Office ficlet: we are all tony bennett songs - secretly
we are all tony bennett songs - secretly
pam. toby/pam - ish. general spoilers. and when there’s a bar too. 598 words. pg.
toby’s more of an end-of-the-bar kind of guy
-
Toby’s more of an end-of-the-bar kind of guy, she’s not noticing, the sullen curl of his fingers around the neck of his beer.
She looks away twice and then back, watching the way his hands seem to tense and relax, but mainly tense because there’s a crowd. There’s always a crowd at Poor Richard’s, this time, same time, and she’s back to being distracted by Jim laughing next to her. She’s faint in acknowledgment, a tap of her fingers against his wrist to signal a break.
“Want something?” Fancy and new, Pam is still Pam, the little press of her teeth against her lip; it’s that habit, she can’t help, “From the bar?”
There’s an answer with his fingers against her leg, absent as he laughs again - Kevin’s sorta funny, she guesses. It could be late. She doesn’t stay though, to grab a nod, turning away from the table of her co-workers - say that with a straight face - and edging towards her curiosity. It’s habit still, too, to shift her arms up around her chest. This’ll take her a little longer to get rid of. But whatever, yeah? Fancy and new.
“So hey,” she greets him at the bar.
Toby smiles faintly, unmoving. He sighs and then his fingers start to tap against the top, one and two, one and two. What they should do, Pam thinks, is mark adulthood as high school for grown ups, like the second coming, because she feels ridiculously vulnerable with or without principle. She’s just standing here. And it’s only been a second.
“Hey Pam.” - It’s slower, a quick tip of his bottle to his mouth, and she almost forgets that it’s a strained greeting.
She’s slow too, almost too prim as she slides herself onto a stool, not close enough to be overly curious - is she curious?
“You’re not sitting with us.”
There’s another sigh, a turn of his shoulders, and she’s missing something, grasping no sense of recognition. Toby is like that, though, the corners are his and in that way, he seems to drift further into separation. It’s not like she blames him though. She’s starting to question her sanity in this office.
“I’ll -” He stops, bringing the beer to his mouth again. He doesn’t finish though.
There’s a loud roar of laughter, another table, but they both turn - Jim flashes a grin her way and she passes back an affectionate amusement, the new habit of admission. She likes it. She hates it. It’s about getting used to it, her mom says.
Toby’s shifting though, in the middle of distraction, and he takes the stool next to hers as she looks over to him.
“You -” He stops again, his cheeks pink. “How’s the art?”
She turns in surprise, “Uh,” her fingers drop to her lap, “Um -”
He remembered? Good, she could say. Awesome. She’s added more classes. Just two, being cautiously optimistic. Jim’s been trying to get her drunk and paint a mural in his apartment - yeah. No. Just don’t ask.
She swallows. “Fine. Busy.”
It really doesn’t mean much and he’s watching her in disappointment. She doesn’t understand, but they’re past this, right?
Right? - she has to stop because whatever it mean is a phrase too ahead, too soon, and she’s really not sure where to put it. She does it, a lot actually, always stepping head of herself even without realizing. She cuts her thoughts short and thin, sliding off the stool.
“M’gonna head back,” she says slowly, catching herself - she almost slips.
He says nothing, raising his glass.
+
pam. toby/pam - ish. general spoilers. and when there’s a bar too. 598 words. pg.
toby’s more of an end-of-the-bar kind of guy
-
Toby’s more of an end-of-the-bar kind of guy, she’s not noticing, the sullen curl of his fingers around the neck of his beer.
She looks away twice and then back, watching the way his hands seem to tense and relax, but mainly tense because there’s a crowd. There’s always a crowd at Poor Richard’s, this time, same time, and she’s back to being distracted by Jim laughing next to her. She’s faint in acknowledgment, a tap of her fingers against his wrist to signal a break.
“Want something?” Fancy and new, Pam is still Pam, the little press of her teeth against her lip; it’s that habit, she can’t help, “From the bar?”
There’s an answer with his fingers against her leg, absent as he laughs again - Kevin’s sorta funny, she guesses. It could be late. She doesn’t stay though, to grab a nod, turning away from the table of her co-workers - say that with a straight face - and edging towards her curiosity. It’s habit still, too, to shift her arms up around her chest. This’ll take her a little longer to get rid of. But whatever, yeah? Fancy and new.
“So hey,” she greets him at the bar.
Toby smiles faintly, unmoving. He sighs and then his fingers start to tap against the top, one and two, one and two. What they should do, Pam thinks, is mark adulthood as high school for grown ups, like the second coming, because she feels ridiculously vulnerable with or without principle. She’s just standing here. And it’s only been a second.
“Hey Pam.” - It’s slower, a quick tip of his bottle to his mouth, and she almost forgets that it’s a strained greeting.
She’s slow too, almost too prim as she slides herself onto a stool, not close enough to be overly curious - is she curious?
“You’re not sitting with us.”
There’s another sigh, a turn of his shoulders, and she’s missing something, grasping no sense of recognition. Toby is like that, though, the corners are his and in that way, he seems to drift further into separation. It’s not like she blames him though. She’s starting to question her sanity in this office.
“I’ll -” He stops, bringing the beer to his mouth again. He doesn’t finish though.
There’s a loud roar of laughter, another table, but they both turn - Jim flashes a grin her way and she passes back an affectionate amusement, the new habit of admission. She likes it. She hates it. It’s about getting used to it, her mom says.
Toby’s shifting though, in the middle of distraction, and he takes the stool next to hers as she looks over to him.
“You -” He stops again, his cheeks pink. “How’s the art?”
She turns in surprise, “Uh,” her fingers drop to her lap, “Um -”
He remembered? Good, she could say. Awesome. She’s added more classes. Just two, being cautiously optimistic. Jim’s been trying to get her drunk and paint a mural in his apartment - yeah. No. Just don’t ask.
She swallows. “Fine. Busy.”
It really doesn’t mean much and he’s watching her in disappointment. She doesn’t understand, but they’re past this, right?
Right? - she has to stop because whatever it mean is a phrase too ahead, too soon, and she’s really not sure where to put it. She does it, a lot actually, always stepping head of herself even without realizing. She cuts her thoughts short and thin, sliding off the stool.
“M’gonna head back,” she says slowly, catching herself - she almost slips.
He says nothing, raising his glass.
+