His chuckle resounded between the hollow walls of his condo, masking the gurgles that her stomach had emitted in the silence that followed his loaded words.
"Were the waffles not substantial enough?"
Clutching her stomach, she could do little to stop the pink of her cheeks that framed her toothy grin, both transpiring at the way his head hung low and his grin curled to the side.
"No, no, Eggo and I had a lovely morning together. It's just, I guess, now that I'm thinking about it, I didn't really eat dinner last night. I kind of came straight here. Hence the Target run."
"Ah, fair enough," he replied, wedging his hands into his pockets, his head bowing slightly out of her line of sight. She may have cried in his arms the night before, but he wasn't quite ready to clue her in to the grin that tugged at his lips every time he thought about her rushing out of Dunder Mifflin to find him, the one that had him awake at 4 AM with no sign of going back to sleep, the same one that had him washing her clothes and running to the gas station in his pajamas to get her a fresh toothbrush and a box of Eggo's.
"So, what you're saying is, we need to find you sustenance, like, now."
"Try 'like yesterday,' Halpert."
With matching toothless grins, they made their way to his car, a comfortable silence settling as each became momentarily lost in thought.
"So, you're a little bit hypocritical, you know." Her words broke through the air, tickling his ears.
"Oh? Do tell." She could hear the smirk in his voice as his sideways glance scanned her from the driver's seat.
"How can you expect me to have three kitchens when your fancy new condo only has one?"
His left hand detached from the steering wheel, finding a comfortable resting place on the back of his neck while he debated his next words. She was here, putting herself on the line simply by existing in his presence. She deserved honestly from him. Or at least a solid effort.
"Well uh, if we're being honest here, Beesly, you are technically my kitchen's first official customer."
She let his words linger, thickening the air with their new presence.
"I mean, you've definitely gotten a little bit skinnier since the last time I saw you, but don't tell me you haven't eaten since you moved in," she replied, brows knitting in concern. Her torso had angled more to face him as his hand rubbed more ardently at the back of his neck.
"Not entirely. Just been getting a lot of takeout."
"Have you exhausted all of the Hungry Man options? I'd suggest trying out Kid Cuisine; they all come with a dessert."
She was trying to lighten the mood; he could hear as much in her tone and the way that her her eyes didn't match the toothy smile she passed, but held an awkward vibe instead.
"Eh, not so much. Just uh, not really much motivation to fix myself anything."
And then it clicked. Adding to the list of Ways Jim Has Deteriorated Since I Rejected Him was not only total disinterest and lack of motivation, but simple things like making himself something to eat that wasn't a family sized bag of potato chips. Her thoughts drifted to the way his refrigerator resembled one on the Best Buy showroom floor in its stark barrenness. Her heart hurt in that moment, once only clogged by all that had been left unsaid between them, but now stinging at the realization of just how badly those words I can't had cut him.
"So, uh, what have you got a taste for, Beesly? Can I interest you in some of our fine Stamford cuisine? I'm pretty sure I've seen a golden arches around here once or twice before."
His lightheartedness was so expected, so typical Jim. He'd probably known her thoughts before that had developed fully in her head, could read her body language even with his eyes focused on the road. He knew his words were chewing away at her insides, that she was mulling again. She was grateful when he schlepped her from her downward spiral.
"While I appreciate the gesture, I don't think I'm up for a Happy Meal. Got anything else in mind?"
"Uh, yeah, I can do that. But I hope you're up for a bit of a road trip. We might have to drive around a little to find something else."
Again, his words tugged on her chest. I'm pretty sure I've seen a golden arches around here once or twice before. How nomadic had he become?
"You've been up here for months. You're not seriously telling me the only restaurant you've seen is a McDonald's."
"Well, if you're really lookin' to get a tour, I will gladly show you the local Stop & Shop, my favorite bar, and my local chip vendor, aka the Shell station that we passed on the way out."
"You mean the one on the corner, literally across the street from your condo?"
