It's been a little over a year, and every morning as he wakes up, he still can't believe it's real.
Sometimes, it's waking up beside her, her small, deceptively strong body pressed against him, the curls of her hair tangled with the ends of his. Sometimes, it's being woken by her lips on his, or her fingers swirling through the hair on his chest. But a lot of times, it's waking alone, the smell of bacon and eggs filling the tiny apartment he's all but moved into with her, the sound of her adorably off-key voice coming from the kitchen only a few rooms away.
Today, he wakes slowly, savoring the cool sheets at the bottom of the bed, (never mind he's so tall and her bed isn't quite big enough - he sleeps curled up anyway,) stretching his arms so high over his head that he nearly tips the painting there right on top of himself. He has to laugh - he's finally gotten comfortable with being with her, but he's still the awkward, clumsy guy he's always been.
Finally, he decides that he's ready to get up, just as she slips into a semi-sweet rendition of "More Than That" by the Backstreet Boys. He was originally shocked to discover that she was a fan of '90s boy-band pop, but it made her even more endearing when she would put it on and sing and dance while cleaning or painting or just relaxing.
Pulling a gray t-shirt over his white-striped blue boxers, he runs his hands through his unruly hair and then smooths it down again. Standing, he stretches again and shuffles out of the room towards the sound of her voice.
"...oh, I will love you more than that; I won't say the words, then take them back..."
He stops in the doorway, a smile creeping across his lips as he leans against the frame, arms crossing over his chest. She's swaying a little at the stove, wearing the red Victoria's Secret bathrobe Michael had bought her on "Women's Appreciation Day", (she never did cut it down for towels,) her bare legs peeking out from the barely thigh-length material. Her hair is loose and hanging down her back, curlier and longer than ever. She seems to forget the words for a moment, and resorts to humming along with the tune in her head.
He coughs so as not to completely scare her, and she turns. His eyes brighten and his smile widens when he sees that under her robe, she's wearing the Hooters t-shirt that, (oh, God, Michael again?!) he...was given on a particularly hard day. She catches him staring, and when her own eyes see the logo on her chest, she blushes, just a little.
"It's soft," she stammers. "And it's too small on you."
He moves forward and gathers her into his arms. "I'm not complaining." He presses a kiss to her forehead. "Just wondering... Have you ever considered becoming a Hooters Girl?"
She smacks him, lightly, her blue eyes twinkling with mischief. "I don't think you'd like that very much, would you?"
"Well, we already know Michael likes you for your boobs," he teases. This warrants another smack.
"Anyway," she giggles, pulling away from him. "Was there anything special you wanted to do today? I need a day off from my art supplies."
It's now that he notices the smudge of what she calls "Alizarin Crimson" paint on the inside of her right wrist as she moves the frying pan closer to her plate. When she replaces it, he's behind her, his hands slipping down her arms. He brings that streak of color to his lips, and she sighs, resting the back of her head against his chest.
"I like that you're bringing home your art."
"I like that you notice."
"I love this color on you."
"I love any color on you."
"Now you're being facetious."
"Ooh, big word, Halpert."
"Don't ruin the moment, Pam."
"Sorry."
She spins around in his arms, hooking her fingers behind his head. Their eyes lock, and he knows he hasn't been happier in... Well, he doesn't even know how long. His heart starts beating faster, and he can't keep the smile off his face.
"What are you thinking?" she asks, brushing her lips along his jawline.
"I'm thinking about how happy I am." She grins. "I'm thinking about how much I love you." She stands on tiptoe and kisses him lightly. "I'm thinking that you should marry me."
The words slip out unexpectedly, but he doesn't regret them and he's not entirely shocked he's said them. Mostly, he's worried what her reaction will be.
"I'm thinking you're right, Jim."
Now he's stunned. "What?"
She just smiles, her eyes glittering. "Ask me again."
He raises an eyebrow, smirking. "You're evil, Pam."
"Ask me!"
"Pam, marry me. Run away with me and marry me. Please?"
She lowers her eyes, her arms tightening over his shoulders. Finally, she looks up, her lips curving again, and launches herself so her legs are wrapped around him.
"Yes, I'll marry you," she giggles. "Yes!"
His eyes water, but he doesn't cry. "I don't believe you," he laughs. "I'm in love with you, Almost-Mrs. Halpert."
She doesn't speak. Instead, she kisses him long, deep, and hungry. She doesn't even seem to notice when her Victoria's robe and his Hooters shirt are discarded somewhere in the hallway. Instead, she evens the score with his t-shirt and boxers landing on the nightstand beside the bed. She doesn't think of art and he doesn't think of work. They're Jim and Pam, and that's all that matters.
Story Notes:
I kept having visions of Pam in Jim's Hooters shirt, cooking. Tonight's episode extended on that scene slightly, and my brain filled in the missing pieces.
Author's Chapter Notes:
For lit_glitter over at LJ, because she wanted fluff to wake up to.
Chapter End Notes:
Title from "When The Stars Go Blue" by Ryan Adams (although I will admit I was listening to Blake Lewis' version). All lyrics used without permission and without intent to harm.
CallieJames is the author of 11 other stories.
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