Work Text:
Day 632
Dear Troy,
We promised we’d never lie to each other, so here goes: I’m stuck in a time loop.
It’s been exactly 632 days, so almost two years of the same day. I know what your response would be to this. “What? No way! Like Inspector Spacetime? That means…we’ve done this before, huh? We’ve had this exact conversation probably. Like you could quote my lines back to me if this was a movie. Oh man we gotta prove it….ugh okay yeah I was holding up the three fingers behind my back. I gotta do a harder one. Like what am I thinking of? Say it in three two– a penguin in a top hat oh my god you’re in a time loop.”
You try to vary your responses, especially when I asked, but once you hit a certain point you tend to get stuck. Like when an NPC has run out of their dialogue tree – just that penguin joke over and over and over. It’s not your fault, Troy. I don’t think anyone has 632 unique responses to a time loop locked and loaded.
And I don’t mind. Having the same day every day means I’ve learned how to speed run it. I can’t clip through walls but I do know that Jeff’s cranky about our presentation because he forgot to iron his favorite shirt, and Shirley really wants a #4 from the taco truck but doesn’t want to go out in the wind, and Annie can’t find her pina colada chapstick, which is actually wedged in between the couch cushions in the study room.
Knowing things like this, and knowing several possible directions of each plotline, means I can go through a day without anything going wrong. I have all the answers. If you all knew how I knew things, you would probably say I’m creepy, but even if you find out, you all forget by the next day. With your slates wiped clean, I’m basically a god here. God of Thursday, May 12. In the face of every possibility, only I remain.
Cool. Cool cool cool.
You’re probably wondering if I’m bored. I know, because you’ve asked me exactly 339 times. And the answer is not really. If I ever get bored, I’ll just go off script. I once drove all the way to Banff, Canada. Tried to take a flight to Japan. Watched all of Grey’s Anatomy. Kissed a girl. Kissed a boy.
Even kissed Jeff once, but I didn’t like the look on your face with that one, so you and Jeff don’t have to worry, I haven’t repeated that particular experiment since.
I also like to convince you to go off script with me, which is a pretty easy sell. Once, we pooled our savings and spent the day buying stacks of lottery tickets just to see if we’d win anything. Another time we put the “all you can eat” promise of that buffet to the test – you threw up on my shoes, though, so that adventure was also one-and-done. And sometimes, very rarely, we’ll just cut class and watch bad movies in the dorm room.
I like those days a lot.
Anyway, I know by this point in the letter, you’re also wondering if I’ve tried to get out of this time loop. We promised we’d never lie to each other, so the answer is no. I know that sounds crazy, but I like it here/now. Everyone I care about is here, acting so predictably that I know the script like the back of my own hand. Everything is perfect, Troy. What’s there not to love about that?
See you tomorrow/today,
Abed
Day 633
Dear Troy,
If it really is perfect, why do I feel like writing you another letter today? I’m not usually prone to direct repeats, unless I’m working a problem. Like figuring out how to make sure Britta finished our group report early enough to get to her protest over lipstick testing on animals, but late enough that she still runs into Hot Chris, a guy whose full name I never managed to learn in all the forty seven tries it took to get the timing just right.
They just end up making out, by the way. And since I can’t get past May 12, I don’t actually know if that’s the ideal end point for Britta. Knowing Britta’s taste in men, it probably isn’t.
Anyway, Britta’s ultimate happiness aside, there’s not a problem to work here with you. It’s not like you got yesterday’s letter and you won’t get today’s either. In fact, as I write this, you’re still face-down in your pillow - a position you’ll hold for exactly 13 and a half minutes before your alarm goes off. Spoiler alert, it’ll be Don’t Wanna Go Home this morning. I feel like the song’s a little too on the nose, but I guess the universe doesn’t mind a lack of narrative subtlety.
Since I’m still in the room with you today, you’ll blearily ask me why more artists don’t start their songs by announcing their names while Jason Derulo belts out his latest mid-tier dance song. If I’m feeling up to it, we’ll banter a few names back and forth of artists who should follow suit. Otherwise, you’ll force yourself out of bed and into the shower before catching some PBS re-run (Arthur, Season 3 episode 5) with a bowl of Cheerios.
I could tell you your entire day beat for beat you know. Hell, I can tell you several other variations of your day with equal precision. Face it, Troy. By now I know you better than you know yourself. I might even know this version of you better than I know myself. Britta would probably say it isn’t healthy, but I suspect if she ever got stuck in a time loop, she’d have lost her grip on reality by day 22.
