Rating: T
Title: The War Between Heavy and Light
Summary: Ryan has no regrets.
Disclaimer: I have no affiliation with The Office or Death Cab for Cutie

Here I rest
Where Disappointment and Regret
Lying awake at night.

He stirs in his sleep, and throws his arm over the girl lying next to him.

Only she's not there. He opens his eyes and rolls onto his side, staring hard at the empty space. If he squints tightly enough, he can almost…

Groaning, he rolls back over to rest flat on his back. He shuts his eyes tightly.

He wakes himself up humming. The song is 'Fergalicious', and the sound he's producing is high-pitched. He's woken to this sound before, but it had been different. There had been legs wrapped around his waist, and a head lying on his chest, and a pleasant sort of wiggling accompanying the song.

Obviously, he prefers how it is now. He just can't help but remember.

He hears a noise and jolts out of sleep. His hand reaches for the phone and hits the speed dial number one almost of its own accord.

He holds his breath as his sleep-fogged mind clears, but doesn't hang up.

The phone rings once before it goes to voice mail, and the knowledge that she had the nerve to hit the 'ignore' button shakes him in a fundamental way.

"Hi!!!!!!!!!!! I'm really busy, so… Oh yeah, I forgot! You've reached—"

He hangs up, and throws his phone against the wall. The sound of plastic being destroyed pleases him for a second, and then he regrets it.

It's the only thing he regrets, though. He pulls the covers over his head without checking for the intruder.

A low moan escapes his lips as he struggles into consciousness. A feeling of intense pleasure washes over him, and he smiles.

His hips are moving up and down, and it reminds him of another time he woke in a similar situation.

There's a familiar smell in his nose, and for a split second, he can hear a breathy sighing above him.

His eyes pop open, and stare at the blank ceiling. Part of his vision is obscured by a thin, white bit of material. Feeling thoroughly disgusted with himself, he grabs the sweater and crumples it in his hand in a way that will give it terrible wrinkles. The strong smell of Sarah Jessica Parker's 'Angel' lingers, hovering over his face like a cloak.

She always wore too goddamn much perfume.

He looks down and finally notices his left hand, pressing a heart shaped pillow to his lower region.

He doesn't know what he had been thinking when he had pulled these ancient artifacts from their hiding place in his closet. He had been lonely, he supposes. He had needed something to remind him that there was someone who cared. Or, rather, there used to be someone who cared. That was all.

Still, he thinks, staring down at his throbbing erection.

He ignores the fact that his right hand is still clutching the sweater as he jerks off. It doesn't mean anything that he can only come after he's buried his face in white cashmere. He hardly notices.

He smiles as he opens his eyes, reaching over and grabbing the little ball of fur mewing softly beside him.

He pulls it onto his chest, stroking its dark fur, and for a moment, he's happy.

Then it pisses on him, and he spends half the night lying awake listening to it cry, and he decides a cat is a pretty shitty substitute for a person.

Angela is so full of it sometimes… most of the time, really.

He's awake.


He feels like he hasn't slept in weeks, but it's only really been about five days.

His hand jerks towards his poorly repaired phone, but he holds himself back.

He's not calling Kelly. He's just not. He won't acknowledge the fact that she's wormed her way so far in that he can't sleep at night without her; without her insisting on singing him a lullaby, or pretending to be asleep so that she can roll on top of him, or waking him up just to tell him she thought of the perfect table setting for their reception… or rubbing his back until he was so relaxed he couldn't move, or laying on his chest all night, or waking him up just because he's so sexy when he sleeps that she can't wait until morning.

He feels angry with her for what she's done to him. She created a space in his life that he just can't seem to fill.

She weighed him down for so long that, now that he's rid of her, it feels wrong.

He feels too fucking light.

He thinks he might just float away, and no one would care.

She wouldn't care.