“Jane Austen thought I’d fancy you.”

“Well, yeah. And what’s so wrong with that? You’re sharp, quick-witted, lively. Not unlike an Austen heroine, in fact. It’d only make sense that you’d fall for my sort. Me and Mr. Darcy, we’ve got a few things in common.”

“What’s that?” Donna demands, words popping indignantly off her tongue. “Emotional retardation? A raging superiority complex? Come to think it, yeah, I can see the resemblance. Only difference is, he’s the most charming man in the whole history of literature, and you’re a walking, talking twig with a couple of hearts and a spaceship.”

They shack up together, him and Juliet, and soon he memorizes the way her footsteps sound against the floor.

She can tell he’s startled. He looks at her as though he can’t quite recognize her. She could laugh. This man is programmed to love her, he exists to be wild about her, and even he is looking at her like that. What truly magnificent heights she’s reached.

Finally, he says, “Don’t mention that I was here.”

“This vein of humour is abnormally literary,” Abed observes. “Like, if our lives were a TV show, or maybe fanfiction about a TV show, this would be written by an English major.”

“Wanting to live in Katy Perry’s image isn’t the same thing as being gay, Kelly,” she’s pretty sure he replied. But pretty patiently, for Oscar.

But— and I was thinking, it’s fine to wait. It’s cool, it’s rockin’. If the JoBros do it, then so can I, you know?

Predictably, the hand goes up. “Hilarious Canadian pronunciation high five. Right here!”