Donna runs into her room, only half of her hair straightened, the other half sticking up in every which way, her curls having a mind of their own. Hitting the blaring alarm off, having been awake for quite a while, she walks back into the bathroom, finishing up her hair, and makeup, the smell of her perfume wafting through the room.
Tossing her pen and her journal planner into her bag, her stack of monologues tucked between the pages of her journal, dates marked off with auditions she wanted to submit for, and ones she's already gotten a spot for, have the spine threatening to split in half.
Donna practically skips into work, the adrenaline of having nailed an audition, fueling her even into the next day. She can taste every word of her monologue, the words coming so easily to her, and the emotion building in her chest at how she didn't just say the lines, but felt them, gathering the tears in her eyes on stage. She knows she performed it the best she ever had.
Pushing her bangs from her face, she greets her grumpy manager, who always gives her a hard time whenever she asks for time off or tries to rearrange her schedule for her "hobby" as he so kindly like to refer to what she's chosen to dedicate her life to.
She'd had a whole conversation the other day with her regular, about how she couldn't imagine ever settling for a life that didn't excite her, that didn't offer that creative outlet to really stretch her imagination. He'd nodded with a knowing grin, when she'd blushed at how she'd been going on about the thrill she got when she felt she'd left herself behind and became the character.
Usually when she talked about her aspirations, she was scoffed at, pitied, but he encouraged her. Promised he would come to one of her plays one day. Which is more than she can say for Harvey, who wouldn't be caught dead in a theatre. Shakespeare apparently irritated him, because, 'Why can't he just say what he means?' When she'd countered he said what he felt, she'd earned a grimace for that one.
Putting her stuff down, she ties her apron around her waist, and when she looks up, she finds a coffee sitting in front of her, the steam coming off in waves through the opening of the cup, offering a haze to the grinning man in front of her. He's dressed sharply in a grey suit this morning, and her slow perusal of him doesn't go unnoticed.
"Did you get lost on your way to work?" She laughs, eyeing him with amusement.
"You mean this isn't a law firm? Hmm, I guess I'll just take this," he reaches for the cup, and she grabs his hand, a shiver of want travelling through her as her fingers rest over his, slightly tugging him closer as she hesitates between yanking her hand away, and risking pulling him nearer, to trace every vein that rests beneath her touch.
He inhales, and she's unclear if the heat emanating from her is coming from the cup or the moment that threatens to engulf her, until she gently pulls the cup from his grasp, and he relents, exhaling.
Clearing his throat, she breaks her gaze at their once interlocked hands.
"I uhh, didn't know how you took your coffee, so I just got you what I wanted," he shrugs, taking a sip of his own cup, a soft smile coming to his lips.
She playfully narrows her eyes, trying to guess how he takes his coffee, fully expecting to be met with straightforward, strong, black, and difficult to swallow coffee with a fancy blend name. Blowing on the liquid, causing ripples of waves, she hesitantly takes a sip.
Her eyes widen as the sweetness reaches her tongue, a pleasant surprise she was not at all expecting.
"I would not have taken you for a splash of vanilla guy," she teases, and a hint of a blush peeks out at the collar of his shirt.
"It's a recent addition," he utters, taking another sip, and she bites her lip at the remark, catching herself from asking why, vying to find out herself.
"Hmm, it's perfect," she sighs, finding him nodding at her. "Be careful, a girl could get used to this," she winks, inhaling the familiar, faint vanilla scent.
"I guess I'll have to be careful who I share my coffee order with," he laughs, and the smile that follows on her lips is one that not even a great audition could bring forth.
"Good," she blushes, bringing her coffee close to her chest.
"Good," he agrees.
Donna's second alarm blares, and she glances over at the shrieking clock that would normally barely wake her from a dead sleep. But today, she's awake before the first had even gone off. Her curls are splayed across her pillow, the red in stark contrast to the white sheets, her t-shirt sticking to her body, her fan offering very little air to actually cool her off.
