Where Do I Belong?
Eli sits cross-legged on his twin bed, the soft plaid comforter bunched up around him as he balances his beat-up laptop on his knees. The hum of a fan in the corner fills the room with a soothing white noise, blending with the occasional creak of the old wooden floorboards.
A faint scent of eucalyptus lingers in the air, thanks to the plug-in diffuser by the window, which is slightly ajar to let in the crisp night breeze. The glow of the laptop screen casts a soft light across the room, highlighting the neatly painted walls and the bookshelf lined with second-hand novels and knickknacks from past residents.
Outside, faint yelling echoes down the hall—a young man's voice, sharp and angry, rising above the low hum of the TV. Probably another argument over snacks or whose turn it is to clean the bathroom. Typical. Eli doesn't even flinch. He's gotten used to tuning it out, just like he's gotten used to the endless noise and chaos of group homes. It's white noise to him now, a constant buzz in the background of his life.
His eyes flicker over the article in front of him, absorbing every detail about the Ava Hessington case. It's the kind of story that makes headlines—bribery, conspiracy to commit murder, a courtroom showdown, and a dramatic last-minute discovery that turned everything around. And at the center of it all… Harvey Specter. His lawyer.
The door creaks open behind him, and Eli jerks his head up, snapping out of his thoughts. It's not locked. It never is. Privacy is a luxury he's never had. He's gotten used to it by now. If he had the money to afford his own place, he'd get out of here in a heartbeat. As far away as possible.
"Yo, Eli," Noah's voice cuts through the quiet, low and scratchy from too many cigarettes. His roommate shoves the door shut with his foot, a half-eaten bag of chips dangling from one hand. Noah's tall and lanky, with buzzed hair, a faded hoodie two sizes too big, and a permanent smirk that somehow manages to be both irritating and reassuring.
"What're you doing?" Noah asks as he flops onto his bed across the room, the springs groaning under his weight.
"Nothing."
"Uh-huh," Noah replies, not buying it for a second. He stretches out on his bed, letting out an exaggerated groan as he tosses the bag of chips onto the floor. "You're always on that thing. What is it this time? Hacking into TechNova files again? Or are you building, like, a robot to escape this dump?"
Eli rolls his eyes, though a faint smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Neither."
Noah props himself up on his elbows, his eyes narrowing as he studies Eli. "Come on, man. You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The 'I'm up to some shady shit but don't wanna get caught' look."
Eli lets out a long sigh, his defenses cracking just a little. He clicks back to the article, the glow from the screen reflecting in his tired eyes. "Fine. I was looking up Harvey Specter."
"Your lawyer guy?" Noah asks, sitting up fully now, his curiosity piqued. "Why?"
Eli shrugs, though his gaze stays locked on the screen. "He's supposed to be the best," he mutters, his tone casual, almost dismissive. But the truth is, he's not as indifferent as he sounds. He's been reading about Harvey for the past hour, combing through article after article, trying to get a sense of the man who's supposed to save him. "Figured I'd see what kind of guy he actually is."
"And?"
"And…" Eli hesitates, the words sticking in his throat. He doesn't want to admit how much it all impressed him. How much it mattered to him to know that someone like Harvey might actually be in his corner. "He's… good," he finally says. "Like, really good. He wins cases no one else can touch. And he's not just a lawyer. He's, like, a legend."
Noah lets out a low whistle. "Guess that's good for you, huh? Not every day someone like that gives a crap about some kid in the system."
Eli stiffens, his fingers tightening on the edge of his laptop. "I guess," he replies, his voice clipped.
Noah doesn't seem to notice the shift in Eli's tone—or if he does, he doesn't say anything. Instead, he leans back on his bed, resting his head against the wall, staring at Eli for a moment before he changes the subject. "You nervous? About the trial?"
Eli shrugs again, though his jaw tightens just enough to betray him. "What's the point? Worrying doesn't change anything. Besides, Specter said he's got it handled."
"Man, you've got some serious faith in a guy you just met," Noah says, shaking his head with a disbelieving chuckle.
