Chapter Text
02: full-body gentle shutdown ((watching it felt like forever))
Mike’s hold on him is still warm and unwavering when Harvey gives up on sleep shortly after four o’clock. His brain is working overtime, thoughts tumbling over each other, leaving only chaos. His heart is racing along with them and won’t be persuaded to calm down, no matter how many deep breaths he takes; no matter how much he tries to focus on the feel of Mike’s skin against his, the warmth he’s sharing so freely, forehead pressed between Harvey’s shoulders.
He tries to focus on all the good things that rest glowing in his chest anyway — gratefulness, affection, warmth, all of them held in place by Mike’s hand, limp and fragile but with no other place it could ever belong. He tries. But beside the glow of emotion is a gaping hole that grows deeper and darker with every passing second that he can’t fall back asleep; every passing second that he tries to understand what happened, what went wrong, and how he can fix it.
His mind is playing a montage of twelve years of friendship, readily giving him the Best Of Harvey And Donna, leaving him feeling hollowed out in a way he hasn’t in a long time. A way he shouldn’t have to feel. Aren’t adults supposed to just take it and get over these things without feeling like their heart just got broken after a twelve-year relationship, after they built their whole entire life around one person? This pain, wasn’t it always reserved for teenagers? Or, if not, isn’t it reserved for lovers?
Oh, but he loves her. So much. And she knows. She knows. And she also knows about his issues, knows that she can’t just leave him — not like this, not when everything’s supposed to be looking up now. Finally, finally looking up. With Mike’s secret no longer hanging over them, his suppressed feelings no longer dragging him into spirals of panicked doubt and fear of rejection. With his and Louis’s names finally both on the wall. With the firm somehow still intact, PSL’s own pro bono clinic for Mike to head, and the world somehow still spinning.
This was supposed to be it.
And Donna was supposed to be there with him. Right there by his side. She has worked for all of this just like he has — hell, he couldn’t have done it, any of this, without her. And she knows. She knows.
Harvey never anticipated a time where knowing something wouldn’t be enough. Especially with Donna.
God, he loves her so much.
He can’t picture himself going to work today and not having her around. Or, having her around but not in the way that he wants her, needs her to be. I need to not be Donna for a while. I don’t want to leave you, Harvey. I never wanna leave you.
But you are, he tells her in his thoughts, the montage in his mind changing. They are no longer in that upscale bar from five years ago, when Mike came to work with them and Donna wanted to know how he was doing. Where Harvey first told her that the kid is growing on him. Where Donna smiled into her drink, like she’d known the day Mike had stumbled into that suite, rumpled and panicked, out of breath and high on adrenaline. A suitcase full of pot.
Scenery and light become muted, darker, everything covered in vulnerability of late-night conversation. They’re in his office, the same way they were countless times — when she told him about Stephen, when she cried after his betrayal, when something happened to her dad, when a date went horribly and she knew he was still at the office and needed a drink.
So then what kind of bullshit is all of this?
She sighs in his head, and the montage changes again. They’re on her couch this time. In another life he had just told her that Anyone else ever loses faith in me, it doesn’t matter. But with you it’s different. And she had looked like she wanted to say something else before apologising and promising that she wouldn’t lose faith in him again. He had pulled her into a hug in that life, and she had leaned into him, both of them acting the way they always did when they didn’t want to be caught being vulnerable.
Montage-Donna apologises again, and they’re back in his office, but not on the couch. There’s a table between them, but it might as well be a chasm. I’m sorry, Harvey. He wants to scream. He doesn’t. He turns to his record collection and suddenly it’s daylight and his office is not his office at all, and he just heard news about his dad and the stupid goddamn heart attack that took away the best man he knew. Donna was there then. And she’s there now.
And Harvey wonders, darkly and viciously, if that was only because she had feelings for him. Because she was in love with him. He wonders if she was ever really his friend or if that imbalance has always been there, tainting what they had with hopes and dreams and unrequited feelings he was entirely oblivious to. Or, no, he wasn’t oblivious. He had confronted her. They had talked about this. And still she had lied. Again and again, she had lied.
