A/N: I have so many S2 fics in the making all the time, it's sad. I didn't even start watching the show until this past summer, so I didn't experience the full stress of it like you guys did (I had the whole season in front of me, and knew they were together already anyway, oops). I imagine if I was around back then, it would've been terrible. But they're just so good at it, I feel like it's my duty to keep writing all of these, so that's that. Oh, and I'm sorry I'm terrible with titles.
Disclaimer: I continue to own absolutely nothing.
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I am a normal guy, I only live in Pennsylvania. I just sell paper and make enough money to live in a decent apartment, have dinner or drinks with my friends from time to time, buy nice ties for work. There was never anything extraordinary about my life, but I was always in love with you.
There was a handful of things that you gave me, all things in the beginning that made me like you, and then fall in love with you. I saw you bundled up in a puffed coat, making your way across the parking lot snows, with a perfect pink-tipped nose. I saw your fingers from my desk as you delicately pressed stamps onto envelopes; your nails were neat and natural, with no polish, but your kind demeanor fell off of them wherever you went.
I thought about you all the time after I'd first seen you. Maybe I'm a romantic, but that's not what this was. It was all you.
Because I can recognize your steps coming toward me with my eyes closed, and I'm sure the carpet could, too.
There were a lot of times when I pressed words into my mind, words that only told me I had to wait. I gave you time, because I had to wait for you, even if my insides felt like bricks when I did. Sometimes we'd share a look before we both looked away, and we let it be bashfulness, but I let myself think something else. It was daring, and it kept me up those nights, but I had to let that go if maybe you just needed the time.
Maybe you would go home and change things that night, if you somehow agreed with me. And, maybe, tomorrow or next week or next month would be different. If that was the case, I had to wait.
I remember a time in my normal salesman life where I found myself on a boat, and it was so loud for both of us, that we stepped out and made a joke about it. I expected it to be the same, but it was only a minute before we both watched the water. We both stared at the assumed point where the inks of the waters and the sky met, and just breathed.
You just mentioned a few words about him, and although somewhere it stung because I could do better, it's not what I thought about. Not entirely, mostly just you. Of course their was a breeze, and it played with your hair like I couldn't, so I just looked at you. And I waited.
It crushes me to remember just that moment, when we both just looked at each other. Maybe I should have just taken the chance, but I wanted you to do that. I waited for years, just for you. Maybe I would have said something, but the cold came back and wove itself between our gazes.
You muttered, "I'm cold" almost apologetically, and then you escaped, and I watched the water again. I didn't feel that cold as much as you did, or as much as you said. Not until later when your prince stumbled up to the microphone and did his best job of being a great fiance.
But you were happy, and I choked. And when people clapped their hands on my back, or tugged my sleeve, made me make a toast, I don't even know if I smiled. The words were only filtered by the cold I finally felt, and "best friend" was the only thing my sober side could come up with. And you were okay with that when you danced with him, and if you were okay with it, maybe I'd been mislead.
Even so, I broke up with a pretty girl not an hour later. A few drinks confessed something to my boss, nowhere near where it should have gone; it should've been you. I fell asleep in my bed too late. Even after that, I thought maybe I'd wait for you still. Because I had to.
I imagined so much with you, and without you in the picture, my life was a blur. I'd crossed the line that everyone knew I shouldn't, I knew it, too. But I wanted you to be in my life so much that I made you there in places I couldn't see yet; maybe one day we'd go there, or one day we'd do that.
So I just kept waiting. Perhaps a little foolishly. But that's sometimes all I knew.
There were a lot of times where you pursed your lips into a firm smile, and I saw right past it. But your fiance would be at your desk and be grateful for your agreement. He'd take the smile to grant him permission. And I was disgusted, and I hoped you were, too. If not for his silent loss of points, but just because I wanted you to know you deserved better than that. You didn't need to do that.
I wanted to tell you that so many times. Just squint my eyes a little, shake my head at you and tell you like it was comment sense you forgot: "You don't have to do that."
It was obvious to me. I'd spend Friday nights with you.