Eli just scrolls further down the article, his face blank, his mind replaying everything he read about Harvey—the way people describe him, the victories he seems to snatch out of thin air. The best closer in New York City. That's what they call him. Eli doesn't know if that makes Harvey some kind of miracle worker or just a slick salesman in a better suit. Either way, he isn't letting himself think too hard about it. Faith is a dangerous thing to give away.
Noah's tone shifts to something lighter, almost playful, as he speaks up again. "You know," he says, dragging the words out, "if I were you, I wouldn't be wasting my time on some lawyer dude. I'd be hacking into the adoption agency's server."
Eli freezes. "What?"
"Think about it." Noah grins. "You've got the skills. You could find out who your real parents are in, like, ten minutes. Hell, maybe they're loaded. Some billionaire couple who lost track of you or something."
Eli lets out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and abrupt as he slams the laptop shut. "Yeah, right."
"I'm serious!" Noah insists. "What if your mom's, like, some movie star? Or your dad owns half of Manhattan? You could be sitting on some trust fund and not even know it."
Eli's lips curl into a humorless smile. "Then they're even bigger assholes for leaving me behind," he snaps. "If they didn't want me back then, why the hell should I care about them now?"
His words cut through the usual banter between them like a blade. Noah blinks, his smirk slipping as he stares at Eli, surprised by the outburst. "Damn, man. Chill. I was just joking."
Eli exhales shakily, trying to shake the tension from his shoulders. "Look, I don't care who they are," he says, his voice quieter now, though no less firm. "They're nothing to me. I've been better off without them, and I'll keep it that way."
Noah studies him, his usual cocky expression softening as his gaze lingers. "You don't mean that," he says after a moment, his tone unexpectedly sincere.
Eli's throat tightens, his chest constricting as the words hit too close. He forces a laugh, hollow and unconvincing, trying to smother the crack in his armor. "Sure do. Family's just another way to get screwed over. I don't need them."
The muffled arguing from the hallway feels louder now as the room falls silent for a beat.
"Whatever, dude. Just saying—rich parents might come in handy if Specter screws this up," Noah says, getting up from the bed. "I'm gonna go brush my teeth."
Eli doesn't respond. He doesn't rise to the bait or toss back a snarky comment. He leans back against the wall, staring out the window, the faint light from the hallway slanting through the door and catching the edge of his face.
Noah's words linger, rattling around in his head despite every effort to ignore them. What if they are out there somewhere, the people who were supposed to love him, who gave him up without so much as a second thought? What if they are nothing like he imagines? What if they have everything—money, comfort, power?
And what if they haven't?
He doesn't want to admit it—not to Noah, not to himself—but the question is there, gnawing at him like a hungry dog on a bone. What if they didn't want to let him go? What if he isn't better off without them? What if, somewhere in the impossible swirl of mistakes and choices and circumstances that have led him here, there's a version of his life where things are different?
He tells himself it doesn't matter. He tells himself that he's fine on his own, that he's used to being let down. But deep down, in the place he keeps buried beneath years of anger and survival, he knows Noah's words have already cracked something open inside him.
And he hates that a part of him wonders.
After sitting motionless for several minutes, Eli opens his laptop again. Sleep feels impossible, his thoughts too restless to settle. His fingers hover over the keyboard, hesitating.
The adoption thing? That's a no-go. He doesn't care, he tells himself. He doesn't need to know who they are or why they gave him up. They're irrelevant. A part of him wishes Noah had never brought it up. It's bad enough that the thought has been lingering in the back of his mind for years. He doesn't need anyone feeding into it.
He lets out a breath and shakes the thought away, forcing his focus back to the present. After a beat, his fingers start typing. "Donna Specter Litt NYC."
The search results aren't as crowded as Harvey's, but there's enough to go on. He clicks through a few links, scrolling past a LinkedIn profile listing her last name as Paulsen and a handful of business-related results. He finds an article about the Coastal Motors case. Apparently, she'd been accused of destroying evidence during some massive corporate lawsuit.
