It was funny how habits shaped one’s daily routine, even if they remained obscure for the person themself. 

Jim Halpert, the best salesmen of Dunder Mifflin Paper Company, Inc., had some, but the only person who could point at repetitive strangeness of his behavior was Dwight Schrute, and Jim wouldn't admit that Dwight was right (and he was) even in a million years. 

As Dwight noted diligently in his special notebook, in half an hour before the end of the workday, Jim Halpert became noticeably agitated. Knee bouncing under the table. Fingers tapping. Checking the time every three to five minutes. Extreme impatience to finish current paperwork and visible frustration when some hitches appeared. Dwight attributed that to Jim’s innate laziness, that couldn’t be vented his usual way anymore. 

A new receptionist wouldn't encourage familiarity at the workplace, and even an idiot like Jim seemed to understand that. 

Jim wasn't aware that he was watched or that he repeated the same nervous gestures all over again. As the day before and the days before it, as soon as the minute arm of the office clock pointed at zero, he grabbed his messenger bag and darted out the office, barely giving everybody as much as a goodbye. 

His routine outside the office had changed as well, though no one could point it out. The unhurried walking in the park was long forgotten; his path was laid by the highway, and his long legs covered the distance in record time. This energy didn't run out after he reached the station — he didn't slow down on the escalator and paced on the platform, waiting for the train and calculating which wagon he should take to make his way to the transfer station without any complications. Even when he was inside a wagon, his antsiness remained; while one hand gripped tightly a handhold, the fingers of the other were drumming on his thigh with a rhythm that was echoing his racing heart. His eyes stared blankly at the window, not registering the change behind it or the people around him. But when the train slowed down — just for a few moments — and the vague outlines of the ghost station signed that his journey was about to end. Jim smiled and moved to the exit. He was the first to step out of the wagon and headed to the escalator, moving ahead of the crowd and feeling like he tried to outrun the wave. As usually, he succeeded. 

When the escalator and the short passage between the stations stayed behind, Jim found himself on another platform. The train just arrived, and the platform was filled with people moving in different directions; there was no option to stop and look around — once you slowed down, you would be instantly pushed to the side, hit, and scolded in the process. Jim moved to the wall, using his height as an advantage and scanning the platform above the heads of the crowd. 

He saw her, his guiding light, his beacon, standing in the corner. And the crowd around, hits, pinches, and yelling weren't obstacles anymore. 

She didn't seem bothered by people around, fully engrossed in the book she held in her arms. But she must have sensed something as she lifted her head and beamed, noticing Jim, who was still ten meters (and about forty people) apart from her. 

'Hi,' she greeted him as he was near, raising on her tiptoes to place a quick peck on his lips. And it might have been their five thousand six hundred eleventh kiss, but the excitement of the first one was still there. 

'Hey,' he kissed her back. 'How long are you waiting for me?' 

'About two chapters, give or take,' Pam said, hiding her book hastily in her purse. 

'Liar,' Jim shook his head. ‘I saw you opening the book from across the platform.’ 

'Maybe, I’m a fast reader,' Pam shrugged nonchalantly and laced her fingers with his, and this simple gesture switched something inside his chest. The frantic, nervous energy boiling in his bloodstream was reduced to the soft, lazy humming. This calmness, state of content, was so new to him that every time it caught him by surprise, but, of course, he didn't even think to complain.  

They waited for the train, and when it arrived, they were crushed from all sides by the people inside. Jim hugged Pam protectively with one arm, and she placed hers around his waist. At the next station, half of the people inside left, and it allowed them to step apart, but they didn't move.  

The train came upon the surface, and the sunset blinded them for a moment. Jim just squinted his eyes, but Pam kept hers closed, allowing the light to caress her face. This picture of her, so serenely and warm, stirred something in his mind, bringing a long-forgotten memory back. 

'You look like 'Beata Beatrix,' Jim blurted out and watched as she blinked at him, a smile tugged the corners of her lips. 

'What?' there was a hint of acknowledgment and surprise in her voice, and Jim elaborated. 

'You look a little like that painting. Only prettier.'

'I didn't know that you're into Pre-Raphaelites lately,' she said and added teasingly. 'I definitely have a good influence on you.'

