Roy didn’t really think about Jim Halpert very much anymore. I mean, he did know the guy existed—Pammy talked about him a fair amount, and he would still hear from a couple of the guys at the Y now and then, with Dunder Mifflin and then Jim coming up more than once—but he wasn’t going to the Y consistently anymore himself, and it wasn’t like he had a lot of reason to come upstairs to the main office very often. If anything, he had a reason to avoid it, and that reason was named Michael Scott. Pammy seemed to have some sort of soft spot for the guy, but to Roy he was just the perfect example of someone promoted beyond their competence, not just in the job but as a human being. He was just the worst—and to make things even worse than the worst (there was this little bit of poetry Pammy had embroidered on a handkerchief when his dad had had a cancer scare a few years back that stuck with him at moments like this: the worst is not so long as we can say this is the worst) he was exactly the sort of namby-pamby physical wimp braggart that Roy hated worse than anything. Well, except Redskins, Giants, and especially Cowboys football. But worse than anything in ordinary life anyway.

If Roy thought about Jim Halpert then, he thought of him as “at least he’s better than Michael.” Or, occasionally, “thank God Pammy has someone to complain to that isn’t me.” Because in the about a year since Halpert started, Pammy had definitely gotten not just more positive about work but also less talkative about it in general. Which suited Roy just right down to the ground and through it and maybe back up through the ground in China. When he got back from work he didn’t want to rehash it all; he didn’t want to hear about the boring doings of selling paper and answering phones to sell paper when he’d just spent eight hours shipping out that same paper. He wanted to kick back on the couch, grab a beer, and then eat a nice hot hearty dinner with his girlfriend. It wasn’t that he didn’t like listening to Pammy—one of his favorite things about her was her voice—but he didn’t want to have to hear about all the little comings and goings upstairs. They could talk about family, or football, or something, and that was fine. And sure, sometimes he complained about something in the warehouse, but mostly he kept that stuff where it belonged—at work—or talked about it to Darryl or the guys at one of their poker nights. He didn’t bother Pammy with it, and he didn’t see why she should bother him with her upstairs stuff.

So he was glad she had Halpert. Glad she’d brought him into their lives: good jump shot, apparently the sort of guy who didn’t mind hearing her complain, and generally a pretty chill dude. But he didn’t really think about him very much: some days he couldn’t have 100% told you if he was “Jim” Halpert or “Jack” Halpert or “Joe” Halpert—he was just Halpert, and he was useful. First names were for the guys, and Halpert wasn’t really one of the guys to him, not since Roy had stopped going to the Y consistently anyway. Not like he needed the exercise anyway; he was perfectly happy with his body shape, thank you very much.

But sometimes he couldn’t help but notice Halpert. Like the time they had an all-hands meeting and that lanky frame was stretched out next to his girlfriend, or when Darryl had gone to talk to Michael about some problem he’d caused and come back explaining that “that Halpert dude” had fixed the problem—and then rewarded him by inviting him along to poker night (though he didn’t come back). Or today, when he’d come upstairs to pick Pammy up for dinner with his parents and she wasn’t where she was supposed to be. Halpert was sitting there whistling some kind of irritating tune and he’d turned to ask him about where Pammy was and all he’d gotten back was a shrug and a grin he couldn’t quite describe but didn’t like somewhere down in his gut.

He’d sat down on one of the too-short, too-flimsy (for him at any rate) chairs where, he supposed, clients or something must sit while waiting to meet with the upstairs staff, and Halpert had gone back to whistling whatever it was. Eventually that other guy—Dwight? Stanley? One of the upstairs folks, anyway—who sat across from Halpert had gotten up and stormed into the back muttering something about inhumane working conditions, and Roy couldn’t say he blamed him. Halpert muttered something in return (it sounded vaguely like “finally”) and then tapped a quick rhythm on his desk. Roy was startled to see Pammy sneak out of the supply closet and—ignoring him—make a beeline for Halpert with a grin of triumph on her face.

“Got it!” she whispered. She handed Halpert a stapler as he pulled out a paperclip, jimmied the lock on one of Dwight-or-Stanley’s desk drawers, and handed her another one. Halpert placed the closet stapler in the drawer, closed it, and relocked it, and Pammy grabbed the desk’s original one and slid it into one of her desk drawers before locking it—and then doing a double take as she noticed Roy himself.

“Oh! Roy!” She looked at the clock above his head. “Shoot!”

What was all that about? He pushed the question out of his mind—not important—and swung himself up to his feet.

“You ready to go?”

“Umm…” She looked between him and Halpert for a moment before the other man made a shooing motion.

“Go, go. I got this.”

She ran up and hugged Halpert—what was that about?—and then grabbed her coat and slid her arm into his as he stood there in the entryway feeling confused. “Do you know what your mom is making for dinner?”

“Mac and cheese.” What was going on between her and Halpert? Why had she hugged him?

“Sounds great.” She took a hand off his arm and waved to Halpert. “Bye Jim! Text me how it goes!”

“Sure thing. ‘night, Beesly.” Halpert was back in his desk, but he was still smiling at Pammy, and Roy felt something inside him growing increasingly unhappy that he didn’t understand exactly what was going on. Fortunately, he had an easy way out of this, since they were already going to be late for dinner because of whatever game it was Pammy and Halpert were playing. He turned and walked out, pulling Pammy along with him as she clung to his arm. She was saying something about his mom’s mac and cheese, and he answered her absent-mindedly as he pushed through the door, with her trailing behind. He pressed the button and waited for the elevator, then stepped on.

When he looked back towards the office from the elevator, there was Halpert, that same little stupid grin on his face, looking not at Roy but at Pammy.

So yeah, sometimes he noticed Halpert more than others.