Office drabble: the ticket stub is in my back pocket
the ticket stub is in my back pocket
the office, pam/toby, pg, spoilers for traveling salesmen and the deleted scene. 394 words. four random drabbles.
“I really don’t like it,” he mumbles awkwardly, “The chai latte.”
I was adored once too.
William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night Act II, Sc. 3.
i. coffee mechanics
“I really don’t like it,” he mumbles awkwardly, “The chai latte.”
She blinks at his confession, leaning against the desk and watching him. He hates silences, the heaviness of them, and the vulnerability that he falls to. She says nothing still and he shifts, turning his gaze to the floor. He should’ve left it alone, he thinks (and tries not to sigh).
But her lips curl.
“I know.”
ii. somehow, car troubles find me
Today, is a bad day.
She drops a quarter on the tiled floor, cursing when it rolls underneath the stupid soda machine because she needs caffeine.
Pam growls, sliding to her knees and ignores the potential mortifying moment that could follow this- she does work at Dunder-Mifflin- because she doesn’t want to deal with it.
“Pam?”
She looks up, crying out when her head hits the corner (all she wanted was a coke). She might hear footsteps, but she’s too busy thinking she should’ve stayed home. Hands are in her hair, brushing against her face.
“You okay?” Toby’s voice rings in her ears.
She flushes. Check mortifying moment. “Yeah,” she manages. “I’m-”
His smile’s soft. “I’ll give you a ride home.”
Her laugh is filled with relief more than anything.
iii. finger-painting sundays
“What if she doesn’t like me?”
He looks up in surprise, brushing his fingers against her hip. Sasha’s due in about and hour and he’s- he doesn’t know.
There’s this overwhelming sense of wanting to fit her in this part of his life. This is really important to him. It might’ve been weeks ago when he decided, he really decided that he was going to open up again.
His fingers move to her cheek. “She’s going to like you,” he says quietly. “You have nothing to worry about.”
She gnaws at her lip but nods anyway, eventually brushing her lips against his jaw. He doesn’t know if he’s reassured her enough. But she’s still here.
She’s still here. And there’s going to be a new picture on his desk, next week.
iv. jim. and the signature of non-ex
“I’m happy for you,” he says, again in the parking lot (she’s convinced that Jim’s public-phobic), shuffling his shoes against the pavement. “Really Pam.”
She leans against Toby’s car. It’s a moment, just a moment, where she actually knows what to say.
“Good,” she murmurs.
end.
the office, pam/toby, pg, spoilers for traveling salesmen and the deleted scene. 394 words. four random drabbles.
“I really don’t like it,” he mumbles awkwardly, “The chai latte.”
I was adored once too.
William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night Act II, Sc. 3.
i. coffee mechanics
“I really don’t like it,” he mumbles awkwardly, “The chai latte.”
She blinks at his confession, leaning against the desk and watching him. He hates silences, the heaviness of them, and the vulnerability that he falls to. She says nothing still and he shifts, turning his gaze to the floor. He should’ve left it alone, he thinks (and tries not to sigh).
But her lips curl.
“I know.”
ii. somehow, car troubles find me
Today, is a bad day.
She drops a quarter on the tiled floor, cursing when it rolls underneath the stupid soda machine because she needs caffeine.
Pam growls, sliding to her knees and ignores the potential mortifying moment that could follow this- she does work at Dunder-Mifflin- because she doesn’t want to deal with it.
“Pam?”
She looks up, crying out when her head hits the corner (all she wanted was a coke). She might hear footsteps, but she’s too busy thinking she should’ve stayed home. Hands are in her hair, brushing against her face.
“You okay?” Toby’s voice rings in her ears.
She flushes. Check mortifying moment. “Yeah,” she manages. “I’m-”
His smile’s soft. “I’ll give you a ride home.”
Her laugh is filled with relief more than anything.
iii. finger-painting sundays
“What if she doesn’t like me?”
He looks up in surprise, brushing his fingers against her hip. Sasha’s due in about and hour and he’s- he doesn’t know.
There’s this overwhelming sense of wanting to fit her in this part of his life. This is really important to him. It might’ve been weeks ago when he decided, he really decided that he was going to open up again.
His fingers move to her cheek. “She’s going to like you,” he says quietly. “You have nothing to worry about.”
She gnaws at her lip but nods anyway, eventually brushing her lips against his jaw. He doesn’t know if he’s reassured her enough. But she’s still here.
She’s still here. And there’s going to be a new picture on his desk, next week.
iv. jim. and the signature of non-ex
“I’m happy for you,” he says, again in the parking lot (she’s convinced that Jim’s public-phobic), shuffling his shoes against the pavement. “Really Pam.”
She leans against Toby’s car. It’s a moment, just a moment, where she actually knows what to say.
“Good,” she murmurs.
end.