The phrase from Tally’s lips jars Sarah back to reality on a regular Sunday evening. She stops in place in the middle of the path. Tally doesn’t realize she’s stopped until she’s several paces ahead. When she does she turns and backtracks to face her.
“Tally,” Sarah says, helpless as she often is when faced with Tally’s earnestness.
“Why do you look at me like..." Tally trails off, dark eyes so wide, so expressive, in the quiet of the night. Sarah just waits, watches the swirl of emotions unfurl on Tally's face as she struggles for the right words.
“When you look at me," Tally says finally, “What do you see?"
Sarah hums, low in her throat, and contemplates the question. “I look at you, your eyes, and I... see the sky. The shine of billions of stars in the night, from when I was a little girl." She pauses then, glances upward at the stars she can see today. “Many of them are gone now—lost to pollution over the years." The decades—centuries, now.
When she looks back, Tally's eyes are shining, soft, to match the curve of her smile, and her cheeks are flushed pink. “I never knew you were such a romantic."
Sarah's answering smile is faint. “Didn't you?"
Humming as she reaches out, Tally's fingers fan out behind her ear, brushing softly through the tangles of her hair when she cups Sarah's jaw in the palm of her hand. Sarah's eyes flutter shut and she sighs, leaning into the warmth of her hand. Something about this girl makes her soft, softer than she otherwise ought to be. Tally draws her into a chaste kiss, nothing more than lips brushing once and then again. Sarah should mind her boldness much more than she does.
oh i love these freaks so much. i love when an animal looks like it's made up of parts of other animals. every part is completely normal but somehow it all comes out lookin like a whole weirdo.
Pretty boy knows I'm always at his mercy with those
Pretty hands know exactly how to hurt me and he's
Pretty sure that I'm always gonna be there waiting
I'm pretty good at believing in the undeserving
Donna Paulsen/Harvey Specter. T. 1/1. 0.6k.
Donna sits heavily, exhales louder and more forcefully than otherwise necessary.
They’ve fought before. God, fighting is nothing new, not when Harvey is a hotshot lawyer and Donna is… well. Not when Donna is Donna.
She’d have been proud of that fact once, back when he was an aspiring junior partner and that responding flare of desire sparked in her stomach when he argued with her, but not now. Now she’s tired, and they’ve fought in a more serious way than usual, and she has no claim to it but it hurts.
They’ve fought before but it’s never felt like this—like one more wrong move, one more misstep will mark the swift end of them. Because there is a them, has been ever since that first night twelve years ago that Donna still can’t quite manage to forget. They can’t deny it any longer, that much is clear; they can’t poorly disguise it behind too-familiar flirting and banter and toeing the ever blurring line that separates friend from lover when they fight like this.
Neither a friend nor a lover would hurt quite like Harvey hurts Donna, though, and maybe that’s her problem. Harvey has been her friend, her confidante for twelve years and he’s shared her bed once. They occupy that uncomfortable gray space, and Donna is all too aware of how she struggles with it every day in silence.
She knows how his skin tastes, the pitch of his moans, the straining flex of his muscles under her fingers and her lips and she’ll carry the weight of the implication to her grave if nothing ever happens again. It’s hard to forget him. Even harder when he occupies so much of her life.
Donna sighs deeply, kicks her heels off, and curls into herself, feeling the beginning of a headache pounding behind her eyes. Maybe it should be the end this time. Maybe she should stop waiting for the unidentifiable moment. Maybe Donna has always been too quick to believe, to forgive when it’s Harvey. Because it’s Harvey.
Sometimes, Donna thinks, late at night and twisted in her sheets, she’d do anything for Harvey. And she knows that Harvey would do anything for her so, really, it was just quid pro quo. But Donna is proud, so if he won’t say anything, she won’t break her own heart. She’s dated other men. She’s had her share of fun. She’s lived her personal life just as well without him.
But here she is, staring blankly out the window, feet chilled but tucked under her, all because of Harvey. Again.
A knock sounds at her apartment door, jolting Donna out of her thoughts. She sighs heavily, stands, glances at the glowing blue numbers above her stove. It took him less time than she’d have thought to cave and show up at her door. Then again, he’s shown time and again that he’s lost without her. Maybe it’s just as well that he’s here, so they can end it quickly.
Donna pauses, eyes the unopened bottle of red on her kitchen counter. No matter how these next few minutes go, she’ll need it.
“Harvey,” Donna says, quiet, voice clear of any inflection he can use to his advantage. One of the perks to knowing him a little too well.
“Five minutes, Donna,” he says, hands thrust toward her in a choppy, desperate gesture, “please.”
Donna sighs, opens the door a little wider. She’s always been too weak, too partial to him to say no and mean it.
One of these days, that weakness will be her downfall.
