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But I can't help, like it when we touch,

Oh haven't we reaped enough

To fill this room with sweet love

Lovedrug, Candy

Dwight and Angela.

Angela and Dwight.

He can't get it out of his head.

Especially the way Angela was pressed against...

And how Dwight's hands were...

He shudders.

Imagines they're at home now, piles of religious icons and Japanese weapons surrounding them while they do... whatever it is they do.

Oh, God.

His eyes are still burning.

He's driving home, having waited them out in the bathroom for a good 45 minutes, when it hits him that Pam knows too.

She's known since his cookout last year.

The internal flogging he administers for even thinking her name is outweighed by the memory of how excited she was, Veronica Mars-ing (he has a thing for Kristen Bell) her way around the office, in effort to prove her theory.

Do you think that they're, like...?

No. Yeah.

Right. No. Eww. Ugh. Eww, eww, eww, eww... maybe.

Just another secret they share.

He smiles against his will and knows he won't (can't possibly) punish her forever.

He had to withdraw to survive.

But he can't pretend she isn't there, doesn't matter.

No matter how much easier life would be if she didn't.