I am not in love with you.
Somehow, that hurts the most. It shouldn’t. It’s stupid and infantile and, really, how well would that have gone down? But still. It spins, everything spins, and he’s running in circles until he’s questioned everything and run himself into the ground with his ruminations.
I am not in love with you.
You are a liar.
It’s exhausting and he tries to redirect his thoughts somewhere else, tries to get over it because he’s a grown goddamn man and people leave and people lie and it’s no big deal.
And a coward.
But it doesn’t work, because he knows he’s lying to himself. It is a big deal. The biggest fucking deal that reaches deep into his chest, tearing and clawing at what it finds there to rip it out and leave it unrecognisable.
And I forgive you.
But he doesn’t just ache for himself. He aches for her, too, loathing the fact that he never put two and two together. Hating the thought of her having all these feelings with nowhere to put them. Aching at the thought of her feeling scared and alone, unwilling to tell him, brave enough to face them on her own but never brave enough to tell him. Brave enough to have replacement interviews behind his back, to talk to Louis and Jessica before approaching him at the very last second, but barely brave enough to get the words out.
And I’m sorry.
Maybe it was never bravery at all. Desperation is more like it. And he hates, he hates that he put it there. The helplessness and desperation, they’re wearing his name and face. And he never meant to hurt Donna.
Please come back.
Maybe it’s a good thing she’s leaving him. Maybe he’s taken enough from her.
He just wishes that there was a way for her to leave him without him having to lose her.
It occurs him that what she’s doing might be her version of trying that. It also occurs to him that it doesn’t make a difference. Because Donna is gone. Donna has left him. And there’s no way to fight for her without increasing her pain, her guilt, her helplessness.
And he’d rather cut off his own arm than do that to her in full awareness of her feelings now. All that means is that there is no out for them, there is no way for him to fix this, fix any of this, so long as Donna hasn’t healed from this. From the past twelve years. The thought of of truly, deeply tears him apart. It makes his eyes sting worse than before, and he has to close his eyes against the room. Not to sleep, just to hide. To find comfort in the darkness rather than accusation.
Unfortunately, there is no comfort in the darkness for him tonight. It’s almost five a.m. when he curls in on himself and clenches his eyes shut against the spiral of guilt, self loathing and desperation. The breath that was supposed to be slow and measured, filling out his lungs to the max and staying there for six, seven, eight seconds comes in three shaky attempts instead, and he tries again and again and again until a gentle, soothing voice talks him through it. It’s no longer the montage, nor is it the taunting voice of a not-quite memory. It’s a hand on his cheek and a voice full of warmth and security telling him that he had a bad dream, that he’s okay, that he can do it, take a breath, slow and steady, come on, sweetheart.
Harvey wants to shove him off and yell that it doesn’t work, that he can’t breathe, that that’s the fucking problem! But somehow he can’t move — not away from Mike and not toward him, because he’s mortified and he’s paralysed and he’s fucking petrified and he he can’t fucking breathe.
“Harvey,” Mike whispers, and he has to strain his ears to hear them over the frantic attempts to get some air. “Harvey. I’ve got you. It’s okay, you’re fine. You’re safe. Come on, Harvey, I’ve got you.”
At some point it stops being horrible.
Mike’s holding him and Harvey’s embarrassed but his lungs are working and he survived this one. He’s fine. He’s safe.
His cheeks are burning and he hates this. Feeling small and fragile, he hates it more than anything.
Mike doesn’t ask what it was about because he never does, and because they both know it was about Donna and Harvey’s abandonment issues. He only asks him if he needs anything; water or something sweet to battle the adrenaline crash.
Harvey just shakes his head and pushes back the duvet. He doesn’t look at Mike, because even through the darkness he doesn’t want to expose himself like that. Doesn’t want Mike to see his face right now.
