'In French, you don't say 'I miss you,' - 

you say 'Tu me manques,' which means 

'you are missing from me."

Three long weeks had passed.

Three long, bitter, alcohol-fuelled weeks had passed since he had put his heart on the line and had all his hopes crushed in one soft, subtle shake of the head and a gentle whisper. Twenty-one days had slipped by since he'd last stood in Scranton surrounded by people he cared about, watching them all be unashamedly themselves in all their oddness as he lost half of his savings to her. Five hundred and four hours had dragged on, flickering past with images of her standing there by his desk, softly shaking her head, and telling him 'no', her eyes brimming with tears and her lips slightly puffy from kissing him. Thirty thousand, two hundred and forty hours, and still his heart hammered in a broken beat that he couldn't ignore, traitorously still beating to the rhythm that Pam had set for him.

Three weeks of Hell.

Sitting alone in the small cramped apartment he was renting, Jim found himself nursing a glass of scotch, swirling the amber liquid round and round, watching it splash against the sides of the glass. His hazel gaze remained fixated downwards, not really looking. He despised looking at his apartment - the bleakness of the grey walls, the two rooms and the boxes piled high, just waiting for him to unpack them. The static of the TV barely registered with his addled state of mind; it just filtered through the room offering a small comfort instead of the crushing silence that would have been the only thing Jim would have heard. 

On the small kitchen counter lay a plate of food that was, for the most part, untouched. Jim hadn't eaten much in the past few weeks, and it was beginning to show on his frame. His suits, which had never quite fit him, especially since half of them along with his ties, were hand-me-downs from his father, hung limply, lifelessly from his frame.

Buzz. Buzz.

Jumping up and just managing not to spill his drink, Jim scanned the room for the source of the buzzing and cutting off the sound of the television. His eyes skimmed over the apartment. Finally, they fell onto the corner of his unmade bed. There he saw his phone, which was all but vibrating off of the surface.

"What now?" Jim mumbled, shaking his head and grabbing his phone, not reading the caller id, not seeing the bright flashing words: Bad Idea is Calling. He didn't realise just who he was about to talk to as he grumpily asked: "Hello?"

"J-Jim?"

Jim all but fell over at the sound of her voice floating through his ears. His heart leapt into his throat, and his stomach tightened into a million knots at the sound of a sniffling, crying woman, whose voice he hadn't heard in three weeks. Closing his eyes, Jim desperately tried to block out the sound of her whispering: 'I can't.'

"J-Jim?" Pam whispered again, clearly trying to fight back her tears.

"Pam? Are you alright?" Jim choked out, sinking onto his bed, running a hand through his hair, fighting back the images pouring forth before his eyes.

"No." Pam sobbed. "No, I'm not."

"Pam -"

At the other end, Jim could hear Pam take a short, shaky breath. He could hear her trying to collect herself, and as he ran his hand through his messy hair and closed his eyes, he could all but see her frantically wiping away her tears. He could see her shaking where she stood, but all of those thoughts were drowned out when Pam started to speak again. "You just left, out of the blue, no nothing, no calls, no emails, not even a word about a transfer. I had to hear it from Michael when he announced it to everyone." 

"Pam -"

"God, I shouldn't even be upset about this right now," Pam exclaimed loudly, almost furiously and Jim couldn't help but picture her throwing her free hand up in the air in exasperation. Before the image could become routed in his mind, Pam cried out "I've just called off my wedding, and I'm more upset about you not being here."

"What?!" 

Jim's heart stopped. His eyes bulged in their sockets, and he sat bolt upright, all tiredness and the mild intoxication left his body in an instant. He could hardly believe what he had just heard, and for a long moment, he remained silent before finally asking: "You did what?"

"I called off my wedding… because of you." Pam whispered her voice calm for the first time since he had picked up the phone. Her sobs stopped, and her breathing settled back to a normal rhythm. The stress, fear and nerves that had been coursing through her body and filtering over the phone to Jim dissipated with eight words.

Jim's breath caught in his throat. His heart hammered mercilessly against his ribs; his blood roared through his ears and for a few long moments, Jim could barely breathe. Everything he had wanted for the past three years since he had started at Dunder Mifflin, had finally happened, and he was one hundred and fifty miles away from her. The joy that he had felt at the final three words of Pam's statement faded into despair.

"Pam, I'm sorry," Jim whispered.

"No, no, that's not - don't apologise." Pam mumbled frantically, not wanting Jim to feel guilty for her decision, even though he had been the catalyst for it. Jim could hear her moving around, pacing and mumbling: "I didn't want you to apologise - shit, ow!"

"Are you okay?" 

Jim's eyes bulged, and he rushed to his feet, barely managing to stop himself from falling, fear coursing through his veins. He couldn't bear the idea that she was in pain.

