
"I can't- I can't function without a crutch," Jeff stammers, by way of explanation. "It used to be you guys. Then somewhere along the road it became alcohol. I just- I just can't. So the Greendale school board thought it'd be good if I took off some time to reflect. To heal myself, or some shit."
"Are you gonna hate me if I say they have a point?"
"No, I mean-" he waves his hands in a dismissive manner. "Okay. Listen. A while back, I had this girlfriend right? She was real cute. Slept together a couple of times, and it started to become a little more serious. Then, one day, she said she wanted to be with me. But only if I stopped living with Britta, if I tried to get on the school board, if I stopped drinking, if I rekindled with my dad, if I did this and that and then some."
"Right."
"I told her that she didn't want to be with me. She wanted a different guy."
"You don't think it's important to change?"
"Not everything. That's not acceptance. That's not love. You can't wanna change the core parts that make up who someone is. I mean, Abed, you of all people should know that it never works to try and be someone you're not."
You of a all people. Abed hates that, like he's the epitome of a static character. He drinks again, considers gesturing for a refill like Jeff had.
"I wish I'd tried harder to change," he says.
"No, Abed."
Despite everything, despite Jeff yelling at him to stop seeing life as TV, despite his quick violent hands in moments of weakness, he did stick up for Abed in the face of resistance several times. Abed knows he's genuine, knows he doesn't expect him to change as much as others do.
He takes a deep breath.
"Maybe Troy would have stayed, if I had. Or maybe-"
He halts.
"What?"
"Maybe my mom would have stayed. Maybe my high school best friend would have. Maybe my first girlfriend. I can't even-"
His hands are shaking now, and he feels his eyes well up. Stupid tears. He barely lets them get to him. Sometimes it overtakes him, and that makes him feel painfully weak. He hides his face, rubs his browline. The bar suddenly seems so impossibly large, and Abed feels tiny in the center of it all.
"Fuck. I know," Jeff says sympathetically. His hand comes up and he lightly rubs into Abed's shoulder. Abed sits back and blinks at the ceiling, composes himself.
"I know you know," he says softly.
Jeff nods. "I think about it too, I mean- with my dad. I think about all the things I should have tried to be. But the truth is Abed, we were kids. It was unfair. We shouldn't have been forced to deal with the burden of living up to our parent's expectation, I mean. How could we have?"
"I don't know," Abed shrugs. He thinks about Troy again, how he was the only one who came close to really knowing him, to accepting him, to making it work. How he left anyways. How Abed can never ever tell him what he really feels.
Deep breath in. "I can't help making people leave."
"It's not your fault," Jeff says.
Exhale. Keep breathing. Hands steady.
"It's not yours either Jeff," with a voice that doesn't shake. "I'm sorry about it all. I know I'm not the most comforting presence but I do enjoy talking to you and you're always welcome to waste money paying for drinks in overpriced bars with me."
Everything is fine.
Jeff snorts. "Thanks buddy."
This is where they should move on. The words between them, of vulnerability, of knowing, locked in a hollow cage, caught like a bug, suffocated with a tight heavy lid. This is where they move on but-
But Jeff is still looking at him, his gaze unwavering and harsh and Abed shifts, rubs his elbow, and-
"What?"
"I'm just..."
Abed stops him.
"Don't say you're proud of me."
"Wasn't gonna."
"Okay."
Silence. Abed wonders if Jeff is going to be okay, if he will get over his fears and his limitations and everything he employs to keep on driving people away. Then he wonders the same thing about himself and understands, in an instant, that they might never know.
"You'll get there, with Troy. He's gonna come back. You'll have your romance arc with all the stupid fucking tropes and shit like that," Jeff says, like a liar.
"You don't have to lie Jeff," Abed says as much, bitter tinge to his voice.
"I'm not. You have this love in your hands and it's- I mean, I don't think I'll ever feel something like that. It's a good thing Abed. You might be hurt from it now, but it's beautiful. It's special. That's why it hurts."
It's the drinks. Abed isn't a heavy-weight. His head feels like a mess, like he might fall apart at any moment. He holds onto the words for stability, lets himself. It's beautiful. It's special. Maybe Jeff is right, and maybe that's okay.
"You really don't feel it, with Britta? Or...Annie?" he asks.
"I don't think I'll feel it with anyone. Annie was just a fantasy and. I mean of course I love Britta but not-"
"You're not in love."
"No. I don't think I'm capable."
Abed smiles at him with as much sympathy as he can muster.
"Checks out but...that's okay though. Sometimes I think I'm the same. That if Troy doesn't happen, then it's just going to be nothing for the rest of my life."
"We're tragic, aren't we?"
They kind of are. But the light hits Jeff's face in a certain way, so he has this wise countenance to him. Like he's a martyr or a survivor of the apocalypse. Like he's a cop with a dark past, or an ex-assassin. Maybe Abed is his right hand man, then. And maybe this is the good part of a mediocre movie.
"We might be. But this is the perfect 'drinking-your-sorrows-away' scene," Abed smiles.
He throws back what's left in his glass, feels the tension drip off of his shoulders a little.
"It is," Jeff smiles back. "Another one?"
"Sure Jeff."
They drink.