It’s only when he rummages through the closet, that Mike perks up from the bed, his voice small and concerned.
“Where’re you going?”
“For a run,” Harvey says curtly, blinking away the images of Donna, hating how the dark is the best canvas, but he won’t do Mike the disservice of turning on the light. Maybe he can fall back asleep for a while. “I need some air.”
Mike hums in acknowledgement and asks him to be careful.
He doesn’t meet Mike’s eyes when he gets dressed, doesn’t go back for a kiss before he leaves, doesn’t say how long he’s going to run for. He has two hours before they have to leave if they don’t want to face an angry Jessica. That’s enough time for a 10k — maybe more if he speeds through it. Maybe that’s what he needs. A real reason to have trouble breathing, a real burn in his lungs with something to show for it.
He closes the door behind him and fiddles his earphones beneath his sweater before plugging them into his iPod and selecting his running playlist.
The cold morning air hits his face with a violent breeze like it wants to ask him what he’s doing here, like it is confused he’s out here so early and not up there with Mike, and like it dares him to turn around and talk. But Harvey was never great at taking dares of mockery, so he pulls up the hood of his sweater and sets a fast pace, heading for Central Park because it feels like neutral ground.
It works to shut up his brain after mile three.
Unfortunately, the relief of running from his problems is only ever short-lived, and when he returns around half past six, refreshed and clear-headed isn’t what he really feels. The thought of Mike all alone in his condo, unable to fall back asleep after Harvey left so suddenly leaves a bitter sense of guilt in his chest, and he all but runs back home with a bagel in hand and an apology on his lips. He didn’t mean to push Mike away or shut him out, he just needed to get away. Not from Mike, though. Not really. Just away.
He hopes rather desperately that Mike didn’t just book it, heading back to his place or straight to the firm to get an early start and away from the dreary morning; from the loneliness lurking in every corner of Harvey’s home. He hopes rather desperately that his need to get away wasn’t contagious.
His hands shake slightly, clenching around the key as he fits it into the lock to open his door — and he almost sags in relief when he hears Mike working his coffee machine. He shuts the door gently this time, the tightness in his chest alleviated by the fact that Mike is still here; he didn’t leave, and Harvey’s not too late.
Still, he feels like shit.
“Hey,” he says quietly, walking into the condo and rounding the corner with a sense of apprehension, worried at what he might find on Mike’s face, but not sure yet which expression would be the worst.
But there’s only a smile when he turns around, a bottle of water already waiting for him next to a freshly brewed cup of coffee on the counter.
“Hi,” Mike says, watching him carefully. He’s looking for something to say, Harvey can tell, with the way he’s leaning back against the counter, hands firmly wrapped around his own horrendously large mug. Or maybe he has a whole catalogue of things to say, because Harvey gave him plenty of alone thinking time, and is now weighing the pros and cons, picking his best option because the kid usually has everything to say and no sense to bite his tongue — especially around Harvey.
He’s tempted to just watch the spectacle that is Mike Ross’s Early Morning Thinking Face, then considers putting him out of his elective misery, when finally Mike seems to settle on the least problematic option.
“Enjoy your run?”
It doesn’t come out as an accusation or with a particularly well hidden sense of scathing reprimand, so Harvey relaxes a little. There’s still concern in Mike’s gaze and he’s holding his own cup of coffee a little too tightly, a little too deliberately, making it obvious to the whole world that — while genuine — that is not at all what he wants to ask Harvey right now.
Still, he takes his opportunities where they present themselves, and hums an affirmative. His voice is raspy from disuse, though, and the hum comes out as more of a rumble, deep and sonorous. It was entirely unintended, but it’s like a flip has switched between them.
Mike inhales sharply, his eyes trail down his body following the lines of sweat on his torso, and if Harvey stands a little straighter only to watch Mike’s breath catch for a second time, then that is nobody’s business but his own.