With a deep sigh, she reaches over, turning the offending object off, before flopping back onto her back. Refusing to check her phone for what feels like the millionth time the past few days hoping to see his name.
Her bare legs are tangled in the sheets, tossing and turning becoming her normal routine now-a-days. Trying to escape even in her dreams, but tangled in the mess of her own creation.
She'd spent the weekend trading shifts, trying to predict when he'd be free, hoping she wouldn't run into Harvey if he happened to stop by. The thought of having to plaster on a smile and turn on the wit to act like she didn't care, at all, that he'd been with Scottie, not a mask she felt capable of putting on. She knew herself, she'd overcompensate, somehow end up being the biggest cheerleader for a continuing encounter that left her feeling like she was carving her own heart out for the brief happiness it offered him.
So she'd avoided.
She'd caught up on laundry, which mostly consisted of her work clothes, not really having a reason to change into anything that wasn't work attire or a sleep t-shirt. But she'd read along to the hum of the washer at midnight, relishing in the loud silence it offered her.
She'd taken all her books from the shaky bookcase she'd built herself, debating way too long about how best to display them, until she'd come across her old Playbills tucked away at the bottom of the shelf, debating whether to flip through the past or bury them with her future. The whole thing ended up depressing her, so she'd stacked her books against the wall until she could come up with a system that didn't cause her stress.
And then she'd pulled out her yoga mat, attempting several poses, before hitting her foot on the ceiling fan, and deciding to call it a bust, before pulling out the wine and passing out in a heap on her bed.
Sluggishly getting up, she pulls on her clean clothes, spraying a spritz of her signature perfume in hopes of at least smelling better than she looked, and hit brew on her coffee machine, pulling her hair up into a messy bun, her elbow resting on the counter as she waits. Her eyelids threatening to close, as she fights the feeling of exhaustion, the kind that had seeped so deep into her, it had settled in her bones, and only seemed to weigh her down as she pretended that she was fine if Harvey moved on, left her behind, finally released whatever hold he had on her that let that ember of hope glow inside her. A shiver traces through her, until she's pouring her coffee with a shaky hand, the heat of the mug never able to offer the same warmth of his gaze.
Grabbing a book from the pile she'd abandoned against the wall, she shoves the familiar pages into her bag with a sigh and a silent plea to just spend the day in bed.
Having dragged herself into work, Donna sighs as the lime juice splashes onto her apron, a citrusy smell filling the air, her eyes barely able to focus, the coffee from this morning deciding not to work its magic that day. Setting the knife down, she gathers the wedges and dumps them into their container to quickly grab throughout the shift. She'd been delegating this particular task to Harold, but since switching shifts, she'd not seen him, but found the peace and quiet before the chaos began a welcome relief.
That is until a hand comes out, scooting a coffee cup across the counter until it rests in front of her.
She doesn't need to look up to see who the hand belongs to, having long since committed the feel of that touch to memory, playing it back late at night.
"What's this?" She asks, refusing to look up into his eyes, probably sheathed in charm, prepared to warm her, but she knows she'd feel the burn of how they scalded her feelings later. Instead, pretending to clean the station.
"Coffee," he answers, and she can feel the grin without even looking up. "Some people drink it in the morning."
She slides the cup back toward him, reluctantly. She doesn't want to immediately give in to him, but the heat calls to her, and she fights the need to close her eyes at the gesture.
"I already had some," she says, allowing herself to glance up at him, and she instantly regrets it. He tilts his head, one side of his mouth quirking up at her, and she bites her lip not to mirror him with a smile of her own.
"Come on," he urges. "I was worried about you."
"Really, that's funny, I didn't see any missed calls from you," she mutters, knowing full well she'd spent the weekend busying herself so she wouldn't look at her phone.
"I was working late, which is why I got you coffee," he says so charmingly, as he nudges the coffee back over to her. "It's from that place around the corner from me, the one with the good vanilla."
But her face falls immediately when he mentions where he'd gotten the coffee.
