Ding Dong

Chapter One: The Day After

Pam Beesly arrived at the office like someone stepping into a room she no longer belonged to.

Her smile—usually soft, reflexive—came late that morning, and when it did, it never quite reached her eyes. She moved through the familiar maze of desks with careful politeness, nodding at greetings, murmuring hellos, her cardigan pulled tighter around herself as though the air itself had changed overnight.

Roy was already there.

They didn’t speak. Not really.

Their eyes met once, briefly, an awkward collision that ended as quickly as it began. Roy shifted in his chair, jaw tight, fingers drumming against his desk like he was waiting for a bell to ring. Pam busied herself with her computer, clicking aimlessly, pretending that Jim wasn’t supposed to be sitting two desks away. Pretending Stamford hadn’t taken more than just a boyfriend.

From the warehouse doorway, Glenn noticed everything.

He was leaning against a stack of boxes, wiping his hands on a rag, watching the strange stiffness between the two of them. He’d seen couples fight before—heard raised voices echo through loading bays, watched reconciliations happen over cigarette breaks. But this was different. Quiet. Final.

Later, when Roy wandered toward the break room, Glenn followed casually, timing it like he hadn’t been watching all morning.

“Hey,” Glenn said, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. “You and Pam good?”

Roy scoffed, the sound sharp and humorless. “Nah. We’re done.”

Glenn raised an eyebrow, unsmiling. “You don’t say.”

Roy shrugged, suddenly interested in the vending machine. “She called it off. Guess that’s that.”

Glenn nodded slowly, the words settling somewhere behind his eyes. He didn’t say anything else—just took a long drink of water and watched Roy walk away, shoulders tense, pride bruised.

The rest of the day dragged.

By evening, Glenn’s shirt clung to his back, damp with sweat and dust. His arms ached pleasantly from lifting, his muscles heavy and warm beneath his skin. The office was winding down when he stepped into the corridor near the conference rooms, heading for the exit.

That’s when he heard it.

Soft. Broken. Someone trying very hard not to cry.

Pam stood near the window at the end of the hall, her back to the door, hands pressed to her face. Her shoulders trembled, and the quietness of her sobs made them feel heavier somehow.

Glenn hesitated only a second before speaking.

“Hey… Pam?”

She startled, quickly wiping her cheeks, forcing a smile that collapsed almost immediately. “Oh. Hi, Glenn. I’m sorry—I didn’t think anyone was—”

“It’s okay,” he said gently, stepping closer but not crowding her. His voice was low, steady. “You don’t have to apologize for… feeling stuff.”

That did it.

Her breath hitched, and suddenly the tears were back, spilling over as she shook her head. “I just—everything feels so stupid right now.”

Glenn nodded, understanding more than he let on. “Yeah. Breaks can do that. Make the whole place feel… wrong.”

She laughed weakly through tears. “That obvious, huh?”

“Only to people paying attention,” he murmured.

Without really deciding to, Pam stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.

It was instinct. Needing something solid.

Glenn froze for half a heartbeat before his arms came up around her, firm and careful, enclosing her like he’d been built for exactly this. She pressed her face into his chest, her tears darkening the fabric of his shirt, and he could feel her breathing slowly start to match his.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, close to her hair. “You’re gonna be okay. You’re stronger than you think.”

His warmth seeped into her—the heat of a body that had worked hard all day, the quiet strength in the way he held her without trying to change anything. She noticed the breadth of his shoulders, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek, how safe it felt to lean there.

For a moment too long, she didn’t want to let go.

Then awareness crept in. The wrongness. The closeness.

Pam pulled back gently, hands lingering for a second before dropping away. She looked up at him, eyes red but grateful, her voice soft. “Thank you. Really. I needed that.”

Glenn smiled, easy and warm. “Anytime.”

She nodded, took a steadying breath, and walked away down the corridor, her steps lighter than before.

Glenn stood there for a moment after she disappeared, then glanced down at his shirt. He lifted the fabric slightly, inhaled—the faint scent of her shampoo mixed with salt and cotton.

A slow smile tugged at his lips.

He let the shirt fall back into place and headed out, already thinking about tomorrow.