"Yep."
"And that's it?"
"Yep."
She turned her body to face forward now, chewing on the inside of her lip as she let the atmosphere weigh down on her with all of the sadness that he had suddenly morphed into.
"I'll have you know, contrary to popular belief, there really isn't much more to life than a hearty, family sized bag of sour cream and onion potato chips. I mean, they don't sound like much, but I'm pretty sure one could argue that they have addictive properties similar to cocaine."
She stifled a chuckle, her eyebrows peaking in a way that said Really?
"Even so, I think you might need something with a little bit more substance to your so called favorite meal."
"Beesly, are you trying to tell me that an entire bag of chips does not constitute as a full meal?"
"That's exactly what I'm getting at. An entire box of crackers, however, I would argue for."
"Okay, let's hear it."
"Hear what?"
"Your argument. For crackers, that is. Versus my nutritious and wholesome bag of breath-killing potato chips."
"Well, crackers are healthier, for one. Wheat Thins, Ritz, that whole lineup is pretty typical for smart snacking. Plus, you can always top them with other healthy things, like peanut butter or hummus-"
"Or spray cheese."
"Totally defeating the purpose." She rolled her eyes, her teeth showing in her smile this time as he pulled his car into a parking spot.
"Wow, this looks like a sure step up in the world from chicken nuggets."
"Well, you know, I figured, I have a guest, might as well pull out all the stops."
He hadn't ever been to The Stamford Diner, hadn't ever passed it on his way to work or ended up there at two in the morning for a late night burger and fries. If he was being honest with himself, this was the first building that he'd stumbled upon when the tension inside the hot, stuffy, suddenly-too-small car was too much to bear.
He opened her car door, ran to grab the door of the restaurant, and stood until she sat down in the booth. It wasn't just because this was Pam. Mom had raised the Halpert boys to be true gentlemen.
But then again, he'd eventually grown lax when it came to opening doors for Katy. She would shuffle out of his front seat before he had the chance, and always had some snobby comment about, "being a big girl," and "doing it herself." So, he'd given up.
Okay. Maybe it was justbecause this was Pam.
They spent an ample amount of time engaging in strict restaurant pleasantries: mulling over the menu, debating beverage choices, deciding early on whether or not to get dessert at the end of the meal. They were very good at being distracted from their intentions, at skirting the issue, at beating around the bush. They'd had plenty of practice; they'd been doing it for years, after all. But it was once their food was in front of them that they realized they could only gush and blather about the quality of Stamford diner quality burgers that they realized their number was up.
"So, tell me, Mr. Halpert: how long has it been since you've eaten a real cheeseburger?"
She held one hand to her ear, the other stretched across the table of their small booth as if she were holding a microphone, not quite reaching the burger that was perched between his fingers, teasing outside his lips.
"Oh, god, too long." His eyes crossed comedically and rolled back with the rest of his head, eliciting many a giggle from the reporter who had officially broken character.
After most of her fries were officially digested, she poked a cold one at her dying ketchup pile, her other hand cradling her angled face.
"So. Tell me about Stamford. Is it really all it's cracked up to be?"
He shrugged, eyes downtrodden and focused on the burger that was gradually disappearing.
"Not really much to tell."
He was chewing methodically now, savoring every bite in the hopes that the cheese and meat would manifest into a neverending sandwich. He could feel her eyes trained on him, studying him, deciphering which route she wanted this conversation to take. It was going to be bad and rough and terrible and heartbreaking and he knew that, but that didn't make the conversation any more desirable. He wanted the hard part to be over. He wanted to fast forward, to be propelled into happily ever after and life without Roy's and Katy's and silent non-confessions on boats. He didn't want her to see what a pathetic, miserable existence he'd been leading. But life wasn't the fairy tale that late night sitcoms and Friday night features made it out to be. If they were going to make any semblance of progress, she needed to see him for all of the flaws that he carried.
