I'm happy for him.

After the whole Angela fiasco I am glad he's finally found someone that A: makes him happy, and B: actually returns those feelings. Not to mention Erin is cute. It's more than likely that countless men had vied for her attention, which makes me wonder why she is settling for Andy in the first place. Who would even want to be with an obnoxious, banjo-plucking, blue-blooded, wannabe frat boy when there are so many other, better options? Anyway, a small part of me expects that the relationship isn't going to last but it's still nice to know that for once, the universe it cutting Andy some slack.

From a few feet behind me I hear Andy's chair creak slightly as he shifts his weight.

"Oscarinooo," he says suddenly, tapping the edge of his desk with a pen. "How 'bout some tuneage?"

"Mmhmm, sure," I answer vacantly, valiantly attempting to concentrate on the finance spreadsheet laid out in front of me. Since Michael and everyone else, save for Andy and I, had already gone home for the day, it is one of those rare occasions when I actually have time to get work done. Andy is being forced to stay late to do busy work in order to make up for his especially poor sales performance as of late, probably, I suspect, having something to do with his constant glancing over at the reception desk. As for me, Matt had sent me a text earlier:

game at my place 2nite? :)

The smiley face had been a nice gesture, and I did thoroughly enjoy my time on the couch with him, but to be honest, I would rather eat a basketball than spend yet another night watching one be dribbled down a court for hours on end. So, it conveniently turns out that I'm busy working late tonight at the office. Bummer.

While I'm busy contemplating whether or not I actually am a terrible person, Andy pulls up iTunes on his computer. As soon as I hear the commercialized and artificially rebellious voice of Kelly Clarkson fill the room, I suppress a sigh. At least it's better than the silence. As I continue crunching numbers I find myself smiling. Andy would be an American Idol fan. In spite of myself, I chuckle at the image of him frantically calling in his vote every Tuesday night.

"What's so funny?"

I turn around and sure enough he's grinning curiously at me.

"Nothing, I was just thinking about something else." I steal a glance at the clock. "Jesus, it's ten already?"

Andy looks at the time too and rubs his eyes with his index and forefinger. Out of the corner of my eye I see him try and fail to smother a big yawn.

"Why are you so tired?" I ask, standing up and stretching, my muscles aching from sitting in the same position for such a long and uneventful period of time.

He leans back in his chair, cracking the bones in his back. "The Lady Hannon and I were up until all hours of the morning last night on the phone…" There's a pregnant pause before he shrugs nonchalantly and unnecessarily adds for emphasis, "… talking."

I raise my eyebrows. "Oh, really?"

"Yep," he says a little smugly like it isn't a big deal, but it's obvious to even the most socially inept person how thrilled he is with this, practically beaming. "I don't want to jinx it, but it's gettin' pret-ty serious-"

He's starting to ramble as a weird and unexpected feeling passes over me. My pulse quickens and there's an uncomfortable gulp in my base of my throat that I can't swallow. I'm sweating.

"-and neither of us wanted to hang up! So then I said-"

"Andy," I blurt out, interrupting him mid-sentence. He hesitates in surprise and just sits there looking up at me.

"Yeah, bro?"

"I think it's great that you are Erin are hitting it off, really I do." My brain doesn't even register what I'm saying. The words are coming out and forming by themselves. "But, well, don't you think you're moving a little… I don't know, fast?"

Andy blinks then after a few seconds he rolls his eyes and laughs. "It's not like we're getting married-"

I hold up my palms, stopping him again. "I know, I know, I'm just saying that you shouldn't rush into anything, after the whole mess with Angela… "

He flinches. That one hit him hard, and seeing how much it hurt him, my conscience instantly regrets saying it. It was unnerving how quickly his expression changed, from so infectiously cheerful to how he looked now, his face doubting with his mouth tightly shut in a thin line and eyes averted to the floor. I guess the pain of getting cheated on by your fiancée is something that never completely goes away. He stays quiet for a while, and it gets to the point where I'm about to say something before he looks back to me again.