'Yeah,' Jim replied, and he knew that the time had come. 'Actually… it's not about today. I've seen you like that before once, when we rode the metro just like we do it now. That was a long time ago, about two years ago. You probably don't remember… 

'I remember,' she said softly. 'I remember that that day I didn't want to go home so much and I practically invited myself to go with you. Pretty stupid, right?' 

Jim said nothing, but his hand around her waist tightened, pulling her even closer to him.

He didn't need words to say 'you're not stupid,' and 'I get you' and 'I love you so much.'

Pam sighed, pressed her forehead to his shirt, answered him that way with 'thank you,' and 'I know,' and 'I love you too.' 

As they reached their station and went outside, Jim squeezed Pam's hand and let go of it; he turned right to the supermarket, and she chose to go left. 

Jim kept in mind a grocery list, but perhaps, it would be better to have it written down. He lingered in the dairy section, trying to remember if a carton of milk in his fridge was full or half-empty; in the end, he decided that more milk was better than no milk at all. A package of frozen stuffed dumplings, sour cream, cheese, ham, sliced bread, lavender-scented fabric softener, and a six-pack of beer filled the shopping cart; Jim paid for groceries and left the supermarket, carrying his purchase in s big plastic bag. 

Pam finished with her purchases quicker than him and waited for him outside. Jim raised his brow as she held much more than just a tray of strawberries she'd been originally going to buy on the farmer market. 

'Wow, Beesly, are you that hungry?' he gestured at the handful of plastic bags with different seasonal fruits and berries she clutched. 

'What? I just like my berries mixed,’ she answered with her mouth already tinted with mulberries.  ‘Wanna some?’

She offered him a plastic cup with the berries she enjoyed, but he decided to taste them on her lips instead.

They went home then, talking about everything that happened in those eight hours they spent apart. It was also a routine — a pleasant one, though. Pam told him about her classes and the progress of her latest project. Compared to that, Jim's tales were lame and boring, but Pam always listened to him with curiosity and a hint of nostalgia. He joked that she missed Dwight and threatened to invite him for dinner once, but truth was, they both missed the time they’d worked together. Things had definitely changed for the best, but some of the changes tasted bittersweet a little. 

The front door of the building opened with a loud 'beep' of the buzzer. Jim started to climb up the stairs while Pam lingered near the mailboxes. 

He made just a few steps when he heard her loud shriek of delight.

'What? From where?' he asked her, watching with a smile as she looked through a stack of postcards in her hand. 

'Adelaide, Würzburg, Winnipeg, Milano and — oh! Dublin!' 

The genuine joy radiated from her was contagious, and Jim was simply basking in it. Both of them wanted to travel, but with her visa rejection and their limited budget, it was still impossible; but they enjoyed sending postcards to the people all over the world, and receiving postcards back felt almost as good as the journey itself. 

Finally, the apartment door was open, and Jim clicked a switch, lightning a small hall of their home. Instantly, he was greeted with a demanding meow of a grey tabby cat. 

'Yeah, yeah, we also missed you,' said Pam, rolling her eyes and kicking off her flats. 'Okay, let's feed your fluffy ass.' 

She handed the postcards to Jim and went to the kitchen, the cat followed her, meddling between her feet. 

'Beannachtaí ó Éirinn,' he read on the top card and smirked. Another point in their list of future adventures. His gaze then followed to a board where they pinned all received cards and lingered on a patch of yellow and blue, the first postcard he'd ever received. 

This piece of paper had wondered a whole week instead of a promised couple of days. Back then, he'd felt so lightheaded from the changes in his life and Pam's nearness that he'd already forgotten that Pam had sent him her print and been quite surprised to find a slightly tattered postcard in his mailbox. But when he'd read her words, the whole world had stopped spinning; next thing he'd registered was a bright signboard of a jewelry store and dazzling shining of diamonds. He’d had to get a loan, but he’d found a perfect one for her nevertheless. 

A small velvet box, hidden between his clothes, waited for its time. And Jim hoped that her answer would make him the happiest man in the world. 

But that would be later. For now, he was content with finally being home.