Putting her out of her misery, he let out a long, low breath, clutched his burger a little too tightly so that ketchup and mustard were dripping onto his plate, and tried his best to fill the parts of her that were still riddled with questions.
"I've kinda been on autopilot since I got here. Go to work, come home, watch tv until I pass out, wake up and do it all over again. Throw in the occasional night at the one bar that's closest to my place, and you've got the Sad, Sorry Life of Jim Halpert, movie rights pending."
He offered her a sheepish smile, a shrug, and prolonged eye contact with his burger when he just couldn't take that sad, pitiful, remorseful look that shone behind her irises.
"So, now that you know about ole woebegone Jim, what's going on with Fancy New Beesly? Aside from the single-kitchen apartment, obviously."
A curt chuckle passed through her lips, followed quickly by a shrug and evasive eyes. Staring more so at the tabletop than him, she told her own tale.
"I mean, not much. I have a new car, new apartment. I'm taking art classes and trying to be more...I don't know, bold."
She toyed with the straw in her glass, swirling it around the bottom edges where ice cubes were changing from solid to liquid.
"But honestly, Jim, I've been pretty miserable, too."
"You were miserable?" He eyed her questioningly, a derisive chuckle scratching in his throat. "I...why? I mean, what did you have to be miserable about? You got what you wanted, didn't you? You made your mind up. You chose to be with Roy. You wanted to get married."
She scoffed, her fidgety fingers finding purpose in crossing her chest and tucking into her elbows as she sat upright, no longer craving the shelter of hiding her face and her emotions.
"I didn't make up my mind, Jim. You kind of made it up for me."
"I don't...care to elaborate for me here?"
His lips said he was annoyed, and his eyebrows said he was confused, but his eyes said something different, something longing and hoping and wanting to find the source of her anger.
"I don't know, Jim. I was….I was mad. God was I mad."
Her cheeks reflected her memories, reddening and growing more tense, as mimicked in the fists that were clenching atop their table. She wasn't avoiding his gaze so much as letting her head shake from side to side as the words finally, finally extinguished into reality.
"Mad? I don't know…"
"You just...you dumped everything on me. You dumped it all, and then you gave me no time to even process what was happening."
That inclination to avoid the intensity in his searching stare creeped up once again. Her eyes drifted to the diner counter which looked in upon the kitchen, a lowly chef adding lettuce and tomato to a freshly cooked patty. She watched as the top bun was slapped over large, purple onions, and the plate was slid across the counter to a man who resembled a truck driver. With her eyes trained on the plaid crisscrossing of his shirt, she continued.
"You ran away. You ran away like...I don't know, like you were mad that I didn't respond like you wanted me to? And then you just...you left. You left me, Jim. To pick all of this mess up on my own. Without letting me explain, or giving us the time to hash things through. You said you loved me, and then you ran. You didn't even say goodbye."
He observed her profile, her eyes still staring aimlessly to her left, noticing the liquid pooled at her eyelashes, her chin balanced on prayer-clasped hands. Her head snapped to direct her words to him, needing him to see the pain that pooled in her darkening stare.
"I mean, honestly, how did you expect me to react to that? Did you think I was going to jump into your arms and run away into the night with you or something?" Her voice was so small, laden in whispers, a tone that his ears were exclusively tuned into. "I was engaged, Jim. No matter how much I look back and regret that, no matter how many times I admit to my own stupidity, there was still someone else in the picture. I couldn't just do that to Roy out of the blue."
Her pause gave him room to process, to fixate on the only part of the conversation that would continue to fuel his hostility.
"Would it have really been out of the blue though?"
"You know what I mean," she passed bitterly, through clenched teeth.
His expression, while hard and affronted, urged her forward, his eyes saying No I don't. Please, do tell.
