A/N: It was going to happen sooner or later. My emotional support artist and my emotional support ship had to collide at some point, it was only a matter of time. For anyone who doesn't know, this song is You Are In Love by Taylor Swift.
.
One look
Dark room
Meant just for you
Time moves too fast
You played it back
They're at their first firm event. He asked her to come with him, not as his date, just as his Donna, but she's never been just his anything. Unsurprisingly, she's excellent at buttering up clients, but surprisingly she's having a good time doing it. She knows she looks good, but the validation from wealthy men offering to buy her drinks and not so subtly checking her out is doing wonders for her ego, so she's milking it a little more than necessary, innocently flirting back with the stockbroker who's currently chatting her up, allowing her hand to settle at his elbow as she laughs at the punch line of his not-so-funny story. Averting her eyes from him for a second, she spots Harvey at the bar, their eyes connecting for a fleeting second before he turns away, suddenly very focused on his drink. She thinks she might have imagined it, the jealous lilt to his stare, but it was too fast, not enough of anything for her to analyze, but enough for her to play over again and again all night, distracting her from conversations, rendering her incapable of even the simplest of small talk. It's not mentioned, of course. Nothing is ever mentioned. He finds her later, drops her off on his way home, and thanks her for coming with him before she shuts the door of the car. Nothing is mentioned because there was nothing to mention. It was a look that she's well on her way to convincing herself she imagined because the alternate is terrifying. Accepting the alternative would mean admitting to herself that there's something there to accept and that's terrifying, because she's about as ready to explore that possibility as he is, and he's not ready at all. So, she makes her way upstairs and thinks about the wealthy men who offered to buy her drinks and not so subtly checked her out and by the time she makes it to bed, she's well on her way to convincing herself she's happy.
.
He says look up
And your shoulders brush
No proof, one touch
You felt enough
He says it was a fight, not a duel, and part of her wants to believe him, because what does it matter if it was? It still doesn't mean anything. But she feels comfortable enough with him to cry, and the other part of her, the part she tries not to listen to because it hurts too much, says that means something. It's barely proof, but apparently it's enough because she finds herself clinging to the way he places two fingers under her chin, forcing her to look at him, his eyes willing her to believe that he means what he says when he tells her it's not her fault. She holds onto that moment on late nights when she can't sleep, when a second glass of wine has allowed her to listen to her more vulnerable thoughts, the more rational, usually louder voice in her head dulled by the alcohol and the loneliness. She checks the time to make sure it's not an unreasonable hour and calls Rachel, distracting herself with tales from her friend, forever more comfortable with dissecting the issues in other people's lives than her own.
.
So it goes
You two are dancing in a snow globe, go round and round
She won't deny that it feels weird, dancing with him like this. It's intimate and a very public moment that seems so monumental that it should be private, but he's guiding her around the dancefloor like he knows what he's doing, and it makes her feel safe. His hand on the bare skin of her back is burning. She's aware of every miniscule move it makes, notices when his pinky barely presses against her spine to urge her closer to him, and fuck it, he's crossing almost every line they have tonight, so she gives in and rests her head on his shoulder. She can feel the eyes of the newlyweds on them but she doesn't care because his embrace is heavenly and she deserves this one thing after everything he put her through this past year. His scent fills her senses and suddenly everything else fades, the only thing that matters is that she can feel the content sigh he lets out against her exposed neck. In the moment it feels like maybe not tonight, but someday, they'll get there. It's the first time in a long time that more seems real and tangible and more of a 'when' than an 'if'.
She leaves before him but he walks her to the cab, insisting that she text him when she gets home, and at the last second he leans in and places a soft kiss to her cheek. It tingles the entire way home and she curses herself for not wanting to take off her makeup, lest she remove the feeling along with it. That night, she dreams she took him home with her, and she wakes up breathless, in desperate need for a shower, but the ghost of his lips still tickle her cheek and it makes her blush, even though there's no one around to witness how smitten she is for this man who isn't hers but he's hers.
.
And for once you let go
Of your fears and your ghosts
One step, not much, but it said enough
The step she takes backwards to allow him into her apartment, she thinks, is the scariest, most important step she's ever taken in her life. Her heart is in her stomach for a millisecond until his lips are on hers and she's not sure where anything is anymore because Harvey is everywhere and it's everything. Somehow, she finds herself perched on a table, which is good because she's not sure her legs could hold her up at the moment. It's not the first time they've done this but it's the first time she's ever been with someone knowing they're the last person she'll ever do this with. That should terrify her but it just feels right and good and, oh his lips feel amazing there. She manages to gather herself enough to drag him to the bedroom because what they're about to do deserves more than just the nearest flat surface. She takes a moment, on the way, to consider that this might be the bravest thing he's ever done, and promises herself she'll find a way to let him know she's proud, somehow.
It's sometime after round three, and they're facing each other, her eyes half closed as he plays with a strand of her hair. His face is contemplative, so she asks what's on his mind. He shrugs his shoulders, tells her she's his best friend, and the simplicity of it causes her to well up. He's her best friend too, but he's so much more than that, too, and she can't quite believe she can tell him that now, but she can, and she does, and then she's kissing him again, rolling them over so she's on top of him because she's not tired anymore, and he's so much more than her best friend.
.
Morning, his place
Burnt toast, Sunday
You keep his shirt
He keeps his word
He brings her toast in bed and calls it breakfast. It's slightly burnt but it's served with coffee made just the way she likes it so she presses her lips to his and tells him it's perfect. He tells her the only thing that's perfect is the way his shirt looks when she's the one wearing it. That earns him a you're an idiot around a bite of her toast, which in turn draws a ridiculous grin from his lips. It's Sunday morning and they have nowhere to be except in his bed, munching on breakfast as he tells his worst jokes in an effort to make her laugh. It works because she's head over heels for him, and his attempt at thoughtfulness has made her giddy, so he barely has to try. He's a workaholic but she had asked if they could have this weekend just for them, no emails, no emergency meetings, and he agreed. It's a rarity, because she's a workaholic too, but making a conscious effort to relax for the entire weekend has been just what they both needed, considering the stress everyone is under at the firm. When she's finished, he drags her out of bed and towards the shower, relaying off an excuse about saving water that isn't necessary because why wouldn't she want to shower with this beautiful man who somehow loves her back?
.
You can feel it on the way home,
You can see it with the lights out,
You're in love,
True love
The back of the car is dimly lit but it doesn't matter because she's lavishing his neck, one hand making quick work of his bowtie, the other clumsily undoing the buttons of his shirt in an effort to reveal more skin. He pulls back after a minute to find her pouting adorably but he tells her they should probably inform her parents before they find out from someone else, and suddenly she's beaming again, twisting awkwardly in the seat to find her phone, ecstatic at the thought of sharing their news. He lets her do most of the talking, watches as her eyes light up when she says we got married. Her parents aren't thrilled that they weren't there, but they explain it was spur of the moment, that they'll have a second wedding, and any other day their slight disapproval would weigh on her, but she's so happy she barely computes it. She thinks it might just be the first time she's ever put her own feelings above theirs. Her cheeks hurt by the time they hang up, and she knows he'd tease her except that he doesn't really have a leg to stand on because she reckons if you looked up 'lovestruck' in the dictionary you'd find a picture of him in this moment, with her. His wife. Yeah, they were both hopeless. The car pulls to a stop and she squeezes his hand, her smile widening impossibly at the thought of meeting their niece and she wonders how any day could ever possibly top this one, how she could ever be more in love with someone than she is with him, right now, in this moment.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!