A/N: I'm not really sure how I feel about this piece. It's definitely not my strongest piece by a long shot, but I just felt like I had to write something post finale. And something about those moments between the confession and the kiss. It's strange now that all of this has happened. Writing fic for these two will not be the same anymore. Anyway. Onward.
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He goes back to his car, taking the long way because he doesn't want to have to look at her right now. Walks around the building completely to get back to his car. He had been sitting in it earlier, when he decided to tell her about the transfer. What had happened to that plan?
He puts his key in the ignition and turns on the car. The stereo comes on and he hates that he had that play list on earlier. The one he made for- His forehead rests on the steering wheel and he watches saline drip onto the Toyota insignia there. This is it, he thinks. He officially has nothing. And that thought sends his stomach into convulsions for a second and he cracks the window a little because he thinks he might be sick and he just cleaned his car out last weekend. He keeps the music playing regardless of how much it hurts right now to hear songs that he- that remind him of-
He thinks about his job here. A job that's taking him nowhere. A job he could get stuck in, suffering for the rest of his life. A job that is quickly becoming his actual career. A job that was meant as a placeholder until he figured himself out. But that was five years ago and he still has no idea what he wants. Except for-
He thinks about leaving. Taking the Stamford job, starting over. And he pretends every second is a mile between here and Stamford as he holds his breath. But it's 150 miles and he doesn't make it to 40, not even halfway there, not even a third of the way there before he's gasping for air.
He thinks about misinterpretations and knows that that's bullshit. You don't misinterpret a relationship for three years. He isn't confused. She is. But she's it and he knows that. Or maybe he had misinterpreted things. Maybe she felt nothing for him but some warm sort of friendship. Maybe it was all in his head. But he can't make himself believe that, because he knows it isn't true. He knows she- He wishes he had had more to drink tonight because this would be easier.
He thinks about finding Jan and telling her he'll take the job. Or just talking to her, because what it comes down to is that he has no one else besides Pam. His roommate just got engaged to his girlfriend. And to be honest, he doesn't have any other friends. At least, not the kind that you talk to. He wants to find Jan and tell her things, because he feels like she knows or understands or has some sort of perspective. Really he just feels so suddenly lonely that he can't handle it and even contemplates talking to Dwight for a while.
He thinks about her. Just for a second without complications. He thinks about her hair and the way her eyes brighten whenever he makes her laugh. He thinks about her before seven minutes ago when he told her he was in love with her. How she- But it doesn't last long, because everything's changed now and she isn't that anymore. She is now Pam post confession of love. He almost hates himself for ruining that.
He thinks about that fraction of a second that turned, "I was just talking to Jan about taking that job in Stamford," to, "I'm in love with you." He tries to remember the things that passed through his mind then, but he honestly isn't sure what happened. Something to do with her skin beneath the parking lot lights and the moon. Something to do with the past four months. Something to do with desperation and her smile and the way she looked in that dress. And then it had happened. It was out there.
He thinks about how she reacted. How she never said that she didn't feel the same way. How she hesitated, ended statements like questions. How she shook and absently toyed with that engagement ring. He thinks about how his stomach dropped when she started to say, "You have no idea-" Because that's not what he wants at all. He's never just wanted friendship from her. He wants more. More for her, more for himself.
He thinks about kissing her. Once. Thinks about feeling the fabric of her dress beneath his palms. He thinks about pulling her body completely against his own. He thinks about showing her that she's everything. He wonders what it would feel like to be that close to her, but he thinks he already knows. He thinks she'd taste a bit like the white wine he saw her drinking earlier. He wonders if she'd moan softly against his mouth as she gave in. He wonders what she'd do with her hands. Wonders how her breasts would feel pressed against his chest, her heartbeat right on top of his.
He glances up in his rearview mirror and sees her. She walks into the office, not back into the warehouse. He notices the slump of her shoulders and the way she hangs her head. And he thinks about dreams and chances and all this lost time. He turns off the music, takes his key out of the ignition, and makes a decision.