Author's Chapter Notes:
I was inspired by this old interview with John Krasinki where he discusses Jim's inablity to tell Pam how he really feels.
http://featuresblogs.chicagotribune.com/entertainment_tv/2006/05/the_office_as_a.html
http://featuresblogs.chicagotribune.com/entertainment_tv/2006/05/the_office_as_a.html
Her desk was empty.
Everyone had colds.
Yesterday her nose was red, and she looked sleepy. They laughed in the breakroom, him leaning against the counter while she sipped some smelly tea.
She was becoming his best friend.
The beat of her eyelashes pushed, held him in the grip of this thing, the words stuck in his throat, unfathomable, unreachable, and in the end . . . nothing. Instead he said something stupid about Dwight's conspiracy theories on the ventilation system that systematically distributed germs throughout the office.
She mummered a stuffy response, that made him want to put his arm around her shoulders, pull her in tight. Instead he buried his hands in his pockets, wishing he could just . . . say it.
She felt like home.
The thought raged in his bones, even as he wished it away.
He leaned back and tried to watch her out of the corner of his eye, but she caught him and smiled before blowing her nose.
Today just felt like a non day. The sight of her empty desk making him acutely aware of how many things he wanted to say, if only he could formulate the right words. He had never been very good at coming up with the right things to say. It was always a stupid joke, or a sarcastic remark.
It was nearly six when he noticed the email.
"Did I miss anything?"
He smiled at the screen like she could see.
Her sick day was one of the longest he could remember.
