Michael makes him three more Cosmo’s and he wonders if he’ll end up throwing up pink.
He sits on the edge of the bed while Michael sits in the chair by the window. Jim peers down into the pink liquid, thinking how ridiculous he must look with this oversized martini glass. He thinks it’s just the sort of thing that would get her to smile until she couldn’t hold her laughter in anymore. He’d act offended, because how dare she question his manhood, but the act wouldn’t last long and then he’d be laughing right along with her.
He keeps having Michael make him drinks. Partly because he isn’t getting drunk and right now that’s really what he wants to be and also because it makes Michael happy when he asks him. He hates to admit it, but he likes being able to make Michael feel appreciated. He likes the way Michael’s face lights up when he holds up his empty glass and says, “Hey, let’s try that mango stuff this time.”
He hasn’t seen anybody from Scranton in almost four months. And he wishes they weren’t all marred with things that remind him of her. He wishes he could just look at Michael and Dwight and see them, because he really has honestly missed them. But he can’t. He sees her and that life and the things he’s been trying to leave behind.
“Put a little more rum in that this time?”
Michael turns to glance at him with his eyebrows raised. “Alright. That’s what I like to hear.”
He takes the drink from Michael, taking a sip and wincing a little at the burn of rum hitting the back of his throat.
“Is she happy now?”
Not drunk, just tired and lonely.
Michael sighs from across the room, but doesn’t say anything at first. Jim doesn’t turn around to look at him.
“Jimbo, man, you were her best friend in the office, even though I thought me and her were pretty close…”
He runs a finger around the rim of his glass and waits for Michael to just answer the question.
“No, Jim. She isn’t happy. She’s just a big, mopey blob…thing,” he finally says, sticking his tongue out in disgust.
“Oh.”
“Hey, looks like your tank’s empty,” he says as he grabs the glass form his hands.
He kills a couple more neon colored drinks until Michael starts nodding off in his chair. Until he almost can’t feel his hands.
Then he makes his way back to his room.
He undresses and stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror for a good five minutes before turning off the light and getting into bed.
He turns on his side and looks at the phone sitting on the nightstand, ten numbers repeating in his head.
He allows himself to wonder where she is. Maybe her date’s still going on and she’s laughing and happy. Maybe she’s sleeping alone in her new apartment with shadows from the window creeping along her skin. He isn’t sure which image is worse.
He closes his eyes, falls asleep, and doesn’t dream of her.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Doing this while the season's happening is hard. Because I want these to be as close to canon as possible and not knowing what happens in the next episode makes that difficult. But I will try my best. Also, I feel like my Michael here is sort of weak...I don't write Michael well or often, but I gave it a shot here.
