Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author.  The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise.  No copyright infringement is intended.

As the tour of the second floor passed his bedroom, Jim pointed it out. "That, ladies and gentlemen, is my room. No pictures, please," he quipped. Everyone took a quick glance inside before moving on.

But Pam hung behind in the doorway, and once the group had gone on ahead, she snuck in to take a closer look.

It smelled like him, like his laundry detergent and soap, and just... like Jim. She unconsciously took a deep breath, breathing him in.

After a once-over of the room surrounding her, she was drawn to the bulletin board over his desk-- to the stickers and clippings of random words, a birthday card- probably from his parents, pinned up photos of him and various friends, one of them she guessed must have been his brother. They both looked so much alike-- tall, lanky, bright smiles, thick hair. She studied this picture for a long moment, just comparing the two brothers, and noting that Jim was the slightly more handsome one.

Then way down in the corner of his bulletin board, almost covered over by a scrap of paper bearing what looked like a phone number, was a picture of Jim and herself, her arms flung around his neck, looking clumsy. And happy... Where were they? At Chili's? She racked her brain for a moment, and could only come up with the Dundies. She had gotten pretty drunk that night. Didn't remember a lot of it. She certainly didn't remember hugging Jim like that. But as she looked at the picture, she wished she had remembered it. They both just fit, wrapped up in each other like that, laughing... Phyllis must've taken the picture, she thought, remembering from the beginning of that night that she had beed snapping pictures left and right.

She sat at his desk, then, just thinking, eyes wandering to the books stacked on top of it. So, he liked to read? Something she didn't know about him. And the classics, too: "The Great Gatsby", "Pride and Predjudice"... she made a mental note to add these to her own list of books to read.

She swiveled in his chair a bit, just hanging out in his room, and feeling strangely, intimatly close to him, even though he wasn't physically there. When she turned in the chair toward his bed, she noticed right away that his bed was the inanimate-object version of Jim. It just looked so comfortable. The comforter was of colors and pattern that screamed "I'm a man", though the way it was sort of thrown haphazardly over the bed reminded her of his messy mop of hair. She couldn't help but smile. And imagine how much his pillows must smell like him. And suddenly, an image popped into her head of the two of them sitting on his bed, propped against the headboard by pillows, and and talking. He'd tell her about all of the pictures in his room-- who is in them, about his family, about his favorite books, about that picture of her hugging him at the Dundies... there were more than a few exchanged kisses between them in this daydream, and at that, her denial kicked in full-force. Friends do that sort of thing, right?

In attempt to make her believe her explanations for her intimate daydreams about Jim, she crossed the room, to the other side of his bed... nightstand...guitar against the wall... now that was something she really didn't know about him. He played the guitar? She filed that fact into the Jim folder in her head, along with the mental picture it produced of those long fingers of his skillfully playing the instrument. She'd have to ask him to play for her sometime, briefly wondered if he closed his eyes as he played, letting the music flow through him like the tingles after a soft kiss. She took a deep breath, shook her head, and moved onto the shelves-- more books, and a few movies, some CD's. Some more photos in frames. she heard a sound behind her like scuffling on the carpet, and turned to find the cameraman with his camera peering at her from across the hall. Great. She'd hoped to get through her little self-guided tour of Jim's room without anyone ever knowing.

******

She felt Jim's eyes on her as she giggled at his yearbook picture. She was just about to close the book and put it away when she heard him say, with laughter in his voice, "Hey, you wanna see something really funny?" and he bounced down beside her on the bed, one leg tucked underneath him, the other stretched before him, and took the yearbook from her. He flipped through the pages until he came to the exact middle of the book where the senior class picture spanned both pages. He pointed to someone off to the right of the group, and she noticed that it was Jim-- and he was making the stupidest face ever. She burst out into giggles again. "Jim! What were you doing?!"

He ducked his head a little, looking embarrassed, but laughing. "My friend dared me to make a face. They took a million pictures, and I made a face in one of them, and that's the only one they could use for the yearbook."

"Why?"

"Because in all the others, guys were flipping the bird at the camera, or lifting up their shirts, or anything else obscene that you could think of.

Pam was in full-on giggle mode now, and she let her forehead fall to his shoulder as she laughed. "Oh my god, Jim, you must not have heard the end of this."

"Nope. I was known as 'That guy who made the weird face in the senior picture' for the rest of the year."
Pam looked back up at him- his face was relaxed and smiling, and his hair was just a bit messy, and he looked so different in his non-work clothes, and they were sitting on his bed, in his room, where she was surrounded by him everywhere, and that image flashed into her head again- the one where they're lying in his bed talking and kissing, and being intimate- and she saw his face in front of her now, his smile faded to something a bit more serious. She saw his eyes drift to her lips, and back to her eyes, again, and she realized she'd unknowingly leaneded towards him- their faces just a couple of inches from each other. She blinked, and cleared her throat, her eyes darted towards the door and back.

"Um, I think we should get back to the party. People will be talking if we're gone together for too long."
She meant it as a joke, but Jim wasn't laughing. He looked down, and then back up at the door.

"Oh yeah, sure. Let's get back to the party," he said, standing up. The moment was effectively broken.

Pam's legs still felt wobbly as she stood up from his bed and followed him out of his room.