They don't notice it at first. The first few nights they spend together are so filled with passion and exhaustion and the gratitude of knowing you are no longer wasting time that they fall asleep however they end up on the bed, him half-draped over her or her head on his chest or his nose buried so deep into her neck it's hard to tell how he's breathing.
At first the hair in the face, the pins and needles and the straining necks don't matter as much to them as feeling like they have as much of each other as they can have. But after a while, once the immediate desperation of drinking each other in wears off a little, they decide they both need to sleep better, so they start being more conscious of how exactly they surrender to slumber.
It's then that Donna realizes that they might have a problem.
It starts when she wakes up with a knee pressing against her hip. She opens her eyes, looks over to Harvey thinking he's trying to get her attention for something.
He's fast asleep. Probably didn't even realize he moved.
She sighs, inching a little further away from him and closing her eyes again.
It doesn't work. Soon enough she's poked again, this time his whole leg falling to rest on hers. Whatever space she created between them, he ate up, rolling over and resting closer to her.
She doesn't entirely mind the added weight but he keeps stirring, maybe from a dream or something, and it's distracting and it's keeping her from sleeping again. She notices she's getting close to the edge of the bed and she's slightly worried he'll end up pushing her off and she's getting frustrated because she has a lot of things to get done tomorrow and her resolve strengthens.
"Harvey," she whispers to no avail. She tries again, this time squeezing his arm gently. He startles awake.
"Stop moving around, you're gonna run me off the bed," she starts, and the amusement in her voice isn't enough to completely mask the annoyance.
He blinks a couple of times and lifts himself off the mattress a little, seemingly becoming aware of his surroundings.
"Oh, sorry," he mumbles, scoots away and resettles. She watches him for a couple of minutes and, once she's convinced the problem seems resolved, she buries herself deeper into the covers and dozes off.
Except about one hour later she is woken up again.
"Harvey," she pokes him again, frustration evident in her tone now.
"Did I do it again?" he asks, voice rough. She nods. "Shit. Sorry. I'll just go to the couch."
A weird possessiveness burns fiercely in her chest all of a sudden. "No, that's not what I meant," she amends quickly.
"I know," he yawns, "But I don't want to ruin your sleep." He sits up and grabs the pillow, ready to climb off the bed.
"Maybe if you just go closer to the edge," she suggests. He seems unconvinced but can probably sense her hesitation to sleep without him near her, because he agrees and rearranges himself, lying towards the door, as close to the end of the mattress as he can.
In the end he rolls over again, she refuses to budge and resigns herself to being half-smothered by him.
The following night she brings up the topic after dinner.
"I'm sorry. I don't even realize I'm doing it," he chuckles but it's apologetic. "I know," she joins him, "And it doesn't help that I'm a light sleeper. But I'm afraid I might go crazy if I don't start sleeping properly through the night."
"Are you sure you don't want me to move to the couch? I can stay in bed until you fall asleep and then leave," he offers again and it's so sweet that he is honestly considering this. They aren't kids anymore, their bodies no longer respond well to sleeping just anywhere, and the fact that he'd be willing to forego their perfectly comfortable beds for the couch is as good a love declaration as any.
But she spent endless years wishing more than anything that he were in her bed. It's one of her favorite things about their relationship, being able to feels his body next to hers at night; it makes it all the more real. So she doesn't want him to sleep on the couch, she just wants him to sleep next to her without waking her up, dammit.
So they start testing new arrangements. They try sleeping with a pillow between them, but she keeps bumping into it and getting annoyed. They try switching sides on the bed and both hate it. They try it with him stomach up (his lower back hurts for days) and stomach down (now it's his neck).
It's hard, for both of them. They are independent people and despite the occasional girlfriends and boyfriends, they aren't too used to sharing a bed. Suddenly, a huge bed they had all to themselves now has to be shared, and for all the wonderful benefits of that, it's also not as simple as they might have thought. Especially when they're asleep, unconscious and not in control of their movements.
She can see Harvey is trying his best, worried about her being tired or feeling uncomfortable, and she wishes more than anything she could be one of those people who close their eyes and are dead to the world until morning. But she isn't, and as much as she hates it, it's getting to her.
Until one night she notices an improbable pattern. The more space Harvey has, the more he takes up. So the answer isn't to give him more space, it's to give him less.
They try sleeping with their backs pressed up against each other. It works.
"You didn't move around as much last night," she volunteers during breakfast. "Really?" his brows shoot up as he sips his coffee and she nods. "Great, that settles it then," he smiles encouragingly.
"It was a little weird, though," she adds after a moment, bracing herself for his reaction.
Surprisingly, he sighs in what looks like relief. "Oh, thank God. It was super weird," he shakes his head and she can't help but laugh. "Don't get me wrong," he elaborates, "I love your ass, but I don't love feeling it against mine."
Donna laughs harder. She agrees. They need to try something else.
He suggests that maybe their plan is good, it was just the wrong execution.
That night, she lays on her side and he spoons her, his left arm encasing her hip and his right hand fisted between their heads. He moves very little, their bent legs fitting like pieces in a puzzle. From their hips down they're glued together, but his face is far enough from her that his nose doesn't get tickled by her hair. They can feel each other's heat and weight without being smothered and the way his arm is anchored around her keeps him from moving away and slamming back into her later.
It's so ridiculously obvious, she has no clue how they didn't think of it before. Except last time they slept like this was one of their first nights and she probably just chalked it up to post-orgasm exhaustion.
They wake up well-rested and happy. He nuzzles her hair and brings her closer and it turns out their new sleep configuration is also an automatic beacon of morning sex.
"I said your ass pressed against mine is weird. But your ass pressed against other parts... That's a different story," he murmurs into her ear between kisses to her neck, grinding his hardness into her.
She chuckles and it ends around a moan and God, she loves their new sleeping arrangements.
He loves sleeping with her more than he ever thought possible.
Now that he's no longer self-conscious and worried about disturbing her, they sleep easily. On occasion they still doze off right where they collapsed after sex, but most nights he hugs her or sometimes she hugs him and he feels so safe and cherished it's insane.
But what he loves most about sleeping with her is when he's not sleeping at all. It's moments like this, a sunny Sunday afternoon, when they're lying on the couch outside on their balcony after lunch. He's usually reading the news on his phone, or answering e-mails in preparation for the week. Donna starts browsing through her own phone, but more often than not she ends up drifting off.
He usually first notices it when her phone tumbles from her hand and onto his stomach. Her cheek is on his chest, the crown of her hair right under his chin. She's half on top of him, his arm securing her snugly against his side.
She's breathing evenly and her face is peaceful and her hair sparkles in the mellow late sun.
Watching her sleep like this, like he's all she'll ever need, honestly beats all feelings in the world.