He grabs the water and opens it, slowly walking around the counter until he’s in front of Mike where he finally takes several blissful gulps. Some of the water might actually spill. Mike’s eyes are on him the entire time, and he breathes a little deeper with Harvey all but crowding him against the counter. Harvey can’t help the smile that spreads his lips — this, he knows how to do. This, he knows how to savour.
He places the now empty bottle on the counter behind Mike, crowding into his personal space even more. His system is still fired up, but breathing in Mike is so much better than going for a run to clear his head.
He leans in for a kiss, trailing his nose along Mike’s cheekbone before sealing their lips with a featherlight touch. “Come shower with me.”
“I already showered,” Mike murmurs, leaning in to nip at Harvey’s chin, then up his jaw to his ear.
Harvey hums, turning his head slightly to grant him better access. “Then it’s good that we’ll save some water together.”
“That’s not how that works.”
“Isn’t it?”
Mike laughs against him in amusement, and Harvey captures the sound with his mouth, claiming Mike’s lips in a real kiss this time, deep and slow and real.
“Actually, maybe it is,” Mike concedes breathlessly when Harvey pulls back, his eyes still closed, half smile still on his lips. God, he is so beautiful. It takes everything in Harvey not to kiss him again and just breathe him in. “We should find out, I’d say.”
“I knew there was a reason they called you a genius.”
Mike laughs again and shoves him into the direction of the bathroom — and just like that, the heaviness of the morning is all but forgotten, and the guilt is washed away by waves of warm affection and a feeling of safety by the name of Mike Ross. It’s an evasion more beautiful than his usual techniques, and Mike allows him to indulge. Harvey makes sure to make it worth his while.
The relief lasts for another hour, paling and blurring with every minute they spend in the back of the Lexus getting closer to the firm. It’s like fog rolling in over previously glowing fields, leaving him cold and heavy after a while. A fog so thick it clouds even Mike’s expression where Harvey can feel it on him, pretending not to notice as he flips through the notifications on his phone.
“How are you feeling?” Mike asks eventually, and Harvey wants to laugh in his face. He wants to roll his eyes and tell him to mind his own business, to not worry about him, to take his caring and his concern and to just shove it, because he’s fine, he’ll be fine, everything is fine.
He doesn’t.
He locks his phone and looks at Mike after a second or two. He feels tired and exhausted not only from the lack of sleep and the half marathon he almost ran, but from the emotional rollercoaster that is his life in the past twenty-four hours alone. And that’s not even starting on the absolute wreck that this whole year has been. He feels petrified at the thought of walking into the firm he knows and loves this morning and not have Donna there with him for the first time ever of her own volition. She’s been gone before, but never like this. Never because she chose to do so. Never because of something Harvey couldn’t get her out of.
He feels empty and hollow and goddamn betrayed because Donna talked to Jessica and Louis before she talked to him, and they let her make a decision that affected Harvey’s everything without consulting him first. This should have been his choice as well. He should have gotten the courtesy of a heads-up. She is his best friend after all. Is she? Or, was she? Maybe that was one-sided as well.
The thought leaves a bitterness in his mouth he can’t even swallow.
But right here, in the back of the familiar Lexus, looking into those familiar steel blue eyes that constantly ask permission to search his soul for something or other, Harvey also feels… glad. That Mike’s here with him.
Now he just needs to find a way to tell him what happened between him and Donna without giving Mike the chance to spin it into some kind of guilt-trip story about how all of this is his fault and how he’s going to fix this by leaving the firm or the country or some shit. And that’s just gonna be a fucking walk in the park, isn’t it?
So, how’s he feeling?
“I don’t know,” he says honestly, reaching for Mike’s hand as a peace offering. An apology.
Mike nods and laces their fingers together, but he looks down, watching them instead of Harvey now. Acceptance and hesitation in one. That’s fair.
“Don’t lie to me?”