"Put yourself in my shoes, Jim. You've had these feelings for me for...god only knows how long, but you didn't know if I felt the same, and then when I didn't immediately sail off into the sunset with you, you vanished. It's like...when Spiderman realized he had superpowers. He had to sit and think about it before he took the job. He wasn't just like, 'Wow, cool! Let me jump immediately into fighting crime!' It was a lot to think about, Jim. And you didn't stay long enough to let it happen. Hell, you didn't stay long enough for me to do much more than nod my head. Your tires were squealing out of the parking lot before I had even made it into the ladies room to cry or something. Of course I was mad. I've felt conflicted for a while, too, ya know. You sped to the finish line before I had passed the halfway point of the race, and when I didn't immediately sprint to the finish, you just..."
She was exhausted, emotionally and physically. Letting her eyes drop to the glass that had partially refilled itself with melted ice, she sucked the liquid up through her straw, saturating her parched throat.
"I guess I just...I…" At a loss for words, he hung his head, resting his forehead on clenched hands. For all the times he'd pictured them finally being together, pictured her leaving Roy and jumping into his arms and professing to him the same feelings he'd had since he first saw her smile, he'd never once considered her situation.
And he felt like an ass.
Sorry wasn't going to cut it. But with his head now drowning in perspective, he didn't trust his own words, not yet anyway.
"Hey, can we uh...can we like, hit the pause button for a sec?" A pleading chuckle pulled at his lips, under hooded eyes that were begging her to empathize.
She eyed him questioningly, the hurt and pain still clinging to eyes of green.
"I just...Pam, this is a lot, and I feel like we're nowhere near done. Maybe we take a break from the heavy stuff for a little while and, I don't know, just...hang out? Be us for a minute? I'm pretty sure we have a lot of catching up to do that isn't about our past relationship mistakes."
If only so slightly, her eyes crinkled upwards, lips following in a way that lessened the mountain of tension that had just settled in his shoulders. Unable to form the words, she simply nodded her head, dabbed at her eyes with the cuff of her cardigan, and stood from the table. They were communicating in their own silent language now, still beat from the abuse that their verbiage had just painted the atmosphere with. It only took him a simple shake of the head when she tried to offer him cash for their check, and her thank you was a single nod, so similar in motion. On their way out the door, he palmed her hand, his intent wholly to reassure her with the squeeze he passed between them.
The silence in the car was more comfortable, more relaxed. The tension had subsided slightly, tottering when his hand had slipped into her grasp. If only for just this moment, their heart rates were beating at a normal pace.
He had made one left-hand turn before a smirk tugged at his lips.
"Are you trying to get us murdered?"
With eyes wide, she turned to face him as he unbuckled his seat belt.
"I know, I know. The name looks sketchy, but trust me: the creepier the name, the better the place!"
"Fun 4 Kids, Jim? Fun 4 Kids? We're going to die."
He was circling to car to open her door now, his toothy grin lighting up the afternoon sky as she climbed out, arms crossed indignantly across her body.
"C'mon. It'll be fun."
"I'm calling my mother first to tell her that I love her."
Without question, she followed him inside the building that, much to her displeasure, wasn't as sketchy as its marquee had made it seem.
She gratefully accepted his handful of tokens, and all at once, they fell into their old patterns, full of jokes and laughter and friendly arcade competition. By the time they'd cashed in their tickets for paper bags full of useless trinkets, her cheeks hurt from smiling, and he was sure he'd have a red mark on the back of his neck from the amount of times he'd rubbed there in an attempt to quell the rising bubbles in his belly.
Their laughter continued into his condo, filling otherwise blank walls with vibrant color.
Pointing towards the bathroom with her thumb, she asked, "Hey do you mind if I um...I just, I feel kind of gross…"
"Yeah! Yeah, no absolutely. I'll just grab you a towel."
And there he was. Alone in thought, while nothing but a wall stood between him and Pam's naked body. While his mind was certainly overwhelmed, he didn't have room for these kinds of thoughts right now. He'd been so wrapped up in having fun with her that the feeling of guilt and remorse and God I'm such an ass had faded away, only settling back in for a long winter's nap when he planted his butt firmly on the couch. He had a lot of thinking to do.