The personal stuff, though? There isn't much. Just a few scattered photos—one from a press release when she became C.O.O., another from some event where she's smiling next to Harvey. Eli stares at the images, his gaze lingering on her face.
Ever since their brief meeting in Harvey Specter's office, he hasn't been able to shake her from his mind. There was something about the way she looked at him—not just polite, but warm. Like she actually saw him, not just the trouble he came with. And her smile… it wasn't forced. It wasn't like the fake ones caseworkers or teachers had used when they were trying to placate him. It felt real. Familiar, even.
And then there was the theater. That's what stuck with him the most. The way her eyes lit up when he quoted Shakespeare, like she was genuinely impressed. The way she compared him to Hamlet. Puck. Like she saw something in him, something no one else had ever bothered to notice. He could still hear her voice, soft and almost wistful, when she realized he'd never seen a play, let alone stepped inside a theater.
He swallows hard, recalling how she had told Harvey to fight for him. She didn't know him, not really, but she'd still stood up for him like he was worth the effort. Like he mattered.
"Now who's that?"
Eli jumps, startled out of his thoughts. He minimizes the browser window instinctively and turns to see Noah standing behind him, a crooked grin plastered across his face.
"Someone who works at the firm," he replies.
Noah raises an eyebrow, then giggle-snorts as he tosses his toiletry bag onto his bed. "You've been looking her up too? What's the deal, man? She your lawyer crush or something?"
Eli scoffs. "No, idiot."
"Then why're you looking her up?"
Eli hesitates, his gaze drifting back to the laptop. For a moment, he considers brushing Noah off, coming up with some sarcastic response to shut him up. But the words don't come. Instead, he shrugs, his voice quieter this time. "She's cool, okay?"
"Cool?" Noah smirks. "That's it?"
"Yes, that's it," Eli says, but there's an edge to his tone now, more defensive than he intends. "She offered to take me to a Broadway show. Didn't even know me, but she just… said she'd take me."
Noah blinks, caught off guard. "Seriously? Just like that?"
Eli nods, his voice dropping even lower. "No one's ever done anything like that for me before."
For once, Noah doesn't have a snarky comeback. He stares at Eli for a beat, his usual teasing grin softening into something almost thoughtful. "Well… I guess that's kinda nice," he says finally.
Eli doesn't respond. He maximizes the browser window, his eyes falling on Donna's photo from the press release again. There's something about the way she carries herself in the picture—confident, poised, but not cold. She doesn't look like someone who's trying too hard to seem perfect. She looks real.
Noah yawns loudly, breaking the silence, and collapses onto his bed. He pulls his covers up over his head, his voice muffled but still teasing. "Broadway, huh? Fancy. Maybe you should tell her you wanna see Hamilton. Get something out of this lawyer circus while you can."
"Yeah," Eli mumbles, his gaze still locked on the screen. "Maybe."
But his mind is somewhere else entirely. As much as he tries to push it down, to pretend it doesn't matter, he can't stop thinking about what Donna said. About the way she looked at him, like he was more than just another lost kid in the system.
And for the first time in a long time, Eli finds himself wondering what it would feel like to actually matter to someone.
•••
Donna steps into Harvey's office, the morning light spilling through the glass walls and catching the sharp lines of his tailored suit. He's standing by the window, the knot of his tie perfectly in place, but his posture is too rigid for someone who claims to be ready.
"Harvey." Her voice is soft but singularly clear and penetrating, pulling his gaze toward her.
"Something wrong, Donna?" he asks, his tone clipped, as if to keep her from reading too much into his mood.
"I was going to ask you the same thing."
"It's just a pretrial hearing," he says, finally turning to face her fully. The sharpness of his tone is more dismissive than reassuring, but Donna doesn't flinch. She's used to Harvey's deflection tactics, and they've never deterred her before.
"Right," she says, stepping closer, her gaze never leaving his. "Because you always stare out the window like that before something that doesn't matter."
He exhales sharply, running a hand over the back of his neck, as though trying to shake off her words. "The kid won't even be there. We're just gonna argue motions." He shrugs, but she catches the subtle crack in his facade—a fleeting vulnerability in his eyes before he sets his expression like stone.
