Jim knows in the morning he’ll blame it on the appletinis. But really it’s more complicated than that.

This convention wasn’t going as planned. This was supposed to be his shining proof that yes, he’d moved on and no, he didn’t miss Scranton so much that his heart hurt every time he tried to make it beat. But there was the call from Pam and seeing Dwight and Michael again after all this time of putting the past behind him, so it’s really no wonder that Jim shows up at Jan’s hotel door slurring his plea to let him in. Jan steps back, resigned, allowing him entrance into the un-tethered side of her that shows only after the suit jacket unbuttons and the mascara smears and her high heels are kicked off by the night stand.

Why he’s here, why he’s not staring out the window in his own room, is probably because she’s the only other person that understands the destructive nature of Michael’s ability to never let things go. But it’s all drowned together in this cocktail of neon green liquor and everything comes in waves towards him and now he’s standing here with his hand up her shirt and hers down his pants and somewhere he thinks this is wrong. But she tastes like alcohol and a little like cigarettes and they’re falling into bed and he tells himself it’s the appletinis. But really it’s because she knows what it’s like to come in second best too.