Disclaimer: I don't own the Office

He wants to get out of here. Out of Dunder Mifflin, out of this dead end job. And hell, if he's talking about things he wants, a Ferrari and a mansion would be good too. But most of all he wants to quit his job and walk out of here a free man.

Well he wants that second most. There's just one other thing he wants more, and ironically enough, it's the thing that's keeping him here. Jim likens it to a need to pee which, overridden by a wish to remain lazy.

It wasn't a secret (not anymore, not since Michael blabbed, and maybe not since even before then when the camera crew had come in) that the thing he wanted the most was a she, and that he'd been waiting now for 4 years.

It'd had started out in self denial. After all, she was just some hot chick with whom he would inevitably spend a lot of time with, and therefore work in close proximity with, so it only made sense he'd feel some certain degree of sexual attraction to her. The pang in his heart every time he saw her, was simply something else.

There'd been a period when he thought he'd had a chance. It had been fleeting, but significant. Ironically enough the "it" had also been the first time she'd actually cried on his shoulder. The first time she'd revealed to him her fourth dimension. Nothings going anywhere with Roy. I mean god, sometimes I just think we'll be engaged forever. I just feel so stuck, you know? It'd been in their break, she had ten minutes to pour out her soul, and he had five to console her and listen. Well, he had all day really, all year even, but he didn't want to come across as pathetic, and he definitely didn't want to accidentally scream "dump the dick, and date me". Because that would've been much too obvious. So instead she talked, he listened, she cried, he consoled and when she'd finally collected herself, it'd been five past five. Everyone had already gone home, and no one had noticed his absence or hers. No one had noticed them at all.

For a year and a half it'd been fairly flat. There'd be moments, there always were, he would grab her arm, frantically whispering plans for annoying Dwight into her ear, their hands would touch whilst reaching for the same potato chip, her shirt would ride up as she was reaching for the instant coffee on the top shelf. Incidents that would seem by themselves sensual, but were really monotone and normal, natural even, hidden and forgotten, under the routine office ritual. He'd long ago learnt to control that stomach flip, that quick hand jerk away, and later that one touch that lingered for just a second longer than it should. But he'd never learnt to suppress it altogether, he'd never want to. It was always what he looked forward to most. The only thing he looked forward too. Their little interactions, because although today's simultaneous grasp for the milk might've been the same as yesterdays, he'd never tire of the feeling of his skin against hers.

It was quickly progressing into their fourth year. Another year of clandestine (on his behalf anyway) touches and light witty banter which could've meant so much more. It was pathetic and romantic at the same time. He'd promised himself from the beginning (well after that period of self denial) that if by their third year nothing had happened, that he would stop. Get out of this place, go somewhere else and start anew, maybe even find someone else. But he'd done nothing about getting a transfer or even writing a letter of resignation.

Because as much as he needed to get his career started to start doing what he really wanted to do, nothing could compete with the fact that he simply wanted to stay right here. Right opposite and a little diagonal to her.

For one more year at least.