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kettlefire · 2 months

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Time forgets most (DPxDC)

I've been getting too many brain worms that I need to clear out the cramp space that is my idea vault. In doing so, I'm just posting off-handed, random things I've typed up at work. (Partly so my drafts don't just end up like my vault). Without further ado, a much too too long post

°•°•°•°

The movement of time is a much too complex thing for many to understand. The knowledge that time was not perfectly linear. The past did not simply stay in the past. The future is not simply something to look forward to. The present is not simply a fleeting moment.

Time is a complex web. Every point in time, connected to another point in time. A never-ending mess of webs and connections. Things that are to be. Things that can be. Things that are being. Things that will never see the light of day in this universe.

Despite what some may want to believe, Time has no master. Time does not yield to any singular being. That did not mean that Time didn't need a helping hand. A guiding hand to help keep the chaos of time to something just a little more... fluid.

The being came to exist well before the universe had. The being was festered, taught, and nurtured in a small pocket dimension. A small space just like an incubator.

Until the world blossomed around it. Life started to grow. Time kept moving. Living organisms found untimely deaths. Evolved, learned, and grew into the new space around it.

When the first little creature crawled out of the water, Time's keeper was let free. A bumbling little thing, breaming with life and curiosity.

Just like everything else in the world, this keeper wasn't safe from time. It still moved. Brought forth problems and adventures.

As time continued to tick. Moving in every direction, the keeper continued to age. Unlike the rest of the universe, the keeper didn't age the same as others.

Some days, he was nothing but a small boy, frolicking in a field of flowers and bees. Other days, he was a strong middle-aged man. Pulling the strings in just the right way, pushing for a timeline that felt right.

On days that have been happening much more often. He was but a crippled old man, hunched over his staff, and dropping much needed wisdom on the young lives around him.

Being the keeper of time wasn't an easy feat. Being completely out of time, experiencing things in broken order. There was only a clear start, and a jumble of things that followed.

The keeper was content with his life. Watching over the world as it grew and blossomed. He was content with his special kind of solitude.

That was until he saw the boy. In the webs of moments, the keeper's gaze had found him. A boy much too young, suddenly with powers much too great thrusted upon him.

The keeper watched the scenes play out. The tears, laughter, humiliation, triumph, and pain. He watched as the boy's family was ripped from him. Watched the twisted attempt at fixing his life, only for it to go horribly wrong.

He watched the bloodshed and chaos that erupted. The lives ripped apart and destroyed. Not a single sign of life left behind.

Then he watched as the boy, no, not a boy anymore. The keeper watched as the monster tore through the fabric of time. Ripped its way through the thin veils that divided the universes.

Universes that had never known the boy's existence were torn to shreds to. A flight driven with pain and anger.

Despite the keeper having seen the boy turn into such a monster. He could see it in the beast's eyes. The deep-seated need for a family, a life. To be loved.

Something about the boy's life, his story, spoke to the keeper. He found himself reaching out into the web of lives and moments. Finding the moment when things went the most wrong for the boy.

Just like that, the keeper had inserted himself into a life. He pulled the boy out of the cruel stream of time. Filled the boy with the knowledge he needed. Let the boy see just what could happen if he let it.

The keeper of time was soon a simple mentor. A simple deity looking out for the world. Taking on the mantel of Clockwork and finding a new purpose for his life.

A young boy's life has been flipped upside down two times now. And there were certainly more to come. This time, the boy wasn't alone. He had a guiding hand, and a communtiy behind him.

The keeper, no, Clockwork watched with a strange pride and happiness he hadn't felt in a long time. The boy was quickly surrounded by a family that helped him navigate his new powers.

Clockwork, alongside many of the other ghostly beings, watched on with pride as the young boy grew into a strong young man. Mastering powers, taking a stand, and making their home safe.

Despite the best efforts, time always beings problems.

It was one thing for Clockwork. He was the keeper of time. His life has reason to exist as long as time exists. Which will always be. His purpose was infinite.

But this boy... Danny wasn't like Clockwork. He was still partially human and terrified of losing his humanity. Danny's story had to come to an end, it's how time works.

Except, Danny wasn't in the timeline anymore. Clockwork had ensured that, pulled Danny into a separate timeline. An unaccounted for timeline.

He couldn't live here forever, not the way that Clockwork could. Danny needs a life, a family, a place, a purpose. He was still human.

It took more effort than Clockwork would have liked. He had to cash in favors from other deities that he hadn't spoken to in centuries.

It took a combined effort of everyone who cared for the little halfa. The strange boy that teeter on the line between life and death. The boy who had freed the Zone from a tyrant. Who wanted nothing more than for everyone to live a happy and filled life/afterlife.

Getting the magic and spells right was the hard part. But finding the location was easy. A beautiful planet just on the edge of the Milky Way. Unlikely to be disturbed or hurt.

The planet was undiscovered, primative even. Far enough from humans that Clockwork was certain Danny wouldn't be bothered. Only one species lived on that planet. Along the jungle like fauna, and in the water.

Cute little guys, barely bigger than two feet long and one foot tall. There was no name, no knowledge about them. Aside from Clockwork analyzing their way of life.

A simple cycle. They were born, they aged, they played, fed, mated, and then died. A simple but content life.

The aliens weren't unsettling. At least not to anyone who has seen more creatures than what Earth has to offer. It is a strange combination between frog, fish, and squid.

Scurrying around on two legs and four tentacles. A small frog-like face with eyes that seemed to take up half that space. Colors vary from blues to greens to the same sandy brown found at the bottom of the lakes.

Before long, the planet had its own protector. A young boy who once was lost and alone seemed to meld perfectly with these aliens.

Clockwork was always sure of himself. He never let anyone see otherwise. Except, Clockwork hadn't been sure. Not when he had performed the ritual.

As he molded and changed Danny's DNA until the man was a new being entirely. To anyone who didn't know the full story, the boy could easily look related to the aliens.

Gills now painted the sides of his neck, not necessary, but Clockwork felt like it had been. Webbed hands and feet to make transversing the underwater caves even easier. An ethereal, almost siren-like touch to Danny.

It worked out perfectly. Danny settled in easily. Building a routine and bound with the aliens. It hadn't been hard for the little creature to take a liking to him.

Before long, it was routine. