Bottle of Chloe Rosé in one hand and some flowers in the other, he makes his way up the steps two at a time. He reaches door 206 in no time, more pep in his step than he really feels. He's been trying to be supportive even if he doesn't want her to leave him.
He uses the top of the bottle to lightly tap against the door. He counts the seconds it takes her to answer the door, 32, as he tries to steady his breathing. He smiles widely and lifts the items in his hands like he's offering her something to make her happy.
"Harvey," she says slowly, shock and confusion taking over her face, "Hi."
"Brought Rosé to celebrate," he says lifting the bottle, "Brought flowers as consolation."
"That's thoughtful," she murmurs. She takes the proffered flowers from him, immediately inhaling them. He wonders if it's an impulse for a woman to smell the flowers as soon as they receive them. She says, "What are you doing here?"
"We didn't get to say goodbye," he answers softly. He offers her a smile and leans against the doorframe. His eyes trail over the length of her. She's very dressed down but still as beautiful as she always is. Her feet are bare, popping with a purple sparkle on her toes, and she looks extremely homely. This is how he always secretly imagined her to be at home. "Thought we could toast to thirteen years with a bottle."
"I do love Rosé," she muses. She slowly turns in the doorway and makes a small gesture for him to come in. He expels a breath, trying to collect his nerves. Tonight is the night he's going to tell her. She says, "Come in."
He steps over the threshold but waits for her on the other side. He rolls the bottle into his other hand before he realizes that he's too nervous to really be so careless. If he drops it, he has nothing to butter her up with. And he'll piss her off by ruining her floor.
He follows her to the kitchen where she puts the flowers down on the counter. She grabs two wine glasses from the cabinet and leaves them there. She grabs the bottle opener and hands it to him. She grabs vase to put the flowers in. She moves out of the room. He has the bottle quickly opened like a seasoned veteran and has two glasses poured, scooping them both up to carry in her direction.
He notices that she's set the flowers in the center of her dining room table, and he quickly hands over one of the glasses when they lock eyes. She smiles her thanks, taking a long sip. He can feel the heat radiate off of her skin he's standing so close to her. He also takes a drink, their eyes connected nearly the entire time.
"It's good," she says, smacking her lips.
He nods in agreement. He says, "Summer wines aren't my forte, really had to get some suggestions from Rachel."
She gives him a cheeky look at the mention of Rachel's name.
"So," she starts, slightly awkward as she lightly touches his elbow and begins heading for the couch. He follows her lead, really pushing his luck and sitting in the center of the couch. She pulls a knee up and it brushes his thigh. He feels a blush creep up his cheeks. "What are we celebrating?"
He stills for a moment, eyebrows furrowing in deep confusion. She gestures to the glass of wine and remembers that he'd called the bottle a form of celebration. He utters an 'oh' that's almost inaudible that makes her tilt her head.
"We're celebrating you moving on to bigger and better things," he says. She opens her mouth like she's going to protest or accuse him of trying to make her feel badly, but that isn't what he's trying to do at all. He shakes his head in equal protest. "You really deserve this."
"Harvey," she says, voice hanging for almost a full minute, "We had two weeks to talk about this. Why now?"
"What?" He mutters innocently, "I just want us to celebrate together. We can share this bottle then I'll get out of your hair."
"That's not," she says defensively, but she stops herself. He watches her intently, like he wants her to complete her thought. He doesn't want her to feel like she can't talk to him. He wants her to stay in his life. She lifts a hand and pinches the bridge of her nose. She says, "I'm not saying that. I just feel like you're being a little passive aggressive right now."
"I'm not," he replies, "I'm excited for you. I always wanted you to pursue your dreams. I just...I wish you had said something sooner."
"Me too," she murmurs. She masks her sadness with a big gulp from her glass. It's nearly empty now. She pushes herself to her feet. "Getting a refill."
He nods and watches as she gets up. She disappears behind the couch and he fights the urge to turn around and watch her. He doesn't even know what he's doing here anymore. He thought them seeing the day through would be something nice, considering all they've been through together.
He swallows and says loudly, "I just wanted to thank you for everything you've done."
She returns rather quickly with the bottle in one hand and her glass in the other. She sets the bottle on the coffee table and drops back onto the cushion beside him, her knee now overlapping his thigh. She looks at him. He shifts his gaze away to look at the bottle.
"You already thanked me," she replies.
"Yeah," he says, voice lulling for a moment, "But we've been through so much together."
He rests his head back on the couch cushion, finally meeting her gaze again. He's been giving it a lot of thought lately. Or he had been, before she spilled the news that she was leaving. Before that he had been waiting for the right time, for the Mike stuff to calm down. He wanted to tell her that he'd realized he was in love with her, that not a day went by where he didn't think of her and their possibilities together.
Now he knows that he has to let her go, fly away.
He isn't ready to let her go just get.
He squirms beneath her gaze, the look on her face a warning like he said the wrong thing. He looks away from her, quickly leaning forward to refill his only half empty glass. He is uncomfortable being here alone with her. He wants her to know what she wants, wanted her to tell him, wants to kiss her. He's loved her for too long to just let her walk away.
"We're still going to be friends," she says, like it's the most obvious thing.
"Yeah," he absently agrees. He doesn't really want to be just her friend anymore. He's been that for too long. But, have they ever really been friends? He looks for a way out. His eyes flit to the clock and he sighs. He says, "Well, it's getting late."
"Oh," she says softly.
She sounds far away. He leans forward and places his glass on the table beside the bottle. He stands up and heads to the front door. He turns around, surprised to see her behind him. She stops him with a hand on his arm.
"Donna?"
She doesn't quite say anything. She steps so close that he can feel her knee on his leg. She seems to be growing taller. He feels her lips touch his, her hand circle around to the back of his head. The kiss is soft, wanly and uncertain. He wonders if she even knows what she's doing.
Her other hand lightly touches his chest and his back flattens against the door. Instinctively, his hands come up to her hips. His mouth opens beneath hers, and all of the thoughts evade his head. He can think of only her hands pressed against him.