He wasn't wrong when he'd mentioned that this conversation wouldn't be a "one and done." They were going to be at this for quite some time. They had so much to hash out, to work through, and having this time to just be by herself to revisit what they'd worked out that afternoon was almost calming, as the warm water rushed over her grungy skin.
She never truly thought about how her denial would affect him. Sure, it had been easy for her to stand her ground, to remind him that she was engaged and that they were friends and that this wasn't going to happen. It had ripped her apart to no end, to have her world blown away, because he'd gotten to mull over this for months so he should have at least concluded that rejection was a possibility, right? He should have worked out that things might not go his way, found alternate solutions. But seeing this sliver of the man she once knew, the one for whom she had driven across the country in the middle of the night, reduced to a hollow shell, had her heart weeping.
Even so, he wasn't all innocence either. He'd been in love with her for so long, had seen the way that she responded when they'd gotten closer. He had so many opportunities to say anything, but he'd chosen to hold back. When she was wrapped in his arms, staring into his eyes, professing her insecurities about her fiance. All of those moments were lost. As she replayed each one in her head, she realized that, had she been paying attention, she would have been able to pinpoint the exact moments where he'd lost them.
It was a simple twitch in his eyes, the way they'd dart to the ceiling. The hitching in his throat when he'd stifle a sob or swallow down words. It was the way he'd raise his hand only to pull it back.
If she'd only been awake.
Stepping out of the shower, she patted at the mirror with a towel, finding her skin shiny and pink, vigor laden eyes staring back at her. She found a new shirt waiting in a neat fold where the towel had just lain. This one said HALPERT on the back, too, but the stickers were more worn, the logos more faded. Somehow, as she draped the men's size XL over her small body, this one seemed to hug her more tightly.
With her hair toweled and damp and drying into natural curls, she found him on the couch, looking more relaxed, as he had changed into jeans and a t-shirt of his own, with a book cradled in his lap. His crooked grin found her as her bare feet shuffled across the carpet.
"All squeaky clean?"
"And smelling like a man," she replied with a grin that made him chuckle as he pictured the bottle of cheap Suave body wash whose scent he never truly recognized until she was perched next to him on the couch.
So's tangled together once again, but he was prepared this time, and she knew that this was what they needed. More confidently, he met her stare.
"Ready to put your dukes back up, Beesly?" He grinned, apology already written in his eyes.
Sheepishly, she nodded, and dropped her knees that were folded underneath her shrinking body.
"Can I...I mean I just...god, I'm so sorry, Pam."
She could see the way his eyes fought, his fingers fumbled on the knees of his jeans, and then folded upon each other. Back in that dreadful restaurant booth, he'd given her time. It was her turn to do the same.
"I guess I just...I'd been dreaming of that moment for so long, and when it didn't happen the way I wanted it to, I...panicked. Never in a million years did I think you'd come right out and say that you lo...that you felt the same way. But I guess it was fight or flight for me. I either stayed there to take you head on or I took off. You know the rest."
A chuckled tailed his words as he slowly lifted his head and continued.
"But never once did I even stop to consider the fact that you...you might need more than sixty seconds to decide, or to understand where I was coming from. In all of my...god, this is embarrassing...every time that I've pictured this happening, Pam, it was always just this, kind of, immediate thing. Like when you see it happen in the movies. I'd tell you I...how I felt, and then you'd…"
"Jump into your arms and run away with you into the sunset?"
"I am pathetic."
"No, you're not," she reassured him, pulling a pillow into her lap to hug onto as he continued his declaration.
"So...I never really got to the part where you'd have to call off your wedding and end things with Roy. In my head, he was just an oaf who didn't deserve you, and you'd tell him off and that would be the end of it. I never took into consideration how complicated things on that end would be."
She nodded, her chin pushing into the pillow, her eyes drawn towards the carpet.
"Do you have any idea how long I was waiting for you to say something?"