Why am I telling you all this? It won’t matter, you won’t remember it tomorrow. Then again, maybe I haven’t taken full advantage of the fact you won’t remember what I tell you. I know we promised not to lie to each other, and I haven’t, but I guess some pedantics – namely Annie – may consider withholding information to be a lie of omission. And since I sincerely doubt revealing what I’ve been omitting will break the loop, I guess it’s worth a shot. Everything’s worth a shot here at least once.
Your alarm will be going off soon, so I’m gonna finish this letter up now. I know you won’t read this, and if you do, you won’t remember, but thank you for being my sounding board. Talking to you like this is helpful for working things out.
(I wonder if you’ll understand that when I tell you.)
Abed
Day 634
Dear Troy,
Huh. Looks like I may have a new project to work.
Abed
Day 640
Dear Troy,
Well, it’s safe to say this has definitely mixed up your replies. Who knew four words could put us on an entirely new plotline? It’s been about a week and this is the most interesting this loop has been since probably the 200s, so thank you for that, I guess.
Now for the update. You know by now that I only repeat days when I’m working a problem. What you don’t know yet, what I haven’t told you - or told this nebulous version of you who may or may not exist, time loops are weird - is I like to kick off the problem-solving by leading with a variety of approaches. Testing several dozen vastly different choices to really get a feel for what I’m working with.
Anyway, we’re still in the early phases for Project Reggie (since we’re in a time adventure featuring you, it seemed fitting), but a few patterns are already starting to emerge.
First: so far, this always throws the rest of the day off course, which is interesting. Other side quests haven’t seemed to derail the general plot of the day. Even if Britta goes to the protest, or Jeff gets into that knife fight behind the gym (don’t ask), the rest of the group still usually goes ahead with our presentation. For reasons still unknown, that hasn’t been the case here.
Second: so far, the news always spreads to the rest of the group. If there’s a way to keep it between us, I haven’t found it yet. Even if I do it quietly and privately, you have a knack for reacting…loudly. I should have seen that coming. You have a tendency to broadcast your sentiment, regardless of the situation or need for subtlety. In general, I don’t actually consider that a weakness, but in this case I might make an exception. Anyway, once one person finds out, they all do. The only thing our study group is worse at than studying is avoiding gossip.
Third: so far, the day has only ended in chaos. It’s a wildfire that can’t be contained. Not even by a Jeff monologue, which he has already tried a few times. I’m starting to get the gist of his messaging, give me a few dozen loops and I’ll probably have it down word-for-word. Again, I can’t tell if this general chaos is a side effect of the group’s collective nature, or if this particular experiment is just so universe-bendingly big that it would happen regardless of what friend group I’d been integrated in.
Fourth: so far, you’ve never said it back. I don’t know why that bothers me.
Until next loop,
Abed
Day 669
Dear Troy,
I haven’t made as much progress over the last couple weeks as I would have liked, but I’m writing today because I know you’d get a kick out of the 69. Right now, you’re in the living room, Arthur playing over the TV. In a couple minutes, Annie will join you, and we’ll leave for school together in exactly 47 minutes - it used to be 59, but I’ve cut down our exit time by laying out your favorite shirt before you wake up and sliding Annie’s forgotten textbook into her backpack.
I don’t know when I’ll tell you today. I’ve told you during Arthur before, which causes you to do a cereal-filled spit-take that would make a cartoonist proud. I’ve told you on the way to school, but I have to be at the wheel for that one because you slam on the brakes and Annie gets so excited she tends to swerve into oncoming traffic.
I’d give you a full list of where I’ve told you, but at this point it’s probably just easier to say everywhere. More helpful is to fill you in on the general reactions, just so we can both get ahead of them.
Annie gets giddy. Part of this seems to be to try to cover for the fact she’s expressed some level of romantic interest in both you and me, but part of it also seems to be that she’s just genuinely happy for us. I mean, she jumps the gun on the “us” part, but I guess it’s sweet, albeit ear-ringingly shrill.
Jeff gets confused, which segues quickly into authoritative. I don’t think he knows what to do with the fact the thing he jokes about in passing might be real. He has a tendency to try to explain safe sexual practices, which only adds to the general study group confusion.
Britta gets triumphant. She can’t even hide how excited she is to be an official ally. I mean, I think you can be an official ally regardless of if you have any personal connections, but you know how Britta is.
Pierce gets more Piece.
Shirley, surprisingly, is very calm. I guess it’s because she already assumed I was going to hell, since I’m not Christian and all. Instead she’s…worried. I think she’s concerned about the outcome for me. I can’t explain to her that it doesn’t matter, there is no outcome beyond today.
