She could hear the chips inside the bag, and the bag against the car seat, with every turn she took, with every traffic light that stopped her.

That bag of chips sat alone, unopened, on her passenger seat, and she never thought she could actually hear it if she drove with the radio off, but now that she could, she was a little mesmerized by it. Turn, sound. Change of lanes, slight sound. Brake, sound. If she'd brake quickly, the bag would probably fall and that would make a nicer, stronger sound, but she just liked the subtlety of those other gentler sounds.

Subtlety.

That’s a way she could’ve use to describe her everyday interactions with Jim, until… until when, really?

She could not tell.

Since he started working at the office, they had always found ways to talk, to laugh together, to plan pranks on Dwight, or to rescue one another from Michael or just from plain boredom. It was just who they were. Only lately…

When, exactly, though, had they started casually touching? Or… well, not that casually. Pam bit her lower lip, suddenly self-conscious. She had been looking at a cheap palmistry website and he had asked what she was doing. And then, she had asked to read his hand. It had been her idea, to trace her fingers across his palm. And she had shivered at how soft it was, at how long his fingers were, and at how right her tiny ones looked, hovering over them.

When had been the last time she had shivered because Roy had touched her?

Hard as she tried, she couldn’t remember.

Change of lanes, sound. Red light, sound.

But this is how it was supposed to be, right? That early emotion eventually became something solid and reliable, and maybe the goosebumps go away, but there was this other much real feeling on place instead. She played with the engagement ring on her finger, distractedly.

She could keep on ignoring it all. She would have, if the day had ending with reading Jim’s palm.

She would’ve remembered it, maybe at night in bed, and she would’ve smiled to herself, while ignoring Roy’s snores. She would’ve thought about her friend Jim, her best friend, and how much fun they had together.

Only, the day had to go on, didn’t it? And Michael had to come up with another one of his crazy ideas, helped by her, no less!

She could’ve just been another spectator of that ridiculous fight at the dojo. She could’ve taken pictures, or have a laugh. But no, this had been one of those days, and Jim and her just couldn’t stop giggling and goofing around one another. And then he had touched her.

Really touched her.

At this memory, Pam took a deep breath.

Those same long fingers holding her, slightly tickling her stomach. Making feel all sorts of heat and emotion and…

She had started it. It had been her fault. But she hadn’t been able to finish it, she didn’t know how.

And, if she was to be honest with herself, something that she rarely did, she wouldn’t have stopped him at all. Never.

But everybody had been there, and she had laughed, and then Meredith had turned around. Meredith, of all people, who shouldn’t judge because, God knew what sort of things she had done or would do even now. But it was maybe because of that that Pam saw it in her eyes. Half a second of surprise, half a second of recognition, half a second of complicity. Had Meredith seen herself in Pam?

But it wasn’t like that.

Pam wasn't like that.

Still, that look. That look had made her freeze, and push Jim away, and avoid him as if he were a common stalker. As if she hadn’t done a thing, and he, only he, was to blame for the fact that her skin still felt warm and ticklish and… just needy, in the exact places where his fingers had been.

Roy never made her feel that way. And since she was being honest, she had to admit that he never had. Not now, not ever. Not during that first kiss, when she had thought that there were too many teeth and too much tongue but, hey, she was being kissed by the popular football player and maybe she had had it all wrong. Maybe she had read too many novels in which damsels in distress would shiver at her lovers’ touch, and maybe, in real life, men’s hands were not soft, nor gentle.

And then that other first time, it was the excitement of being at his parents’ basement, of daring to let him touch her in such intimate places, of again thinking that this was a popular guy that had singled her out.

But no shivers. No heat on her skin under his hands.

The last stop came harsh, and the bag of chips finally fell to the floor with the strongest sound yet. She had not realized how, but she was at his door, and she had parked right next to his car.

She shouldn’t be here. After staying late, signing the papers Michel hadn't want to sign, she should’ve driven straight home, where Roy was probably sitting on the couch, watching TV. And she would make something for dinner, or order take out for the both of them, and they would continue living that familiar, shiver-less life.

