10Here's me just being sappy and introspective about our favorite couple. S9 truly cannot come faster (but also I don't want it to air because I don't want Suits to leave me).
"Now, what's the occasion for this party?"
"We had a lot of leftover alcohol from the last one."
She raises an eyebrow. He shrugs, says, "You know how lawyers love to drink."
Her hands fall to his tie and then, teasingly, "So, this isn't an excuse to have me on your arm for the evening?"
"You think I'm that shallow?"
"I think you're that much of a show-off."
He presses his lips firmly to hers. "It's not my fault I'm gonna have the hottest date in the room."
Donna almost swoons but fondly rolls her eyes instead, gives his tie a final tweak before inspecting herself in the mirror, making sure every strand of hair is in place. She feels Harvey's hands skim across her waist as he wraps his arms around her and he settles his chin on her shoulder. It feels habitual at this point—so natural, like they've been a couple since the DA's office.
He brings his mouth to her neck, dusting her skin with featherlight kisses. "Our first firm event as a couple."
"Pretty strange, isn't it?" she asks, head tilting.
"No," he says warmly. "I wish we did it sooner."
Harvey trades in his typical black suit for a dashing navy jacket, complete with a maroon tie to match Donna's own maroon dress. They turn heads as soon as they enter the room, the firm still adjusting to the fact that their bosses are finally a couple, a will-they-won't-they duo that puts even Ross and Rachel to shame.
But they will and they did and there's a twinge of pride, to be this power couple, to run the firm as a united and indivisible front. Harvey intertwines his fingers with her, revels in the way they just seem to fit like puzzle pieces. She gives him a quiet smile as if she knows exactly what he's thinking. They make their way past paralegals and partners and he almost kisses her right there, rub it in a little bit more that she's all his and he's all hers. Instead, he brings a glass of whiskey to his lips and tells her she looks gorgeous, the alcohol already unwinding his sharp tongue.
"You look handsome, too," she says, eyes bright. "I love this color on you."
"I think it'll look better on my bedroom floor though," he teases and watches the way her jaw slightly falters.
"Keep it in your pants, Specter," she chides, not entirely meaning it. "We just got here."
Before he can reply, Louis walks over, his smile too wide and knowing for Harvey to entirely stomach. He has to keep himself from rolling his eyes.
"Ah, look at this, the happy couple," Louis endears, pulling Donna and Harvey into a tight hug. They share a look behind Louis' head, noting the complete change from when Louis first found out about their coupling (he nearly passed out and then proceeded to call Mike for a two-hour long rant—little does Louis know Mike muted his cellphone for at least half of it).
"Hello to you too," Harvey says faux-cordially when he finally shakes himself out of Louis' grip.
"Clean up nicely there, Louis." Donna's eyes pass over his bowtie and sleek back tux look.
"Me? Sure." Louis claps his hand on Harvey's shoulder. "But how about Harvey over here?"
Donna lets out a sharp laugh. "Are you hitting on my boyfriend for me?"
"Think you better lay off on the bourbon there, buddy," Harvey warns.
Louis glances toward Donna and her bare ring finger. "And I think you better put a ring on it soo—"
"Goodbye, Louis!" Harvey interrupts, steering him away from Harvey and Donna. Louis scatters off, back on the lookout for Sheila. Harvey lets out a sigh.
"Everyone sure does have an opinion on our relationship, huh?" Donna says, resting her hand on Harvey's forearm.
"Seems to be that way," he muses.
The upbeat music coursing throughout the room dissolves into something softer, the slow back and forth begging to be danced to by two lovers. Harvey glances over at Donna, watches the way she looks up through her eyelashes and appears almost bashful, a touch of pink on her porcelain cheeks. He offers her a smile, calm and quiet, the kind reserved only for her, and holds out his hand.
"Care to dance?" he asks.
She nods, bites back a grin.
Her hand is small and slight in his. He thinks of how someone so daring, so brave and commanding, could be so delicate, so delicate around him. It's hard to not to think of himself in extremes: too cold, too harsh, too cocky. A weird combination—to feel so self-assured but to hate who he has become. Harvey had deemed himself unlovable at one point years ago. Lusted after, desired, revered—maybe.
But to love? He would call it a mistake.
And yet—her cheek falls to his shoulder as she molds herself to him, melts with the slow acoustic melody and holds on. She sees him in ways he could never see himself. His hand palms the small of her back and he listens to Donna hum along. The room suddenly feels empty, like it is just them, together, swaying to the rhythm, impossibly intertwined.
He says, softly, nearly imperceptible: "I love you."
Her cheek leaves his shoulder, looks at him with impossibly wide eyes. "Do you—"
"Mean it?" He finishes her sentence and nods. "I've always meant it."
"You haven't said it since… since I left you."
"And I'm sorry." He brushes an errant strand of hair behind her ear, brushes his knuckles against her cheek. "But I can't hold myself back from saying it anymore."
"Well, in that case," she leans forward and her lips are gentle against his, "I love you too."
His forehead presses into hers and they remain like that, merely touching, words no longer needed, everything already said. Sometimes, it's that simple. Sometimes, it's enough to be in the moment, not need anything more.
Barely a month has passed since their initial getting together and time has never felt more paradoxical: as if he knocked on her door yesterday, as if they feel and act like a couple who has been together for years. And he supposes it feels that way because there has always been the sense that they would find their way to each other. More than a sense—a definite.
It's her. Only ever her.
"What are you thinking about?" she asks, breaking him out of his lull.
"How do you know I'm thinking about something?"
"Because I'm Donna," she says, then laughs. "And because I can feel your forehead wrinkling."
He lets out a quiet chuckle. "I'm just thinking about, well…" he can't help but almost feel embarrassed like it's a middle school crush, "…us. Me and you. Mostly you."
"As you should," she says, still playing into her coy bravado.
He pulls his head back and looks at her, stares into her dark eyes. "Don't ever let me lose this, Donna."
She pauses, eyebrows skewed. "Where is this coming from?"
"I know I can be a dick and a complete asshole," he says, "but just call me out on it. Make me change. Make me better."
"Really, Harvey, what are you—"
"Just make me be enough for you."
She holds onto his hand tighter, assuring and serious. "You are enough. There's no reason to think otherwise."
He starts to shake his head. "There are so many—
"I will always choose you, Harvey. Every single time, I will choose you. Haven't you realized that by now?"
He kisses her, hard and firm. Perhaps it's not work appropriate, but hell, they're at a party and he loves her more than anyone else. Distantly, Harvey can hear someone wolf whistle—probably Louis or Samantha. Donna's breathless when his lips leave hers, mouth slightly agape, and all he wants to do is kiss her again. The slow music changes back to something more uptempo and Harvey leads her to somewhere more quiet, his hand on her waist and keeping her flush to his side.
"What has gotten into you, Harvey Specter?" she asks, teasing yet a touch incredulous.
He says simply, feeling his mouth curve. "I'm happy." Then, a whisper into her ear, "You make me happy."
