His thoughts vacillated too quickly for him to keep up:

Holy shit, six months.  Six months.  She wanted to celebrate six months.  I'm in over my head; I have to be.  

...Why is there a smudge of grease on Pam's forehead?  Got to be a good reason for that, a story there.  If I ask her, I know she'll tell me - all animated and adorable, like she gets when she's offering up an anecdote. 

...Or how she would've been...maybe how she was when I was allowed to notice that kind of thing.

...Six months.  Jesus, I haven't been in a relationship that has lasted this long since college.  Unless you count the thing with Pam...which you can't.  Obviously.

...The sketch!  Holy mother of -

"So hey..." His own voice surprised him - apparently surprised Pam, too, because when he spoke, her head jerked as if he'd suddenly shrieked.

He felt self-conscious, the elevator suddenly too small for the three of them.

Something about metaphors flickered behind his consciousness, but he'd long since gotten good at shutting those kinds of thoughts out.  

Yeah, dramatic irony - isn't that what they call it when the audience knows something the character doesn't?  So the audience sees things ironically?  

He wondered briefly if it still counted when "the audience" constituted a split in one's own consciousness.

But these were questions he couldn't possibly begin to answer; he knew his limits.

"Uh, the sketch..."

When an immediate grin broke out across her face, it seemed to leap right across to cover his own. Somewhere in his peripheral vision was the image of Karen.  

Suddenly he understood all too well what things must've - could've, might've - been like for Pam when she was with Roy.

Fucking dramatic irony.

"...Pretty awesome, Beesly."

When her eyes met his, he felt it like a physical impact - because what he'd said, that simple thing, had lit up her entire face, her skin glowing beautifully beneath the dark smudge on her forehead.