"Maybe you're right."

Oh, I'm so going to Hell.

"But I don't think…" he continues slowly, his crippling insecurity showing through all thanks to me, "… that Erin would… do that to me." His eyes are getting a little shiny as he's getting more emotional. "Right?"

"Andy, I'm sorry," I say and put my hand on his shoulder, ignoring the tiny spark of electricity that raced through my fingers as I did so. "Erin is definitely not Angela."

Andy nods, indiscreetly wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve as he stands up to face me. He gives me a watery smile.

"Thanks, Oscar."

I forget all about Matt, Erin, his horrible taste in music, about the fact that he is the same annoying, obtrusive, inappropriate guy who sits only about four feet from my desk every day. Just looking at him, so hurt, so vulnerable…

He's warm and moist against my mouth- Oh my God, this is actually happening- I'm kissing him, kissing Andy Bernard more passionately than I've ever kissed any other person in my entire life. Heart hammering madly in my chest, I press even closer to his body, practically clinging to him and he feels unbelievably hot, almost burningly so, and tall and intoxicating. My lips are pushed against his almost painfully and I vaguely realize how desperate and stupid and ridiculous this is, but fuck dignity.

I'm dizzy, I can't breathe but I don't even care. All I know is that he tastes like milky coffee and that mint toothpaste flavor- I'm kissing him like crazy and the same thought is repeating itself over and over again in my head I don't want to let him go, I don't want to let him go. His lips are soft.

They are also not kissing back.

I feel him jerk violently against me and suddenly his firm hands are gripping my arms and pushing me away from him. No wonder his skin felt so hot, his face is flushed red, with embarrassment, shame, I'm not sure, maybe both- but whatever it is, it is all for me.

My face, however, all of the color has drained out of it. My stomach twists and shrivels inside me, sour bile rising up in my throat. His bright blue eyes that are usually filled with, often exhausting, amounts of enthusiasm are now looking at me with such panicked intensity and what had to be derision. He stands speechless for what seems like the longest, agonizing eternity with his mouth ajar before finally speaking. His eyebrows draw together and he stares at me with what is most likely disgusted confusion. His voice is low even though we are the only people here.

"What are you doing?"

I'm going to throw up... just vomit my dinner of vending machine Fritos and Pepsi right there on the floor. I want to die. My tongue feels like sandpaper in my mouth and when I try to speak it sounds like some pathetic, strangled choking noise.

Now I'm walking, half running, past him and over to my desk. I gather my things, my thermos, my coat, my gloves, and leave while he's still standing there, watching me go.

I am the worst kind of idiot. People will pass this story down to their children and grandchildren and I will be a legend. Oscar Martinez will go down in history as the biggest asshole that has ever existed.

All I want to do is go home and just lay down on my bed with my knees pulled tightly up to my chest, trying to find that childish comfort of having a blanket shielding you, making you feel smaller and protected. How could I do that to him? To Erin and Matt? I had temporarily lost my mind… lost control. I'd always been an expert at keeping my emotions in check- so unlike Andy. You can always look at Andy and know exactly what he's feeling.

Did you really think he'd stay single forever?

I remember the haughty tone in his voice when he confided in me that day… asking if I'd head the rumor that he was gay. His body language had been so tense and guarded, and even though he'd spoken calmly, anyone could have detected the underlying anxiety in every word. It had been a textbook example of self-denial.

Or so you thought.

I clench my car keys in my fist so that they are digging into my palm, my legs numbly carrying me to my parking space.

"Oscar!"

Shit.

I freeze next to the car door and hear his shoes pounding on the asphalt some ways behind me as he jogs over; he doesn't have his coat on, just his shirt rolled up at the sleeves and a pink tie that swings back and forth as he runs. When he reaches me, it is clear that he hasn't thought ahead as to what he is actually going to say. His breath comes out in little, visible puffs as he inhales and exhales rapidly, trying to regain his composure.

