Title: time moves slow when half of your heart is yet to come home

Fandom: The Office.

Pairing: Dwight/Angela

Rating: G.

Words: ~500

Summary: The thing is, she's unhappy.

"We have wasted too much of our lives ignoring the fact that we belong together," is what Dwight says, and Angela's chest tightens with something she can't explain. Pain, love—she's not sure there's much of a difference, these days.

Dwight's expression is open, honest. His gaze direct and intense to a point that's almost unnerving. Angela stares up at him, listens as he continues his speech. His plea. As he says I want to spend them with you.

And, well. She knows what she should say. She always knows what she should say, and perhaps that makes it worse. She should tell Dwight no, should mention the Senator, her husband. Should say she made a vow—one she intends to keep, no matter what the state of their marriage is. But… well. She doesn't say it. She stares at Dwight, the words stuck in her throat, clogged alongside unshed tears and unspoken admissions, and she doesn't say it.

The thing is, she's unhappy. Has been for a while, now, but not today. Not here. Not when she's with Dwight. So even though she knows she should say it, she can't. Doesn't want to. If she does, she'll have to walk away—will have to go home and greet the Senator with cold detachment and play the dutiful wife while they avoid the conversations they need to have. She'll look after Philip and go to bed and wake up the next morning to do the exact same thing; will go through the motions the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that. Will stay unhappy—her life one of missed opportunity. An unsatisfactory situation she'd brought upon herself.

But if she takes up Dwight's offer, if she stays...

"Well?"

Dwight's hand is still curled around her wrist, his fingers warm to touch. Angela drops her gaze to look at their hands, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Slowly, as if caught in slow motion, she turns her wrist so her palm is facing upwards, so sliding her hand forward and taking hold of Dwight's is easy. When she looks back up, there's hope on Dwight's face, his expression one of uncertain excitement.

"Yes?" he asks, voice full of poorly veiled optimism, and Angela smiles. Grins with a breathless, watery laugh.

"Yes," she says, and Dwight's expression matches her own.

To fall forward—to lean into each other, to grab hold of each other—is easy. Is natural the way it's always been. Dwight's arms wrap around her waist, solid and safe and secure, and Angela reaches up, brushes her hands across Dwight's shoulders, down his arms as their lips meet: the kiss wet and desperate and full of longing.

She'll have to leave eventually, but for now, this is enough.