You and Roy owe it to each other to talk things through, but you suppose that wouldn’t have to happen tonight. Your head is still spinning as you transition from drunk to hungover, and getting some rest seems like a better idea than waiting for Roy to come home.

Good decision, you think as your head hits the pillow. Soothed by the weight of the covers and the surrounding darkness, you fall asleep within seconds.

***

You’re not sure which is worse: the sound of your alarm clock, or the brightness of the sunrise. You wince at the onslaught of sensory information and quickly shut off the noise.

A dull throb behind your eyes initially prevents you from thinking about much else. Then you remember going to bed alone the night before, and you turn to your right to see if you’re waking up to the same situation.

To your mild relief, Roy is asleep next to you, snoring lightly. Your lips curl into a tired, humorless smile, seeing that your argument must not have affected his ability to sleep, either. Rubbing your temples, you push yourself out of bed and shuffle into the kitchen to make a big pot of coffee.

You become aware of a developing pit in your stomach as you get used to your hangover. You know that before you leave the house, you and Roy are going to have to talk things over, or at least pretend to, and you hate how much the very idea of that fills you with dread.

You want to feel, if not confident, then at least comfortable unpacking an argument with Roy. But it’s hard to feel that way when talking about past events just makes things worse half the time. Even if it’s a smooth conversation, the verbal resolution you reach hardly ever reflects how you’re actually feeling.

And if you’re going to spend the rest of your lives together…. Well, maybe that just means you have time to learn how to work these things out together.

You don’t feel much better by the time you’ve showered and gotten ready for work. You had been hoping that a night of rest would help you clear your mind a little, but it seems as though it had the exact opposite effect.

Before, you were simply overwhelmed, unable to think about everything that had happened. Now it’s like your mind is stuck playing an album with only one song. You just want to hit pause, but all you know how to do is skip around from one memory to the next: arguing with Roy in the parking lot, sharing Jim’s beer and stealing his onion rings, kissing Jim on the lips, letting him escort you to your car, and chickening out of asking the question that had been on your mind all evening.

That last one has been the hardest to forget about, though it was arguably the best choice you made the entire night, given that you’re walking down the hallway to meet your fiancé in the kitchen.

Roy’s back is turned when you walk in, but to your surprise, there’s a full mug of coffee at your seat, as well as two Black-Eyed Susans that you immediately recognize from your neighbor’s front yard. You chuckle softly, feeling a long-awaited moment of relief.

Roy turns around upon hearing you laugh. A hesitant smile takes over his face. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

He runs his fingers down the back of his head, letting his hand settle on his neck. “I felt really bad when you were asleep when I got home cause, you know, I wanted to talk to you. Make sure you were okay.”

You nod, feeling touched. “I am.”

“I’m really sorry for what happened last night.”

His vague wording isn’t lost on you. “Me too.”

Maybe it will be lost on him.

Roy pulls you to him with one arm and deposits a kiss on the top of your head. “Let’s do something fun tonight, okay?” he says. “We’ll go to Chili’s or something.” He chuckles, clearly amused with himself.

You grit your teeth in what you hope is a convincing smile. “Yeah, interesting story there.” You proceed to tell him that you got kicked out of the restaurant for swiping people’s drinks and getting so drunk that you fell off a bar stool.

“You?” Roy says suspiciously, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah.”

“Nice!” He offers you a high-five and squeezes your hand when you accept. “That’s my girl. Man, I wish I had seen that.”

You roll your eyes and attempt a chuckle. You and Roy are still a good match, no question about it. “Oh… you didn’t miss much,” you say as you dig through the refrigerator, bringing the conversation to a close under the guise of making breakfast.

By the time you and Roy pull into the parking lot of Scranton Business Park, you’ve thought of three different ways to distract Michael in case he decides to talk about anything from last night, but the planning ahead doesn’t stop your stomach from doing little flips when you walk out of the elevator. Maybe it’s your hangover.

You almost expect paparazzi to greet you at the door of the Dunder Mifflin bullpen, but the most confrontational thing is the reception phone already ringing. You run to answer it before transferring the call to Michael.

No one is looking at you when you return your focus to the rest of the office. Stanley grunts at his crossword puzzle, Dwight is measuring his desk for who knows what reason. Angela’s haughty gaze seems to linger a second longer than it usually does, but you can deal with that. In a way it’s not surprising, you think, since no one really notices you much here.

“Hey, Beesly, how’s it going? Feeling better?”

You turn to your left and see Jim hanging up his coat. He offers you an ear-to-ear smile that immediately makes you laugh.

“Yeah, a little,” you reply.

Jim smiles again and turns to his desk. You sit down and start to boot up your computer, when you’re struck with a flash of inspiration. “Oh, hey, c’mere,” you say, gesturing him over to you. “I thought of the question I was going to ask you.”

He raises his eyebrows and retraces his steps to reception. “Alright, this better be good. I’ve been waiting all night for this.”

So have I, you almost say. “Um… were you the one who came up with the whitest sneakers Dundie?”

His first reaction is a look of surprise. But he nods, slowly.

You, on the other hand, are not surprised. Of course the award was his idea. Michael would never have let his favorite joke go down without a fight.

“Thank you. I really appreciate that.”

He nods again. “Of course. Anything to… you know, liven up Michael’s comedy routine.”

You feel a little twang in your heart as you watch Jim walk back to his desk. He doesn’t know how much you owe him for talking Michael out of his favorite moment of the Dundies, although that’s probably a good thing.

The Dundies aren’t going away, you think. But it looks as though your consecutive longest engagement awards are one less thing to worry about, knowing how much Jim looks out for you.

THE END