Donna smiles faintly, stepping in front of him before he can storm out the door. She places her hands on his lapels, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles. It's not just for his sake—her own hands need something to do to temper the growing concern in her chest. "What happened?" she asks softly, her eyes lifting to meet his. "I mean, a few days ago when you—"
"I was just…" Harvey's jaw tightens, and his gaze shifts past her, focusing on the glass pane behind her. He hates how she reads him so easily, hates even more how much he wants her to. He exhales sharply, trying to will his tension away. "I had a moment of weakness. A bad day, okay? Nothing more. And I needed to—"
"Hear some words of encouragement?" Donna interrupts, her tone light but probing. Her fingers linger on his tie, curling around the silky fabric. "Yeah, I got that." She gives him a small smile, but there's a hint of something behind it—hurt, maybe, or confusion.
She straightens his tie as she continues, her voice softer now. "I just don't understand why it was so important to you it couldn't wait. Paula knows what a great lawyer you are, right? Why did it have to be me?"
Harvey freezes, his hands clenched at his sides. He knows what she's really asking, and it terrifies him.
"Is it because I told you to get this kid out of this mess? Are you feeling—"
"It isn't about what you said, Donna," Harvey cuts her off, the words tumbling out more forcefully than he intended. "I can handle the pressure," he insists. But it's a lie, and he knows it. She knows it too.
He can't handle this, not the way he's pretending to. The thought of being the one responsible for whether Eli—their kid, if the DNA test confirms it—goes free or to prison is an unbearable weight pressing down on him. But he can't let Mike take this on alone, either.
"Are you sure?" Donna asks, her brow arching slightly as she studies him, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. "Because I didn't mean to—"
"It's fine," he interjects, too quickly.
She stares at him in silence for a moment before she steps out of the way. "Fine," she echoes, her voice flat. But the flicker of hurt in her eyes betrays her calm exterior. "But you know, I'm here for you if there's anything else going on. Even if it's something you feel you can't tell me."
"Donna," Harvey growls softly, yet there's no real anger in his tone. It's more a plea, a desperate attempt to hold her at arm's length. "I told you, I was just—"
"And you're telling me you aren't nervous? With that short fuse?" she scoffs, her voice rising slightly. "Would it hurt you so bad to be honest with me, Harvey?"
The words hang in the air, and Harvey feels the tension tighten around them like a noose. He takes a deep breath, his eyes sliding shut for a moment as he murmurs, "I'm sorry."
When he opens them again, she's standing there, her expression as stern as it is pained. He swallows hard, his throat dry as sandpaper. "I have to go," he mumbles. "I don't wanna be late."
Donna steps aside, but she doesn't move far. Her eyes linger on him as he walks past her.
Just before he reaches the door, he stops and turns back to her. His voice is softer now, almost hesitant. "I wanna do right by this kid, Donna."
Our kid, he thinks, though the words remain unspoken. God, a part of him is praying it's not true; that Eli isn't theirs. Because if he is, and if he screws this up…
Harvey doesn't finish the thought. He can't. It makes his blood run cold.
"He's never had anyone looking out for him," he says, his voice trembling slightly. "I can't afford to lose this case. I can't even afford to make compromises, because you're right… This needs to be ironclad. That boy deserves to have something in life that can't be taken away from him. Most of all, his freedom."
"You're gonna win this, Harvey," Donna says determinedly. "And you don't need me to tell you that. You know you will."
Harvey doesn't respond right away. He looks at her, really looks at her, and the knot in his chest loosens just a little. "It's still nice to hear you say it sometimes," he admits.
A soft laugh escapes her lips, and the tension in the room seems to lift ever so slightly. "Well, you can repay me later," she teases, a spark of humor returning to her eyes.
"You want me to pay for the Broadway tickets?" he quips, a small smirk breaking through the storm clouds of his expression. "For you and the kid?"
"Better be the best fucking tickets on offer," she shoots back, her smile widening.
He huffs a laugh. "I'll let you know how it went," he says at last, then steps through the door.