“I’m not,” Harvey says, turning his body towards Mike fully. “I swear. I just… I don’t know. It’s a lot. A whole fucking lot, and I don’t even wanna think about it. If I think about it, I’ll… I don’t wanna think about it.” He squeezes their hands and Mike looks up, his eyes full of worry and concern that always weigh heavily on Harvey. He hates when Mike worries about him. It’s only ever supposed to be the other way around — when will Mike understand that?
But he can hardly say that. He can hardly say anything anymore.
“But I’m not lying to you. I just…”
“Need time,” Mike finishes for him, and it’s a peace offering on its own. Harvey smiles, lifting their joined hands to his lips and brushing a kiss to Mike’s knuckles.
“Patience,” Harvey says — because patience is always worth more than time alone. Time is lonely; patience is quiet company.
Mike’s finger comes up to stroke his cheek, and Harvey leans into it with a quiet hum.
“Patience,” comes a gentle murmur then, but there’s an undertone in there that Harvey doesn’t know if he’s imagining or not. An undertone that sounds like Mike calls him out on the irony of his statement — You, Harvey Specter, ask for patience? He swallows, and Mike hums. “I’ve never been good at that.”
And it’s supposed to be a joke; it’s supposed to lighten the mood, Harvey knows. But it hangs in the air between them, burning itself into his mind to build his game plan around. It becomes the prime directive, it becomes a weight that settles right there in the centre of his chest, dealing damage to his shields and leaving him disarmed and vulnerable.
Try, he doesn’t say. He doesn’t say anything more after that, just goes back to his phone, his hand still secure in Mike’s hold as he idly fiddles with his fingers going through his own emails and notifications. He tries to convince himself that today isn’t the beginning of the end, no matter how adamant it is at leaving that impression.
He tries to convince himself that everything will be fine.
Against his expectations, the building housing the firm is still there. Hasn’t gone up in smoke, hasn’t imploded with some kind of cosmic imbalance just because his worst fear has come true and he has to somehow deal with it now like it’s nothing at all. The tower is grand as ever, tall and looming against the dull grey sky, the clouds too thick and stubborn to let the sun through yet.
For the first time since his first day as an associate, Harvey stands at the curb and looks up, all the way to the top of the building. And for the first time since then, too, he feels his own size in relation to the tower. He feels small. In way over his head.
It’s only there for a few seconds, before Mike’s door falls shut and Ray drives off, before Mike’s hand finds the small of his back in reassurance.
“Alright?” he asks stupidly.
“Yeah,” Harvey answers stupidly.
Neither of them moves for another minute, before Harvey swallows the lump on his throat, plasters on an unaffected masque and walks away from Mike’s warmth, trusting that the man will keep up, trusting that he knows Harvey will savour that warmth until he can have it back tonight.
The elevator ride has never been this daunting. Not with the threat of conviction and prison having over them, not with Hardman in the firm just waiting to debase and disbar him with some shady act or another, and not even with Louis recording him about his anxiety and panic attacks after coming for his salary, essentially posing a constant and unwavering threat to Harvey’s dignity and integrity. None of these things ever felt as bad as the simple act of going to work this morning.
He doesn’t breathe as they climb fifty storeys, and Mike’s gaze on him — still so worried, still so concerned and confused and ready to fight if only he had a target — only adds to the weight on his chest. He wishes he could reach out for his hand again, or bury his trembling fingers in the dirty blonde strands he stopped abusing with too much gel. Harvey knows they’ll be soft and smooth to the touch, knows they’ll smell like his conditioner and he also knows that he wouldn’t let go in time if he followed his instincts right now.
There are two men in the elevator with them as well, getting off at 37 and 48 respectively, so Harvey can’t do any of that anyway.
So he focuses on his breathing instead. Focuses on the apprehension he feels and tries to replace it, tries to shove the emotions to the side without pushing them away, tries to be aware of what he’s thinking and feeling and doing without losing himself to it.
Down the rabbit hole he goes.