Maybe if there was, things would be different.
Maybe if you had more than today, you’d work your way up to saying it back.
Or maybe you never would.
I
Day 713
Would it be better if there was an option for you to say it, if there was some convoluted series of events I could orchestrate in May 12 to help you come to a conclusion I want?
Sorry for jumping straight into that, I promise I usually start these letters more traditionally, but you have to understand you almost said it yesterday. You almost said the thing I’ve possibly been resetting timelines to hear. You have no idea how much effort it took to get here, how many plans I’ve had to test and tinker with and fine-tune to a level of precision that would make the Rockettes seem like amateur community theater.
It’s not just that I did everything right, it’s that I also did everything to make sure everything was right. Distracting Annie with falsified extra credit opportunities, convincing Pierce it was Saturday, getting Jeff and Britta just tipsy enough to make their own bad decisions, waylaying Shirley’s babysitter. I spent nearly every minute today ensuring this exact success, and at exactly 10:37 pm, I was poised to finally reap the reward for my hard work.
And then I stopped you from saying the very thing I’ve wanted you to say for 79 days.
713 days.
Maybe forever. I don’t know.
It doesn’t matter. The point is, I sabotaged my own dream by stopping you.
I know you’ve never known me very well. Nobody gets me and I’m fine with that. But you’ve been the first person in my life willing to try. The problem is, after 713 days of May 12, I know this version of you better than I’ve known anyone…but you don’t know me at all. We have almost 2 years of days together that you can’t remember. If you said it now, I don’t think it would mean what I want it to – I want you to love me, but more importantly, I want you to love ME.
For the first time since May 12 started, I think I want it to stop. I’m beginning to reconsider if being perfect at a single day is worth it when you don’t know who I’ve become and I won’t know who you’ll be.
I know reruns are familiar and comforting, but I think I might be ready for a new season.
Until tomorrow, whenever that comes,
Abed
May 13 (Day 1)
Something’s wrong. Abed knows this immediately, when a whispered Usherrr rouses him instead of the standard Jason Derulooooo.
He opens his eyes, staring in shock as DJ Got Us Fallin’ in Love Again blares through the tinny speakers of Troy’s radio alarm. Abed had no idea it could be possible to be terrified by not waking up to Jason Derulo, but here he is, heart pounding in the wake of the wrong alarm. Is it possible to change the loop?
A flash of paper tucked in one of the bunk-bed slats catches Abed’s eye, and his throat closes. With trembling hands, Abed reaches for what he already knows is the letter he wrote to Troy last night. Last night. If the letter is still here, and the alarm is different…
No. He doesn’t want to believe it, not yet. Not after last night. If Abed had known it was going to be as easy as simply wanting to leave the loop, he would have been more careful. Would have crafted the perfect day, not enacted a Rube Goldberg-esque series of events designed for one highly specific end. A highly specific end he didn’t even achieve.
It’s gotta still be May 12. Don’t mind the fact he’s still in the same t-shirt as last night’s confession. It’s gotta still be May 12. Ignore backpack he just tripped over. It’s gotta still be May 12. Pretend Troy’s bed isn’t empty. It’s gotta still be May 12. It’s gotta still be May 12. It’s gotta still be–
A shrill whine underscores the panic, making Abed’s ears ring. Abed stumbles out of the bedroom, searching for the source before realizing the noise is coming from him, something between a scream and a cry. He fumbles with the knob of the Dreamatorium, desperate to avoid notice. He needs to get back to May 12, needs to get back to a world that makes sense, needs to get back to a morning where he can wake up and know, without a shadow of a doubt, that Troy will be there–
“You’re awake!”
It’s Troy, standing in the kitchen (he’s not supposed to be there), wearing the same shirt as last night (he’s not supposed to have that on). That alone would already be overwhelming, given the circumstances, but Abed remembers his own confession from the night before and it’s all suddenly too much. Abed sinks to the floor, pleased to drop out of sight from the kitchen - and Troy - in the process.
The whine grows louder as Abed squeezes his eyes shut.
“Woah. Dude, you okay?” Troy sounds closer now. Abed hears a muffled thump as Troy sits down next to him. “Is this like…time loop sickness or something?”
Abed’s eyes fly open. He’d forgotten he’d filled Troy in last loop. Yet another mistake Abed wouldn’t have made if he’d realized how to leave. “You believe me?”
“Course I do,” Troy reaches out to slug Abed’s shoulder, then stops, seemingly thinking better of it. “I always believe you.” He pauses thoughtfully, then adds, “Plus you had like. A scary amount of intel on all of us. Time loop kinda made perfect sense for that part, actually.”