But she had felt wrong, about being harsh to Jim, about his leaving her chips without a word or a glance, about that automatic response to something he didn’t say when he left, about not meeting his eyes. About feeling so damn good when she was being touched by him, when she was the one doing the touching.

No, that las thought had to go away. This was not why she was here.

But her thoughts had betrayed her. Even though she always tried to keep not just her actions, but her thoughts at bay, this time that sound of chips inside a bag had distracted her of her resolve, and her thoughts had run free, not to the casual apology she was supposed to say to Jim, but to skin. His skin on her skin.

Pam sighed, her head on the wheel. She was tired, it was late, and dark, and Jim was probably not thinking about any of this, and looking at his own TV sitting on his own couch. All thoughts of skin, chips and sound forgotten, because he wouldn’t even have them in the first place.

And she should go home to a life she knew and she was ready to continue for as long as she and Roy shall live.

And just as she started the car again, the front door opened.

A young man she didn’t know was leaving, a duffel bag on his shoulder. He spotted her in an instant, and with a smile he approached her side.

“Hello!”

Busted, Pam thought, slowly rolling the window down.

“Uhm... hi.”

“Hi, can I help you?” He had a nice, friendly smile, and Pam could imagine he and Jim having a couple of beers and laughing about a movie.

“Yeah… no… uhm… is Jim home?”

“Sure,” the roommate nodded. “I’ll let you in.”

She just managed to turn off the headlights and reach for the bag of chips. Her guide was already at the front door again, opening it and putting his head in.

“Jim! Someone’s looking for you!”

And then he turned around. “I’ll leave you to it,” he smiled at Pam again. “Have a good night!”

“Yeah, you too,” Pam managed to say, before the man sprinted to another car and turned it on.

“Pam?” She turned around so fast she felt dizzy. Jim looked as if she was the last person he would expect to see at his door late on a Friday night, but Pam barely registered this. He was wearing sweatpants and a faded t-shirt, and she saw out of the corner of her eyes that he was barefoot. Inexplicably, that little fact made her stomach give a funny jump, but she needed to stop feeling that.

“Hey, Jim.”

“Hi! What are you… I mean, come on in.”

He let her pass to a small sitting room. There was a game on the TV, but he reached for the remote on the couch and turned it off.

“Take a seat,” he said, and she liked the fact that he seemed to assume she was going to stay. Without a word, she sat on the edge of the couch, almost as if she was scared of feeling comfortable. He placed his hands in the pockets of his pants and smiled, even though she could see in his eyes that he was still puzzled. “Can I get you something?” He walked a few steps to the kitchen area and opened the fridge. “Like… we have beer, and… water, and I’m afraid that’s pretty much it.” He looked over the fridge door at her. “Sorry.”

“Beer’s nice.”

“Beer it is,” he said, and came back to sit too, at the opposite side of the couch.

“Soooo,” he said, after taking a sip from his bottle. “Not that I am not happy to see you or anything but… what are you doing here?”

She fidgeted with the label of the bottle and then took a sip. She had been told she was a very honest drunk. Maybe a little alcohol would help.

“Just… well…” she showed him the bag of chips she had been holding.

“Wrong flavor? Cause you said…”

“No. I thought… I’d like to share them with you.”

“Oh,” he took the bag, gingerly, and opened as if the contents were precious. Without saying a word he offered the open bag and she took one chip. He mirrored her.

“They go nicely with beer,” he commented, and she nodded. Why was it all of a sudden so difficult to talk to him? This was Jim. The Jim she saw everyday and knew. Her Jim.

No. Not hers. And suddenly that seemed to be the problem.

“So…” she said after her third chip.

He looked at her, eyebrows raised.

“So, I’m sorry I was an asshole to you earlier,” she managed to blurt out.

“Yeah, you kinda were,” he said with a serious expression, but she could see laughter in his eyes.

“Ouch that’s tough,” she tried to look properly hurt. “Aren’t you supposed to say ‘s’ok, don’t worry?’”

“Oh sorry, was I?” he chuckled.

“Well yeah!”

“Now I know. I hope to remember it he next time you’re an asshole to me.”

