Chapter title: Marching Bands Of Manhattan.
Chapter summary: She thinks he might just break her heart.
Author's Note: Sorry for the wait. Finally done with school so I'll be able to update this more often. This chapter's short. Hope you all love it, chickadees.
PS: Chapter title from Death Cab For Cutie's song of the same title. From the Plans album. Definitely check it.
His eyes, they were just burned into her mind. They weren't bright or dim. They were scared. He was so scared. Jim had brushed off her suggestion to see if he was ok. "He's such a dick."
And he was. Pam knew that. Even when she sat there for hours with him, he still was a dick.
But God. His eyes.
She picks up her phone. She has his number; she coaxed it out of him the night she was at his apartment.
Her dorm is empty, the ringing phone in her ear the only sound she can hear. Her eyes flicker towards the window; God it's such a nice summer evening.
"Hello?" His voice is scratchy and she wonders if he was sleeping.
"Hi," she says, her voice soft.
"Hi."
She grips her phone tightly, curling up against her pillow. She hears his shallow breathing on the other line. She opens her mouth to talk.
"Can I take you out for dinner?" His words are hushed and it sounds like his mouth is pressed too close to the phone.
She says yes, and after they hang up, she hopes his eyes aren't so grief stricken.
She thinks he might just break her heart.
xxxxx
He keeps mumbling apologies under his breath to her.
"Ryan, it's ok. Really. This place is wonderful." She gives him a smile, a real smile, and the worry slowly vanishes from his face.
He wanted to take her somewhere nice, somewhere better then the deli on the corner of 6th street. She couldn't figure out why; this wasn't a date. It totally wasn't. He agrees when she states this out loud. Yeah, it wasn't a date.
Maybe he felt bad for being an asshole last week. She ponders this as she sips her water. It's far fetched. But he did spend the night in a holding cell so, anything's possibly, really.
Her fingers press down against the skirt of her sundress. She isn't sure when the whole fashion obsession hit her. She had met a girl in her design class who wore such adorable clothes Pam couldn't help but compliment her. She stumbled across the cute boutique down the street from PRATT and came out with way too many shopping bags. It was summer. And she was in the city. She could look cute if she wanted to.
"Are you going to let me pay this time?" he asks, a small smile causing his lips to twitch slightly. His voice is so low and… deep almost. Husky. Different.
She smiles. "Yes, you can pay this time. Do you usually get drunk and get girls to buy you breakfast?"
His eyebrows lift. "If I remember correctly, you wouldn't le me buy you breakfast." His tone is playful. She wonders when he last smiled. It hurts to think about.
"Whatever, Howard," she says, sighing.
"Besides, this makes us even," he says promptly, his voice sounding all business like. She wonders if that's how he used to sound in meetings.
He looks so young in his button up shirt and tie. She bets he paid a lot for his shoes. All to impress people.
She gets a mandarin salad and a chicken wrap. He looks slightly amused as she slips the orange between her lips.
"What?" she asks, her voice suspicious. He only shakes his head, a smile teasing his lips.
They eat in silence.
"Why did you come to my dorm?" she asks suddenly. They thought had been bouncing around her head and she couldn't get it out, like the shell of a popcorn kernel stuck between your tooth and gum.
He pushes a piece of leftover lettuce around his plate with his fork, not meeting her eyes. "Because I wanted to ask you to dinner."
She blinks, watching him. "Oh." She hadn't known what to expect, if anything at all.
And then he laughs. It's quiet and sudden, she's sure she didn't hear it. But his shoulders shake slightly and he leans back in his chair. And he's laughing, he's really laughing.
So she giggles, uncertain at first but it grows, causing her ribs to ache. And they're laughing in their seats, the guy behind the deli counter looking strangely at them, but she doesn't care and she's pretty sure he doesn't notice.
She hiccups, pressing her fingers against her flushed cheeks.
He sighs, running a hand over his face. And his eyes are red and kind of wet but he doesn't blink or look ashamed about it like the day he got arrested.
She wonders if he still wants to die.
They walk down the sidewalks of the Village. He buys her a Coke because they both called 'taxi' at the same time. They laughed about it for so long, the cabbie finally drove off and they decided walking would be fine since it's a nice night, and all.
He asks about school.
"Oh, it's good," she says, running her fingers through her hair. "It's hard but it can be fun. I'm learning a lot."
He nods like he's listening and she thinks he really is.
She wants to ask about what happened. She says she won't, in her head, but she does. She feels bold tonight.
Exhaustion shadows his face.
"I'm sorry," she says quickly, "I just…"
But he shakes his head, sighing. "I wanted to be the best. I wanted to prove that I wasn't just the temp. I just wanted… respect. To be heard for once."
He looks at her. "Guess I went about it the wrong way."
She lifts her eyebrows.
He nods.
She nods.
"At least you know now," she says awkwardly.
"I would prefer to be ignored and unnoticed." He shivers, even though it's warm outside. She wonders if he's thinking about jail. She doesn't ask this time.
Instead, she tells him it'll be ok. "You didn't… kill anyone. Just…" She pauses, not knowing what to say. "You'll just…" She breaks off again.
"It's fine," he says and she hears a small smile in his voice.
They stop, standing underneath a streetlight. She folds her arms over her chest.
"You look really pretty tonight." The words just kind of blurt out, fast and quiet. She smiles, reminded of the nervous temp she used to know.
"Thanks," she tells him, her face glowing underneath the yellow light.
He seems to relax. "You look different." His eyes study her. "Maybe it's just the city."
She nods. "Yeah, maybe." It's quiet.
"A good different, though," he says as they continue walking once more.
She laughs softly. "I'd hope so."
They stop again 10 minutes later in the PRATT courtyard.
"I'll stop by this week, ok?" she days, looking up at him. She doesn't have to step back to look at him like she does with Jim. She likes that.
"You don't have to…"
"I want to."
And he smiles at that, a shy smile, something she hasn't seen him do in years.
"See you around, Pam," he says, looking at her for a moment longer before turning on his heel and beginning to walk away.
She watches him and the tug at her heart is undeniable.
"Ryan!"
He stops, turning around, and she jogs up to him.
"Thanks for dinner," she says breathlessly.
He looks at her uncertainly. "Yeah, no problem."
He's barely finished his sentence before she reaches her arms out, wrapping them around his neck.
She can tell that he hasn't hugged anyone in a long time. His body's stiff and his arms are awkwardly hanging at his sides. It probably looks comical. She hopes there aren't any cameras.
But his body relaxes, his hands gently holding the small of her back. His beard is scratchy against her skin, but she pulls him closer, his face buried against the crook of her neck.
She's not sure how long they stayed that way but when they finally pull away, her body is warm from his.