"What did you...want me to say?"
"I don't know, how you felt about me? I mean, I don't think you all of a sudden just loved me out of the blue that night. You had to have been feeling that way for awhile."
When he didn't respond with his words, but with the intensity in his eyes growing beyond measure, she continued.
"I mean, god, Jim, all those times we hung out and you couldn't say anything?"
Those times that we fell asleep wrapped around each other. Those moments when I was cuddling with you on the couch and you were cooking me breakfast in your kitchen.
You should break up with him.
"How was I supposed to say something, Pam?" His clasped hands fell between spread knees, his head hanging low but still searching her gaze, his tone teetering between anger and desperation.
"Should I have said it when we were on your couch, in the same house that you shared with him? Maybe I could have brought it up at work? While he was standing at your desk?"
Hostility hinted in his eyes as his back straightened slightly.
"Well...how else was I supposed to know how you felt?"
"Oh, I don't know, Pam. Was me telling you to break up with him too subtle for you? Was it not enough that I let you lay in my bed and cry in my arms? I don't do that for any Joe Schmoe on the street, you know. When I said you deserved better, I was talking about me. How did you not get that?"
Tears stung her eyes now. He'd never used this tone with her. As he spat the words into existence, she hoped this was something they'd overcome now and never have to reopen again. As she blinked the tears away, her lips twisting into a grimaced pout, his volume finally subsided to a whisper. She knew this was hurting him, knew that he hated what he was doing to her with these words. But they were his truth. And the truth hurt sometimes.
"Do you have...any idea how hard it was for me to watch you with him? God, Pam, I don't know what was worse: watching you guys flirt and plan your wedding five feet from my desk, or watching him break you beyond repair day in and day out."
They locked eyes for only just a moment, before a strangled sob escaped lips that were folded inwards in a last ditch effort to stay silent, to let him speak his peace.
"To watch him put his hands on you, to whisper into your ear, to take you home every night? It killed me, Pam. Alcohol didn't even numb it, it made it worse. It was like I couldn't escape the taunting that you weren't mine, like the world wanted to remind me as often as possible that you were his."
He couldn't even twist his lips into any semblance of a grin, couldn't give her so much as a nod of affirmation as tears filled his eyes, as if an old would had been freshly ripped open.
Garbled and laden with a gravelly undertone, he uttered, "Pause?"
"Pause."
Her words were on the edge of fresh tears, accompanied by rapid nods of her head, as they met halfway in a soul crushing hug, his own tears hitting the top of her mostly dry head as she ruined the front of another one of his shirts. They clung there for several minutes, the feel of her fingers clutching his shirt now becoming familiar as he traced small circles on her back with his thumbs.
"Extended pause? Pizza and a movie?" She dabbed at her eyes, now red and puffy, as she tried to assimilate a grin to the ever growing ups and downs of their emotions.
"Just as long as it has-"
"Cheese in the crust."
Now she was smiling, if ever so slightly, as she began to edge off the couch.
"That's my-that'a girl."
She was blushing now, thankful for the distraction of wandering into the kitchen to find a copy of the YellowPages.
"So, I think this might be the most appropriate title I could find for us this evening."
Dazed and Confused.
Even she couldn't hide the cheek splitting laughter.
As they sat side by side finishing off their meal, the gap between them a cushion away, her words tumbled into the darkness. He felt them in his chest before he heard them.
"I tried to call."
"You...what?"
"I tried to call you. Right after I left your-Mark's place. But you didn't answer. You changed your number. Did you really want me out of your life that badly?"
He set his slice of pizza down in the box, exhaled loudly, and ran his fingers through his hair.
"In a sense, yes. It hurt too much to see you, you know? To have you five feet from my desk but a million miles away from where I wanted you to be. To know that you were out there somewhere not...feeling that way back. And once I finally knew that you didn't, you know, feel that way, I had to do something, Pam. Something to stop the pain. I'd tried everything else. Running was my last resort, and I had to take it."