"Yeah, I just stubbed my toe, I'm not used to this new apartment yet. I only moved in today - I've been moving my stuff behind Roy's back for a few days while he's been out with his brother and friends." Pam sighed, sitting down. Jim could hear the rustle of her skirt against the material of her bedding. Jim could just picture Pam waiting at home and then slipping out several times a day to move her life out of the house that she had lived in for seven years. His heart swelled several times as Pam started to speak again. "Anyway, I couldn't do it - I couldn't marry him, not after, erm, you, erm…"

"Told you I was in love with you? That I am in love with you." Jim supplied, straightening his back and closing his eyes, cursing himself for enjoying her little intake of breath. He couldn't help but see her in that blue and purple dress and hearing that intake of breath when he had first told her. He couldn't stop himself from thinking of the sparkle in her eyes and hear the soft: 'me too.'

"Yeah, you made me realise that I was just settling with Roy. I am just letting myself stay with the same guy I've been with for ten years of my life, who may have loved me, but wasn't in love with me. I would just be doing the safe thing, letting my life be dictated. I think I wouldn't have been happy, just content." Pam said softly, her voice gentle but full of a firm conviction, like she had finally decided to take something for herself, to do something for herself. "I can't do that."

For the first time, he was happy to hear the words: 'I can't.' Jim hated that his heart soared, but he couldn't stop it, and after a few seconds, he knew that he wasn't going to try to stop it. He could never stop that feeling whenever Pam was concerned; Jim doubted he ever would be.

"I'm glad you decided that." Jim nodded, collapsing back onto his bed and softly asking: "Are you okay?"

"I don't know." Pam confessed, hiccuping slightly and sighing. Jim smiled at the sound of her little squeaks of a hiccup and for a moment just listened to her breathe out: "I miss you, Jim."

"I miss you too, Beesley." Jim confessed, closing his eyes and leaning back. 

For what felt like an eternity, he just stayed there, lying awkwardly on the bunched up blue sheets with his legs dangling over the edge of the bed just touching the floor. His work shirt was crumpled up, half exposing his thinning frame and his tie hung limply by his left side, but none of that mattered. All his attention was devoted to hearing Pam at the end of the phone. Jim didn't care that it was just the sound of her gentle breathing. He didn't want it to stop. He needed her more than he needed oxygen, but he knew that he couldn't just stay there silent.

"Tell me about things in Scranton, please?" Jim asked, his voice dry and croaky from his lapse of silence.

Jim could hear Pam's soft smile, and she launched into her recount of things. "Well, erm, Michael is just as impossible as ever - he has been moody, and he even kissed Oscar. That was kind of terrifying, and I couldn't help but feel sorry for Oscar and everyone else who was forced to watch. He also keeps calling you a traitor to the office, though I am convinced that is just because he misses you I think. We all do. Dwight seems to be waiting for a prank and besides your faxes, nice touch by the way -"

"Why thank you." Jim couldn't resist commenting, a smirk playing at his lips.

"He seems more miserable. Ryan got promoted to a junior sales assistant or something. He sits in your seat." Pam said, her voice wavering a bit, and Jim couldn't help but feel a flicker of joy at the thought of Pam looking over to see if he was sitting there.

"How dare he? Doesn't he know that is my seat even when I am not in Scranton?" Jim asked, keeping his tone light and joking, but even he couldn't hide the lingering sound of regret. At the sound of Pam's heightened breathing, Jim knew that she had heard too.

After a long moment, Pam whispered diffidently: "I wish you were in Scranton."

"So do I."

Those three words hung between them, echoing through Jim's head, and he suspected that at the other end, Pam was experiencing the same thing. They both knew that he didn't belong in Stamford and that he belonged back home in Scranton, but he wasn't there. Both could feel his absence. Jim knew that his heart and soul belonged back there with Pam, but neither of them was going to admit it. 

Clearing his throat, Jim found himself sitting up and mumbling: "I should probably go, I have work in the morning."

"Yeah, me too. Talk to you soon." Pam whispered, echoing Jim's dejected feeling. 

For a long moment, neither acted, just listening and waiting to the other before Jim finally sighed. Knowing that if he didn't speak now, he wouldn't be able to Jim found himself adding: "talk to you tomorrow," before finally hanging up.

The small cramped apartment suddenly felt a lot larger and a lot emptier. Jim felt as though all light had been sucked from the room with the absence of her voice in his ears. Collapsing back onto the bed, he stared up at the ceiling, a single tear slipping from his eyes. A cocktail of emotions swirled through him: hope, love, confusion, pain, longing and despair. They spiralled around his mind, coursed through his veins and overwhelmed his senses. 

Beside him, a flicker of light and the soft sound of another buzz caught his attention. Blindly feeling around, Jim's hand came to land on his phone, and he once again flipped it open to find another message waiting for him.

Bad Idea: Sleep well, Jim.

And just like that, the room felt a little less dark.