Breath, breath. "Hey." Breath, breath.

"Hi."

It seems that my vocal cords have ironically recovered just in time for the most awkward silence I have ever experienced in my life. The only sounds are the distant traffic, Andy catching his breath and the wind whipping at my jacket. He shivers in his thin shirt and I hate myself more, if that's even possible at this point. I can't be here anymore.

"Andy, please, just let me go home."

I am still shocked at how cruel and condescending I can be to him, treating him like an immature child, even in this situation where I am entirely to blame. I turn around and close my eyes tightly, about to shove my key into the lock.

"I'm sorry."

Guilt and unbelievable shame washes over me. He's apologizing to me. My feet appear to be permanently rooted to the ground and I pray to God that he doesn't see me shaking.

"I didn't…" he adds on hastily, uncertain of how to go on. "I had no idea that…"

No, it's not your fault, Andy. I am clinically insane. Apparently I now choose to spend my time accosting straight co-workers in the office after hours. To my surprise, there is a noticeable lack of pity in his voice, the arrogant kind that people use then they look down to you, which is something that he is infamous for.

He puts a hand on my shoulder. I feel the same tingling, weightless sensation I get whenever he touches me and my heart beats quickly in all the way into my throat. But even through my jacket I can also feel that his hand is cold. He's freezing here outside at night without a coat on and it's all because of me. I disgust myself with my selfishness. I'll let him stand outside and get sick just because I want him here, just like I'll sabotage his perfect, amazing relationship with Erin just so there'll be the unlikely, tiniest, most remote chance that he'd ever want to be with me. I shrug his hand off of my shoulder but can't bear to face him.

"There's no way you could've known."

"I just… I really like her, Oscar." Andy is still panting slightly, and I can imagine his eyes looking firmly and sincerely into my back. "I think I love her."

This simple statement is like a blunt kick to my stomach. Even though deep down I realize that I've always known this, it feels like the wind has been knocked clean out of me and I'm suffocating. I'm losing it again- losing control.

I guess Andy doesn't notice this, because he only continues.

"I'm going to ask her to move in with me." He says this quietly but with so much poorly contained eagerness, and I'm positive that I am the first person he is telling this to. "I just want you to know that you're one of my closest friends-"

I can't breathe. My throat is closing up.

"-and we'll always be bromigos," he promises me. When I don't respond right away, he hesitates, concerned. "Are you okay?"

To live with myself, I know there is only one way to answer this question.

"Yeah, Andy," I say obviously with a laugh, forcing my voice into a content, carefree tone. Opening the car door and easing myself inside, I give a casual wave of my hand. "Talk to you later."

Andy grins too and rubs his hands together as he starts to walk backwards towards the office. "Okay, I will see you to-morrow."

As soon as I drive a safe enough distance away from the building, I pull into a random street that I've never been on before, not caring, and stop next to the sidewalk to break down.

It all comes out. I haven't cried like this in years. Tears are streaming down my face even as I hyperventilate, gasping as my lungs desperately try to inflate with the frigid Scranton air. I want to stop; there's no point in this, it won't change anything. I try to remind myself of how wrong he is for me: he brags, he has no common sense, he's a Cornell snob, a suck-up, a social-moron, incompetent; the list goes on. Nothing helps. Soon the tears run out and I'm reduced to dry, heaving sobs. Eventually I just allow the memory of everything else take over- how warm and soft he felt when I finally acted out that deeply buried need that had been lying dormant in my subconscious this entire time. I had kissed him.

My forehead is resting so uncomfortably on the driver's wheel that there is no doubt it will leave a mark. It wasn't fair.

I loved you first.

Very corn-tastic but whateverr. No one can deny the ambiguously gay chemistry between these two. PLEASE review! Yep, 'preciate it.