Drift
It’s snowing again.
She can see each flake drift down from inside the plate-glass window; all of the lights are turned off except the small one on her desk, the one she brought in from home. She’s the last one in the office, of course. It’s not as though Kevin, or Creed, or Stanley would stay one minute past five p.m., never mind how much of her time they wasted throughout the day. And Dwight – well, she’s not the kind of woman to dwell. Her mother taught her that a true lady maintains decorum at all times. Vulgar displays of emotion are for the weak-willed. Because of her job title, she knows it’s been affecting his sales, but there’s nothing she can do about that. She’s certainly not going to comfort him.
A door slams near the front of the office, and she jumps, reflexively curling her fingers around the edges of her beige cardigan, wrapping it tighter around her small frame. She notices that those edges reach a little farther than they did a month ago. A light flicks on in the kitchen, and its sickly sodium glow stretches across the floor in a rhombus toward her desk.
She rises cautiously, peering around the boxes that litter the room. Her hand closes over her stapler (A. Martin in silver ink on the top) and it comes to rest at her side, the cool metal pressing against her thigh through her skirt. She’s thankful her rubber-soled shoes are quiet; it’s clear as she approaches the kitchen door that whoever is inside has no idea she is in the office at all.
She pauses, cheek inches from the smooth surface of the door; she can hear no movement inside the kitchen, and the plastic blinds are firmly shut. The ding of the microwave is loud in the silence, and renewed noise from within steels her resolve.
She carefully pushes her hand against the door; it sticks at first, then momentum catches up, and it swings open suddenly, revealing Darryl. He startles at the sight of Angela only a foot away, clutching a stapler by her waist, her head reaching just above his elbow.
“God, you scared me.”
“Oh. What are you doing here?” She immediately regrets her tone. She knows her lips were pressed together at the end of her question, but it’s a habit, not something she does purposely to show displeasure. She has other ways to do that.
He points to the open microwave door. “Dinner. All this snow, the trucks were backed up all day. A couple guys volunteered to stay with me and finish up the paperwork.”
She hasn’t moved or lowered her stapler. He looms over her, blocking the light from her eyes, and the open door presses heavily against her left shoulder, balancing the solid weight in her right hand. She can smell a faint mix of clean sweat and Old Spice Sport. It’s different. She waits.
“You eat yet?”
“No. I was just logging some invoices.” She gestures vaguely back toward her desk, then feels heat under her turtleneck when she sees his eyes follow the stapler. She places it on the counter and lets the door swing shut, and she feels like this kitchen is a cocoon of light and warmth.
He keeps his eyes on her as he slides a steaming tray out of the microwave, then flips open a cabinet to retrieve two paper plates and a spoon to divide the macaroni and cheese. She is still standing, so he pulls out a chair and motions to her. She hesitates for just a moment, but his dark eyes haven’t left hers, so she sits, the plastic firm against her back, and he pushes her chair in easily, with only one hand.
And she wonders.
Author's Chapter Notes:
This is my very first attempt at fanfiction, written in ten minutes (it's very short), then stared at for much longer. I think this is also the first creative writing I've done since high school almost ten years ago. Inspired by the prompts at the Office Romances flashfic challenge (no longer running): The Office. Angela & Darryl. B17: In the office afterhours. C5: Sharing food or drink. Please leave honest comments. Many thanks to nomadshan for feedback and encouragement. Cross-posted to LJ.
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.
