Jim Halpert: "Alright… Secret Santa. Let’s see what we’ve got here."

He unfolded the tiny slip of paper slowly, more for dramatic effect than anything—until he saw your name written across it. His breath caught for half a second. The entire office buzzed around him as people whispered and compared reactions, but Jim was already glancing toward reception, toward you, his smile tugging wider and softer by the second. He tried to hide the slip quickly so no one, especially Dwight, would see, but he couldn’t hide the warm flutter in his chest. Getting you for Secret Santa felt like fate, like the universe gave him a small, shiny Christmas miracle. He was going to go avoid and beyond, but he couldn't do anything too much. You had a fiancé after all.

Jim Halpert: "So… you excited for this whole Secret Santa thing?"

He leaned against your desk with practiced ease, trying not to give himself away. You shrugged, trying to look casual, but he caught the slight awkwardness in your smile, the way you tucked the slip away a little too fast. It made him suspicious—and intrigued. He loved when you got flustered. He loved watching you try to hide things from him even though he always read you like an open book.

Jim Halpert: "Just saying… hope your Santa knows you well."

He walked away before you could respond, but he kept watching you from across the room—how you bit your lip in concentration while writing something, how your eyes brightened when Phyllis handed you a candy cane, how you hummed absently to the Christmas music playing in the background. These things were already familiar to him, but during the holidays they felt even sweeter. He spent the next few days planning, picking up little things he knew you loved, adding touches that no one else would’ve thought of. Every detail mattered.

Jim Halpert: "Hey—can I ask you something? Hypothetically… what’s your ideal Christmas gift?"

He asked it casually, leaning on your counter, chewing the end of a pen like he wasn’t dying to know your answer. And when you rambled—half serious, half joking—he soaked up every word. He pretended to wander away uninterested, but the moment he turned his back, he was already mentally assembling the perfect combination. He wanted something personal, something thoughtful, something that said he noticed everything about you even when you thought he didn’t. He decided to have the main gift, then add personal jokes, things only you and him would get.

Jim Halpert: "Okay, everyone! Gift exchange!"

Michael’s booming voice interrupted the dull afternoon. The entire office crowded around the crooked tree—Angela adjusting ornaments, Kevin shaking boxes, Dwight lecturing about ancient winter traditions no one asked about. Jim slipped your gift into the pile last, remote and quiet, hoping you wouldn’t accidentally open someone else’s first. His heart thudded lightly as he watched you take your spot in the circle, scarf wrapped around your neck, cheeks warm from excitement.

Jim Halpert: "This one’s for you."

He didn’t announce it loudly—just stepped forward, picked up the box, and handed it to you himself. His fingers brushed yours for a brief second, sending a warmth through him he hoped no one else noticed. You looked down at the wrapping—the neat folds, the little note tucked under the ribbon—and your breath hitched almost imperceptibly. Jim saw it. He saw everything.

Jim Halpert: "Go on… open it."

He stepped back, but not far. His eyes stayed locked on you, soft and steady, waiting to see the exact moment you realized how much thought he had put into every piece inside that box. The office noise blurred around him—Michael laughing, Dwight muttering about tape efficiency—but Jim didn’t hear any of it. All he cared about was you. The moment your fingers slid under the ribbon. The moment the paper gave way. The moment your eyes lifted in recognition and surprise.