It was only worse for me when he sent you flowers on your anniversary. Or surprised you with lunch. In those moments, I was afraid I'd see a glimpse of what he really was. But it wasn't enough against the other things you'd let slip now and then. He wasn't for you, and I desperately wanted to be.
I was at the end of it one day. I realized it when you still talked about your wedding. I realized when I thought that maybe I was in on the planning more than he was, but then bit back my bitter words because I knew it wasn't true. If he was your fiance, if he got to be your husband and take care of you for the rest of your life, than I'm sure he'd had enough say in the plans.
That hurt, and when you looked the same -- when you looked like I loved you even more and you just didn't know -- I knew I couldn't. Just the way your lips turned into a smirk, convincing me of the hand you had, the way you shoulders shrugged up to your ears, it all made me wish I could hold onto you. If it was all I could get, maybe we could go back to before a date in June was circled.
But it doesn't work like that, and that hurt, too.
I'd already started looking at places to live, somewhere to sleep, in Connecticut. If I looked back now, it wasn't easy to differentiate between days. The only facts I had to go by, the ones that assured me I'd indeed worked at Scranton for so long, were the reference dates on my sales reports. My signatures on dated forms. Otherwise, it was a bittersweet tangle and blur of you, you, suits and ties, lunch, games, work, and you.
It hit me one more time when he left you in the parking lot, and it wasn't a fight. You joked about something and I sat there waiting for him to go away so I could just tell you. Let you know I'm leaving, so I could go home.
I love you happy, and when he made you laugh, and you smiled, it's still a little okay. I love that sound. And, if he could at least do that...
But I changed my mind somewhere when you waited for me to say it.
"I'm in love with you."
My face worked to get that out, and my eyes watched it move in the air, until you caught it. You didn't expect it, and maybe you didn't want it. And my head just drops because I feel like I hit a wall, and when a tear slides down my cheek, I think I should leave.
I apologize, and walk away. When I don't hear your footsteps behind me, it doesn't surprise me. It's just damp hope heavy on the ground, where your feet are anchored, and I can't see your face. Maybe it's better that way. If you're hurt or questioning or wondering or in total shock, I don't want to know.
And there isn't room for surprise for me, I just don't think there is. And I don't want to surprise you because I have a feeling it might ruin something for you, but bones in my body tell me there's a chance I'm wrong. I go with it, and I know where you are, so I go up the stairs. If I rode the elevator, I'd have nothing to do with my limbs but let them sink.
You're on the phone, and you're quiet, and maybe you're a little torn, and I kiss you. Just once until you're kissing me, and then it's both of us. Even though I still only think of that choking hope that won't let me go, it's the best thing that's ever happened to me. Even if thoughts are crossing my mind as fast as my lips move over yours, this could be the only time it ever happens, remember everything.
When we part, you just look at me, and my lips are cold instantly. They're bare, because they've had you and they know where they should be. I imagine they're red and pouty and soft and asking like yours are; I assume they are when you tilt your head up and wait for me to kiss you again.
I do, and it's simple and slow this time. Our bodies move imperceptibly, only to service the ways our lips move, and your hands are behind me. Your fingers in my hair, your thumbs stroking skin beneath it. I move mine all over you, your back, your face, your neck, your hair; anything I've ever seen on display behind a desk I couldn't cross.
We part again. You're breathing heavier than I am, and I don't know what that means. It's suddenly painful, because I don't know what any of it means, so I ask you. Kind of.
"Pam..."
You swallow, and your hands glide to where I can hold them.
"I need..." You stammer, and for a second I feel terrible. I wish that everything is resolved in an instant for us, because that would be the only just reason for making you this way. "I need some time, I need to talk to him. Oh, Jim..."
You're asking me to wait for you. My hands leave yours, and although I'm looking at the walls behind you, I can see the brief worry in your eyes. But I just let them rest on your shoulders instead, let my hands be an anchor for you, willing strength and hope and wills and love like science.
There's a kiss on your forehead and I nod, and start to pull away. You won't let me, you're pulling me back, and kissing me hard. I love you more than anything, and I know you very well, but I know there are things in that kiss that you're telling me that I won't pick up on tonight, but you'll tell me everything later.
You're asking me to wait for you, and that's something I'll do for you.
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