He said it lightly but this time it did hurt.

“I don’t… I don’t wanna be an asshole. Not to you, of all people.” She managed to say.

“Good to know, I guess.”

“The thing is…” she took another gulp of beer. “The thing is… this is not really healthy.”

“Beer?”

“No, not beer. You. Me.” She looked at him, as his expression changed from playful to serious. “And Roy,” she added as an afterthought.

He didn’t say a thing but looked intently at his own beer. I was so strange for him to be quiet like this.

“Do you think Roy is right for me?” She asked, softly.

“It’s not what I think, Pam. It’s what you think.”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“Yeah.”

“The thing is… I don’t think he’s right to me. Not anymore. Because… because I feel so much better when I’m with you.” At this he raised his head fast and his eyes were suddenly piercing hers. “And it’s not healthy that I am having a much better time with… with my best friend than with my fiancée. It shouldn’t work like that, right?”

His shoulders slumped a little. “Yeah, I guess it shouldn’t.”

“Yeah…” she trailed off, and took more beer. She felt exposed, raw. “I’ve never really thought about this before today.”

“What are you gonna do?”

For a log time, she didn’t answer, and was grateful that he didn’t pressed on. She had to do something, right? No… she didn’t had to. But she wanted to. Those were two very different things.

She sighed. “I have to talk to Roy. And he'll wanna try to fix… to fix this,” she waved vaguely, “but I don’t think there is fixing the way we are together. Not that there’s something wrong about it. It’s just…” her voice was now a whisper, and she saw Jim leaning closer to listen. “It’s just it’s not enough for me anymore.”

He just nodded, slowly.

“Does that make me a bad person?”

He shook his head. “No. No. It’s just… you.”

“Yeah but that’s the point, isn’t it? Who do I think I am? Do I think I am better than him?”

“Yeah… no… I mean, not better necessarily. Different. Like…” he was struggling again, and she had the feeling he was holding up. “Like you two started growing in different directions, and now you want different things.”

She nodded. “Something like that.”

“That doesn’t make you a bad person.”

She sighed again. “And then, there is the logistics of it all. Breaking up with Roy means to finish the life as I’ve known it for almost 10 years. Leave the house I’m used to. Stuff we bought together. I know it’s silly to worry about that, but… it’s a thing.”

“I know. But I also know that, if you’re feeling like this, and you don’t do it now, it’ll get harder later.”

“I suppose so.” She stayed silent for a minute, weighing his words. “Yeah. I know so. You’re right.”

He smiled kindly at her. “You are very brave.”

“Come on, Jim!” she chuckled. “I am the exact opposite of brave!”

“Trust me on this one, Beesly. If you go through with this, you break up with him and start a new life, you’d be the bravest person I know.”

“After Dwight.”

“Oh, absolutely. After Dwight.”

“You mean it?” She asked, the smile still lingering on her lips.

“I do.”

She finished her beer and placed it on the table.

“And…” Jim added, “if you do it, I’ll get you another bag of chips.”

Pam beamed. “Promise?”

“I might get you a party-size one.”

“Oh well, that settles it then.” She stands up, even though she’s not feeling very sure, at all. She wonders if it shows. “Better now… before I chicken out.”

“Here,” Jim gives her the half-eaten bag of chips. “For the ride.”

She looks at him smiling at her, and she swears this is a smile she’s never seen before. He’s almost glowing with something… pride? Just plain happiness? She can’t tell, but she swears she’ll make it her priority to see that smile again.

“Thanks,” she manages, and as she takes the bag, her fingers linger at his. Skin again. Just a second. And she shivers.

But she has to focus. The feeling of Jim’s skin is not exactly what she ought to be thinking about, even though it was this, precisely, what started it all.

Trying hard to make her steps look sure, she walked to the door, feeling Jim behind her.

“So… Beesly,” he starts and she turns around to see him. “Let me know if you need anything. You know… whatever. I’m just a phone call away.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

And this time he purposely reaches, and squeezes her hand. Is brief, warm, soft, and it seems to give her the strength she will need for what’s coming ahead.