Jim Halpert was in love with Pam Beesley.
Or so he thought.
That was until the most beautiful man imaginable walked in the front door.
The notorious Michael Scott, regional manager, stepped out of his office, party poppers in hand, and brought the handsome feller forward, triggering the poppers in a smoky blast of confetti and string.
"Ladies and gents... Meet Ryan Howard."
-x-
[ONE WEEK LATER...]
"Hello, Jimbles," said a familiar, monotone voice.
Jim said nothing, but only sighed, burying his face in his palms.
"Make any sales today?" The voice continued.
"Dwight, not now," he grumbled, his voice muffled by his hands.
"Gee, I wonder what could be stopping the legend Jimothy Halpert from doing his job, considering he's scarcely visited the sexy receptionist Pam Beesley's desk at all in the past week," hissed Dwight, a sarcastic sting in his voice, "could it be he's been too busy jerking his meat?"
Jim clenched his fist. "Dwight, I'd thank you kindly to please stop."
Dwight bore his teeth, which were ruddy with the red tinge of beet juice. "Never! I will stop at nothing to see you fail!"
Jim said nothing, only stared, deadpan, into the camera for approximately 10 seconds, before an idea befell him. He gripped his stapler in hand, and rose from his chair, sauntering over to Dwight's desk, kitty corner beside him.
"Jim? Jim?! What are you doing?! Jim- Stop! Jim!" Swight protested as Jim swiftly swiped Dwight's tie, wrapped it around his face, and stapled it secure, acting as a gag in Dwight's mouth. Muffled, he screamed, "MICHAEL?!?!" and lept from his desk, sprinting to the confines of Michael Scott's office.
Jim followed in close pursuit.
"Michael!" Dwight called, whipping the door open. "I order you to terminate Jim Halpert at once," he demanded, choking on the tie in his mouth.
"I'm not going to fire Jim," Michael sighed.
Dwight frantically tore the tie from his face and slammed it against the ground. "No, Michael, I do not want him fired. I want him executed." Jim only smirked.
"Alright, alright, what's goings ons?" Michael sighed.
"Jim Halpert must pay for his insolence. He has gone too far this time. Also, he hasn't made a single sale all week, since you hired that pretty boy temp."
"Alright, that's not true," Jim grunted.
"Listen," Michael began, scarcely paying attention, for he was too engrossed in his computer screen, upon which the facebook profile of Jan Levinson-Gould was pulled up, "I'm really busy right now, guys, okay? So, I can't help you. It's clear that you two have issues, and I think only you two can work this out amongst yourselves. So, I order you to the closet, and you're not to come out until you settle your differences."
"NO!" Dwight protested, "I refuse to enter a secluded location with this man. It is too convenient a location for him to stab multiple times, possibly to death."
"What would I stab you with?" Jim rolled his eyes.
"Uh, there are a number of objects scattered about the office that can be used for stabbing, e.g. pencils, scissors... STAPLES...."
"I don't think I can kill you with staples, Dwight."
"False, a staple can be used to slice open an artery, leaving me to slowly bleed to death."
