In a rush of weakness, he finds himself accepting a gift that he knows took everything for her to give. It wasn’t in his plans to take it and he tells himself that at least he tried, but it was her, after all. And he knows that wherever and whenever she’s concerned, he’ll never say never. And he’s surprised to see how easy it is, how able he is to give in without feeling ashamed of himself. He’s afraid of how easy it is. He’s afraid of going back in time, of going back to the throbbing pain he’d felt for months and afraid of how real and how close it all seems now.

But he stares numbly at her, over her desk, at the sweet smile on her face and that’s real and close too. And he’ll always be amazed at how such a simple thing like that can open up an encyclopedia of different emotions and thoughts. He wonders for a split second if going back would be so bad, and he wonders if it would be any harder. And he knows he’s changed. He had to have changed. It’s just that it hurts like hell when he doesn’t always feel different.

I was doing so well.
Could we just be friends?
I feel a weakness coming on.

In a rush of weakness, he finds himself staring down at familiar yellow lines painted on blacktop, and she’s standing in front of him, with a question in her eyes that he doesn’t want to answer even though he could, if he really wanted to. And she’s really making this hard on him without even trying. It’s always been that way and he wonders if it always will. He stops to think if it’s ever been him, if he’s ever been the cause of any of this, and he wants to know how it’s happening all over again, only it’s different now and their roles are reversed. Technically. Because he’s not engaged but he is spoken for and she’s single but she still talks in circles and he’s not willing to do that dance anymore.

He thinks of very specific instances in which he’d bend his own rules, circumstances under which he’d take a chance. They’re detailed and rigid, in his own mind anyway. Because like the yellow line at his feet, there are boundaries and lines not to be crossed.

Now don't make it harder
Than it already is.
I feel a weakness coming on.

He watches her hold her cup with both hands and blow on the hot liquid, with puffs of steam curling around her face and he ponders if there would ever be a time in his life when he wouldn’t feel this way. He doesn’t regret spending time with her now, even though he should because he’s got other obligations. He doesn’t regret wanting to hold her face in his hands and taste the hot chocolate on her tongue.

Trouble losing control.
Primary resistance at a critical low.
On the double, got to get a hold.
Point of no return, one second to go.

In a rush of weakness, he finds himself sitting with her on the floor of his still-empty apartment, and the TV is on but there’s no sound, and they’re not talking because they still haven’t found the right words to say. She’s got a blanket wrapped around her and he knows it’s cold, but getting up to turn up the thermostat would mean being away from her and he doesn’t want to do that right now. Not again.  So he grabs the blanket and pulls her close to him, putting the blanket around the both of them. He’s never been this close to her before, well, he has been close to her, but not this close. She looks at him and smiles, and the bareness of his living room makes her eyes stand out more than they ever have before. He looks down as her head presses against his shoulder. Her eyelids are just the tiniest bit shimmery.

He would have been satisfied right there but she stands up, the blanket sliding gracefully off her back. He does the same and he thinks she’s ready to go home, to leave. But she puts her hands on his chest and tilts her face toward his, and as his lips touch hers softly, he closes his eyes. He touches her hair, running his fingers through it, feels the softness of her cheek against his, and she slides her hands down his chest and stomach in a way that makes him groan, in a way that makes him want to breathe her in, hold her and never let her go.

Give in, give in and relish every minute of it.
Freeze or make it forever.
I feel a weakness coming on.

In a rush of weakness, he finds himself under her on his bed as she’s struggling to undo his tie and unbutton his work shirt. He watches her expression and he sees a determination in her face that he never thought he’d witness so close to him. Her lips are set in a line but her eyes meet his as she pulls his shirt off of his arms and there’s yearning, and hunger, so much hunger. He gently lifts up the bottom of her sweater and she lifts her arms over her head, and his hands touch the skin on her shoulders and collarbone.

He feels her bare stomach against his as she slides up to kiss him, her tongue soft and warm inside his mouth. He holds her hips gently and she’s tugging off her pantyhose, pulling off her skirt. They fall into a soft heap on the floor next to his bed. She grabs his belt and unbuckles it, unbuttons and unzips his pants in one fluid motion. And before he knows it, he’s inside of her and she’s moving over him, breathing steadily, and his eyes are fixed on her, until it’s too much for her and it’s too much for him and he comes and she comes. And they’re breathing together, Pam’s hand nestled in the soft hair of Jim’s chest and his heart is pounding, pounding, pounding. He has his arm wrapped around her lower back, his fingers lightly touching her waist. And he thinks nothing ever felt this good and this right.

And it’s not so much a weakness anymore.