Maybe he should give Dr Bedlam another call — she was a better fit than Dr Agard, and Harvey has yet to ruin their relationship irreparably. She’d stood by him despite him hiring a fraud and then falling in deep with him. Maybe she’d tell him it wasn’t his fault that Donna left, and then make him believe it.
The elevator doors open before him and brightness assaults him. He blinks once, twice, and then Mike’s hand finds the small of his back again, lightly pushing him to move — a risky gesture, but Harvey doesn’t comment on it, just steps forward and reminds himself that the world isn’t ending and that it won’t, not under his watch.
“Mister Specter,” comes an unfamiliar voice, and when Harvey doesn’t slow his steps on the way to his office, the woman falls into step with him. “Good morning. You have a mister Carson waiting for you in conference room B, your eleven o’clock has been moved to twelve, and Dominic Barone says to call him back. Says it’s urgent.”
Harvey frowns and comes to a stop. He musters the woman briefly, from her alert demeanour and a rather hideous necklace down to the notes she’s holding out for him. She’s a middle-aged woman with a no-nonsense look, her eyebrows raised in both expectation and defiance. But more importantly, her efficiency impresses him. Not even a minute up here, not even at his desk, and he’s already all caught up. No banter, no needless pleasantries or ass-kissing, and — thank god — no goddamn alphabetically sorted colour coding bullshit.
He sighs and nods. “You must be Gretchen.”
“The very same. And you must be Harvey.”
There’s a glint in her eye that makes him ease up a little. Of course Donna wouldn’t pick a total dud to replace her. Harvey actually feels relieved that she didn’t go out to find another Donna.
“The very same,” he says, and he can even hear the relief in his voice. Gretchen won’t, but Mike will. A quick glance at him confirms it, as blue eyes find his and nod reassuringly. Kindly. Affectionately. Harvey briefly smiles back before looking at Gretchen again. “Conference room B, you said?”
“Yes, sir, under the watchful eye of one Katrina Bennett.”
“Katrina Bennett, why?”
“She insisted,” Gretchen says. “Carson used to be affiliated with one of Louis’s clients until a few years ago. Miss Bennet seemed… let’s call it a healthy amount of suspicious. If I were you, I’d make him wait a little longer, coming in here without an appointment and all. Maybe the woman can intimidate him into slipping up. Sir.”
Harvey snorts and turns to Mike. Who’s no longer his associate and no longer here to do Harvey’s work for him, but…
“You got a minute to find me whatever you can on the guy?”
And Mike doesn’t even hesitate when he says, “On it.”
“Thanks.” He looks at Gretchen and takes the notes from her with a nod. “You, too. Thank you, Gretchen. Welcome to Pearson Specter Litt.”
She nods, that confident glint still in her eye as she turns around to head back to her desk outside his office. It’s a weird thought, but Harvey doesn’t allow himself to dwell on it. He inclines his head, motioning for Mike to follow him.
“So,” Mike says conversationally and not at all subtle. Harvey just barely resists to roll his eyes. “Gretchen, huh?”
“Mike.” He aims for warning and misses by a mile. In truth he just sounds tired.
“Got it. You don’t wanna talk about it.”
Harvey stops and looks at him. Softens his face, inclines his head to meet Mike’s eyes.
“Come over again tonight. We’ll talk then, okay? And I’ll answer all your Gretchen-related questions. Or you go ahead and grill the woman while I’m trying to find out what Carson wants. Just…” He looks around, checks to see if anyone’s looking. Nobody is. Still he doesn’t reach out for Mike, but his voice takes on a gentler note. “Let me get settled first, okay?”
Mike sighs and visibly deflates. Harvey tries not to be frustrated with him, he knows he only wants to know what’s going on so he can help; so he can fix it. He doesn’t like to see Harvey unhappy, and Harvey knows that if the situation were reversed, he’d be just as adamant to know what’s going on and what he can do to make it better.