She nods with a knowing frown.
"So you stopped by after, what, one of your 'morning meetings' to get me a coffee? No, thanks," she warns, and turns around to put the knife in the cup for kitchen to wash later, her hands coming to balance on the counter, gripping it with a silent plea to hold her up.
"So you are avoiding me?" She tenses at the tone, both accusatory, with a hint of distress, disguised as lighthearted. Someone less attuned to him wouldn't have picked up on it, but she's well versed on Harvey, and knows that even though he's playing it cool, he's close to panic.
"Avoiding you? Please, you know, I do have a life outside of you, I don't need to avoid you," she exhales, self-preservation shrouding her in her lie, leaving a sarcastic bite.
He fights back a grin, not a stranger to her tone either, but his eyes betray him, that soft sheen that engulfs him, threatening to display an emotion he's never been comfortable with. He's hurt.
"Harvey, you're the one who ran out of here last week," she softens, but refuses to give in, fighting the retreat she often finds herself taking, the path back worn down from using it so often.
"I didn't want to get in the way of whatever date you had going on," he argues, his hands falling into his pockets, jutting out his chin when he's uncomfortable. And she bites her tongue at finally figuring out why he'd practically sprinted out of here.
"That'd be a first," she eyes him, and he doesn't even have the decency to pretend he's liked anyone she's dated.
"So…how was it?" He asks, and his eyes have the nerve to peer down at her with this hopeful glint.
"My date? Oh, it was great, lots of wine, good conversation, took a cab home together," she finishes with a wink at him. "I really see us being in each other's lives for a long time."
She links her hands together, resting her chin atop of them, looking up at Harvey, knowing she has him exactly where she wants him, the worried look on his face, as he fumbles for words.
Donna reaches out, taking the coffee, toying with the lip of the cup, her tongue wetting her lips before she takes a sip, and his jaw clenches with an inhale, his eyes trailing over every movement of her's.
She fights back a sigh at the sweetness of the familiar vanilla. Every familiar thing about them a culmination of moments that she looked back on, a collection of almosts that she'd gathered in hopes of stringing together a forever.
"It was Rachel, Harvey. I went out for drinks with Rachel," she explains, setting her cup down.
The look of pure relief washes over him, and her eyes squint attempting to figure out why. Nothing's changed between them in so long, she's not sure why he cares. But clearly, he does.
"And you and Scottie?" She shoots back at him, not in the mood to tiptoe around the issue.
He looks down sheepishly, and she takes a sip of her coffee.
"She's engaged, Donna," he says, and the she nearly chokes on her drink, scalding her throat, causing her eyes to water.
"And did she tell you this before or after you had your 'meeting'?" Knowing full well that Scottie was the type to get what she wanted, regardless of how it affected Harvey.
His eyes shoot up to her's, taking on a muddy molten gaze, shocked that she'd even imply he'd be complicit in an affair, and she shuffles on her feet, guilt at the accusation making her uneasy.
"There was no meeting," he grits out. Donna bites her lip, searching his eyes and finding nothing but the truth emanating from him.
They fall into silence, reveling in the truth of both of their misunderstandings, but knowing that all they've done is found a way to dodge the underlying reason that tangles their emotions into a syncopated beating of want and jealousy, instead choosing to ignore the heart of the issue, and race back to the safety of what they were, and nothing more
"Admit it, you missed me," he tries to break the silence, a crooked grin appearing. Hoping to dissipate any semblance of awkward, and fall back into what's worn and comfortable, like the shirt she'd stolen from him.
"I missed the coffee," she points, peeking up at him, a slow smile spreading across her face, more than willing to allow them to fall back into place, ignoring the tugging at the string that threatens to break at any moment, either sending them colliding into each other, or ricocheting in opposite directions, leaving her alone.
"Well, I don't just share it with anyone," he teases, but she likes to believe that some things are reserved just for her.
"Good," she says with a shrug, bringing her coffee closer to her chest.
"Good."