Home. The feeling of safe as he carried blankets to the couch.
Windows were clamped shut against the stiff winter chill, frosting patterns in the glass like spun sugar on a cake.
Her apartment was swimming in cold air. He reached to turn up the thermostat.
He loved knowing where everything was; the coffee to put on in the morning, the button for the garbage disposal, her drawer of art supplies smeared in paint and splatted in the scent of oil.
The simple act of finding his way in the dark, in the place where everything in the world mattered to him. His fingers lingered on the thermostat, eyes wandered to her bedroom.
There were the bright blue walls he woke up to now.
Sometimes he still wondered if he was flying in the clouds, floating in dreams he could not reach. And then he would grasp her fingers in bed, waking her up with kisses that made him realize it really, truly couldn’t be a dream.
He leaned over her now, brushing damp hair from her burning forehead.
He was worried. Her fever was high.
He tucked in the blanket around the corners and knelt, watching her stir in sleep, the cusp of her chin crested in kitchen light, her quiet breathing making him feel safe, complete. To him, she was beautiful.
Silence strung heavily in the air, seeming to weigh it down.
He wanted to soak up the fever swimming in her body, kiss her, make everything better. He realized she hadn’t taken anything yet and though he didn’t want to wake her, there was the realization that he really needed to bring her fever down.
“Pam.” He spoke softly. Even though he said it hundreds, maybe even thousands, of times a day, those three little letters were like magic on his tongue; he could repeat them forever but that one syllable was decidedly the most gorgeous one he would ever hear.
She moaned softly, opened her eyes for a fraction of a second.
“Hey.” He brought delicate fingers to her flushed cheek, light kiss on her forehead, lingering.
She smiled, eyes still closed.
“You need to take something.” She nodded, coughing hard into cupped hands, willingly letting him help to her sit up and swallow an Advil and a hefty dose of Dayquil.
Then there were hours of fitful sleep on the couch, punctuated by coughing fits. Jim never left her side, always there with warm hands on her back, water in a glass, the thermometer bleeping in half hour starts.
At two, he got up to order some flowers from a local shop, find another box of much needed tissues and heat up a can of chicken soup.
He watched his girlfriend curled up in a ball, burning with fever and hair splayed all over the pillow. Those curls were so familiar; he thought of all the time he had waited.
Waited and wished and wanted so badly, more then anything he had ever wanted. There were those brief moments with Karen, those times of someone else when all he’d really done was try to forget. How he’d wished in the silences of winking across the room that he could turn around, permanately, and never look back. All it would take was a swivel of his chair to see the things that truly mattered.
And finally he did, the sand cool between his toes, the tires squeeling away from an interview and a girl. Now it was Pam, his Pam, the waiting over, and the time in between simply no longer important.
The soup bubbled over, steam curling from its’ fumes.
He poured it into a cup hurriedly; she was stirring on the couch.
And as she woke, drowsy from sleep, disoriented from fever, curls everywhere but in place, he couldn’t help it; his hands wrapped around her back in a deep kiss.
“Jim.” She touched his chest. Her voice was hollow. “I’m sick.”
As if to prove his point, he kissed her again, more gently, his lips tingling.
She smiled weakly, surrending; he was grinning from ear to ear, one of those boyish smiles he knew she loved.
“I know. What do you need? Anything? I would do anything for you, Beesly.”
He would do anything for her. He would touch the stars for her if he could. He was so deeply, completely in love.
His lip touched her neck.
Her voice was like laughter, filling up a room.
Anything.
She was the one, sniffles, fever and all.
She was it.
He handed her the cup of soup, their fingers brushing lightly.
It was going to be an interesting evening.
Author's Chapter Notes:
hope you're enjoying! :)
