Chapter Seven: Pam

She woke up at half past six in the morning and realized with a surge of dismay that she and Jim had gotten absolutely nothing accomplished in their night together, other than falling asleep wrapped in each other's arms and… yep, that was about it. She had to smile at the memory, his arm slung comfortingly over her back, her head leaning against his shoulder.

But she had to get out. She couldn't continue this. Of course he was right; he always was, when it came to her. They were meant for each other.

Pam shook her head, pulled on her clothes, and rummaged in her bag for a stick of eyeliner and a tube of mascara. Hurrying to the bathroom, she all but grimaced when she caught sight of herself in the mirror.

Hurriedly stroking the liner across her eyelash line, she tried to ignore the conflicting thoughts that continued to race through her head. Roy would catch them sooner or later. He would find out. It was up to her to make sure she didn't jeopardize the love of her life. And sneaking around behind his back was unlike her. Sure, he could be abrupt. But she'd always felt that Jim's extreme distaste of the man was overdone.

Grow up, Pamela, said a voice in her head, bringing her back to high school years in a flood of memories and half-finished paintings. Her best friend at the time had always criticized her for her inability to keep a straight head when it came to "matters of the heart".

Don't be a damsel in distress. Don't let Roy get in the way of what you want. Assert what you need, to both Roy and Jim.

She felt the hint of a smile and straightened, the situation appearing suddenly much more manageable. That's right, she thought. It was time for her to stop feeling sorry for herself and grow a spine.

"Hey." Jim appeared in the doorway, yawning and rubbing his eyes, hair endearingly messy. "I was scared you'd left."

He sounded so vulnerable and young in the moment. Pam wrapped her arms around his waist.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, kissing her head.

She drew away, brow furrowed. "Um… Roy."

He stiffened. "What?"

"Jim, I think you aren't giving him enough credit. I know, I know," she said hastily, as he opened his mouth. "I get it. He can be kind of a jerk to me. But he cares about me. I think he wants me to be happy, as long as I'm happy with him. Jim, you're so mature. Roy just… isn't. At least, not in the same way. He never got past the teenage guy phase of wanting things more than needing them. I'll admit it, he doesn't need me." She took a deep breath, looked into his eyes, and confessed, "I need you."

"Me too." His expression was hard to read: pained, as though he were expecting rejection. Should he be?

"Never mind." She grabbed her bag. "I should go. D'you wanna go grab a coffee or something?"

"Sure. I should probably get into something less homeless," he said, gesturing to his wrinkled t-shirt and worn sweatpants. "Be right back."

He returned a few minutes later in a clean light blue shirt, black tie, and pants. The two of them set off at seven o'clock. Halfway down the walk Pam felt Jim's hand close around hers, fingers interlacing, and her pulse quickened. She felt his eyes dart over to skim her face, and smiled to herself, feeling with an undeniable certainty that she loved him with all her heart. And for now, that was enough.