Silence falls between them as Abed struggles to find words. It feels like he’s drowning – searching for the right answer in a sea of nonsense. How’s he supposed to say the right thing when yesterday he dropped several major bombs on Troy and the rest of the study group? “Troy,” Abed says, trying to ignore the way his heart is pounding out of his chest, “I–”
“Shit!” Troy springs to his feet. “Sorry, I–hold that thought real fast it’s–”
Swearing under his breath, Troy darts back into the kitchen, yanking a spatula off the counter to flip one very large, very burned pancake. “Shit,” Troy sighs, “That was supposed to be the main one.”
“Pancakes?” Abed slowly makes his way into the kitchen, curiosity winning out.
“Celebratory Congratulations-on-leaving-your-time-loop pancakes,” Troy amends. “Me’n Annie thought of them this morning. She’s out getting ice cream right now, cuz you can’t have celebration pancakes with just normal maple syrup.”
Troy pours more batter onto the smoking pan. Abed doesn’t need a time loop to see the problem here - he quietly reaches past Troy to turn the stove heat down. When he does, Troy freezes. Ah. Right. Cat’s permanently out of the bag on that one. Abed holds up his hands in surrender, stepping out of Troy’s way.
Abed moves to leave the kitchen — he’s kind of feeling like a 713 run of May 13 might be in order — when Troy catches him by the sleeve.
“Wait,” Troy doesn’t look at Abed, “That’s not the only reason I sent Annie to get ice cream.”
Now it’s Abed’s turn to freeze.
“I just…” Troy pokes at the bubbles on the pancake, “I’m not gay. I don’t think?” he groans, “I don’t know. Jehovah’s Witnesses don’t exactly encourage that, y’know? And like…I dunno. I’m manly! I did football! I’m not like Dean Pelton, I’m like…like Han Solo! Like he was always shipped with the ladies—“
“—Actually,” Abed can’t help but interrupt, “People have been shipping Han and Luke since the 80s—”
Troy waves the spatula. “You know what I mean.”
“So last night?”
“It was probably good you stopped me,” Troy admits, “I got caught up in the moment, I think I was going to say something I didn’t mean.”
Abed’s heart drops. So this is what lays beyond May 12 - a world where Troy has to awkwardly turn him down and they have to rebuild their friendship brick by hesitant brick. Logically he knows that this is still better — still worth it to have a friend who remembers your jokes and adventures than one who might be in love with you — but. Illogically. Abed still feels disappointed by these results.
“Right,” Abed swallows, trying to ignore the lump in his throat, “I knew that was always a possibility.”
“I didn’t — it’s not —” Troy splutters. He sets down the spatula, turning to Abed with wide, earnest eyes. “I haven’t had as much time as you! It’s not like I’ve had a hundred days to think about this or like. I dunno. Get it right? I don’t even know if I’m into guys and you’re out here dropping speeches that sound like they should come from a rom-com! I can’t give you the right answer, Abed!”
Abed, struggling to follow this display, simply points at the pan. “Pancake.”
“On it,” Troy flips it, breathing a sigh of relief at the perfectly golden brown exterior. He fiddles with the handle of the spatula, not looking at Abed again. “Anyway, the point is I’m sorry. I don’t know if I’m ready to say it back yet. But I can’t imagine my life without you. So….yeah.”
Blessed silence falls again, giving Abed time to consider everything that Troy just dumped on him. It’s true, years of looping has probably given Abed a warped sense of time (how Inspector Spacetime’s companions manage, Abed hasn’t the scarcest idea), and it makes sense that Troy would need more of it. But…
A tiny, tentative smile creeps onto Abed’s face. “You never said no.”
“What?”
“You never said you didn’t love me,” Abed says slowly.
“Well, yeah,” Troy removes the pancake from the heat, “I know I don’t not care about you. I just don’t know if it’s like…I love you like Leia to Han Solo, or if it’s like. Y’know. Bro love. But I couldn’t say I bro loved you after you just bore—bared? Bore? Your heart to me last night.”
“But it’s not a no?” Abed confirms.
”It’s definitely not a no,” Troy agrees. He wavers for a moment, then tugs Abed into a hug. He’s warm from standing in front of the stove, squeezing Abed like he’s trying to fit all the hugs from all the loops into one grand gesture. “It’s just an I need more time.”
More time? Abed’s smile grows and he hugs Troy back. For the first time in 713 days, he finally has all the time in the world.