He tries to be patient with Mike. But Donna left him not even twelve hours ago, he barely slept last night, he’s tired and exhausted and suddenly forced to essentially start a new chapter in his life. He tries to be patient. But he really needs Mike to understand all that without knowing the answer as to why.
Maybe Mike sees it on his face, or maybe he decides that getting shut down three times for attempting to have this conversation is enough to take the goddamn hint. Either way, he allows it.
Mike nods and bites his lip, and suddenly the kicked puppy is back. Big blue eyes look at him like he’s been promised a treat that never came. “Okay. Sorry, really, I’m sorry, I’m just really worried. Or, or maybe not even worried, but…” He looks around to make sure nobody’s listening in before leaning closer and dropping his voice. “You had a panic attack tonight, right? And then you went on that run, hitting a 10k on a sleepless night like it’s nothing? Very hot, actually, but I just—”
“Mike.”
“Right.”
Harvey sighs. He really doesn’t have time for this, nor does he want to get into it. And he shouldn’t have to say it five times for Mike to just accept it.
“Don’t ask me again.” It’s both demand and plea, his voice hard but soft around the edges. “Focus on your work. We’ll talk tonight, okay?”
That seems to do the trick, and Mike looks positively apologetic. “Okay. I’m Sorry. Really.”
“Okay,” Harvey says, and they share a brief, tentative smile. Things are brittle between them, but they’ll just have to deal with that until tonight. And they will, of course they will. “Have a good day, Mike.”
Before he’s even halfway to conference room B, his phone vibrates and he doesn’t even have to pull it out of his inside pocket to know it’s another apology from Mike. And lo and behold—
:: i know you said to have a good day but for the record are we still getting lunch together? promise i’ll keep my mouth shut n all
:: but really, sorry for being annoying this morning, i’ll make it up to you tonight ;)
:: you have a good day too <3
It lightens his steps, and he’s just about to write a short answer, when out of the corner of his eye, movement catches his attention. The way she moves will always draw everyone’s eyes to her, and it never used to be a problem. But this morning, the elegant dress and the familiar Louboutin’s send a piercing bolt right into his heart, and Mike’s messages are all but forgotten.
Donna’s wearing a lavender dress today. She’s never worn a lavender dress, and Harvey hates her a little bit for it. Despises her for grieving when it was she who left him. He’s the one who should be wearing a lavender tie — but he refused, because he didn’t want to be this obvious. And now here she is. Looking as fantastic, as spectacular as ever. Looking like her whole fucking world didn’t end, didn’t implode in her face and rip of the masque she’s been wearing for the past twelve years. Wearing lavender.
And here he is, suspiciously lightheaded and weak in the knees, the pain in his chest increasing when he spots Louis rushing toward her with a tiny, pathetic little rose. It’s no match to the giant bouquet she’s carrying for herself. Just like he’s no match for Harvey. Still she chose him.
She smiles at him, her eyes big and welcoming, like she sees nothing wrong with any of this. She smiles at Louis the way she used to smile at him, sweeping past him with quick, certain steps and rolling her eyes in that subtle way that tells everyone that she knows exactly what he’s talking about and already took care of it three days before he even so much as knew this particular thing would pose an issue and almost pities him for only bringing it up now.
Harvey loves her so much, he hates her a little bit for it.
And then their eyes meet. Her steps falter, and it’s only then that he realises he stopped walking at all. It’s almost nothing, barely visible to the unassuming bystander, but to Harvey it’s like a beacon. This is wrong, is what it says. We should not be like this.
He can’t make out the look in her eyes. If there’s pity or sorrow or judgment or condescension. Or maybe even something as cruel as relief.
But he isn’t being granted the favour of stopping time and finding out, because the firm suddenly snaps back into place around him, and Donna looks away, her steps caught, her attention back on Louis and his never-ending blubbering.
And Harvey still stands there, in the middle of the hallway, glass walls exposing him to everyone who cares to look.