Suddenly, she was scooching against him, her body snug against his side, a hug encircling his waist from both sides. Her head tucked into his shoulder, clasped hands resting on his hip. He could feel the breath as it left her lungs, the change in air as it filled her again. The silence lingered, save for Matthew McConaughey and Jason London cackling from the speakers, as her words prickled in his head.
"What do you mean, after you left Mark's place?"
Her fingernails were gentle, trailing along his forearm. She'd made at least four passes up and down before she spoke.
"That...that day. When I realized you were gone. I took off. I went to your place. I tried to...I wanted to...I don't know, stop you? Give us another chance to at least talk. But then that girl said you were already gone. So I went back to work. And cried in the bathroom for over an hour before I could go back out and answer phones like a normal person."
She couldn't see the way his eyes bugged, but she could feel his body shift, could feel the way he sat up slightly against her body, the top of her head suddenly relieved of the comfortable pressure his chin had caused.
"What girl? Kimmy?"
She lifted her head, turning slightly enough so that he could view her profile, but keeping her eyes trained on the television.
"No, not Kimmy. Some girl answered the door and said she was waiting to give your landlord your keys. She told me you were already on the road."
Her lips upturned at the thought of that girl who looked so similar to the man she was nestled against. She had to be his sister, without a doubt. She just hadn't put the pieces together in that moment. She'd had too much on her mind.
"She has your smile."
Settling back against one another, he let his mind flash, for the first time in almost twenty-four hours, to someone who wasn't Pam.
He'd be giving Larisa a call in the morning for sure.
The credits continued to roll long after they'd succumbed to sleep.
Woken by a stray car alarm at two in the morning, she was pleasantly surprised to find his arms still wrapped around her, his body cradling her fully, as she sat in his lap with their bodies flush from head to toe. With eyes still sealed, she nuzzled into his neck, her nose turning in to brush against the valley where his neck disappeared into his collar.
"We should probably get some actual sleep." His voice dripped with slumber; his breath warm in her ear.
She nodded against him, feeling the soft cotton of his t-shirt against her forehead. Slowly, reluctantly, she sat up, readjusted her body on the couch, and pulled the blanket off its back to cover her.
"What do you think you're doing?"
He looked so adorable, all half-asleep, one eye still pinched shut and standing above her, the base of his abdomen showing a little as he pulled his arms behind his head to stretch.
"Uhm, going to bed?" she giggled, pulling her feet up onto the couch and clutching the blanket in both hands.
"Uh uh, nope. Nice try, slick. Let's go."
"You are too tall to sleep on this couch!"
Her laughter was fuller now as he pulled her into a standing position, playfully pulling her by the arm until she was standing at the foot of his bed, the blanket dragging behind her. His grasp on her arm remained as they stood there in the dark, eyes meeting and parting, meeting and parting. She tugged her bottom lip between her teeth, lost herself in the forest green of his eyes, and wrapped her arms around his back, holding herself tightly to his chest. He immediately reciprocated, finding it so easy to envelope her completely, so natural to fit her head under his chin. They swayed side to side like that, completely engulfing one another, until she finally propped her chin on his chest and tilted her head back, eyes yearning.
"Stay with me tonight. Please?"
He responded without words, but instead with his lips lingering softly and tenderly against her forehead, his large hands cradling the small of her back. Slowly, he let his fingers drift along her body to snag her fingers in his, and he tugged her to the side of the bed while he lifted the covers with the other hand. She fit so perfectly spooned in front of him. He loved the feel of her body pressed against his so flushly, her curls dancing in his nostrils, the slight pulse of her chest as she breathed in and out. No matter where they stood tonight, she was here. Nuzzling her nose against his bicep, with fingers wrapped around his forearm, breath slowing, eyelashes fluttering.
Wearing his t-shirt.
She was here.
And as her consciousness faded into dreams that would surely never live up to awakeness, she smiled.
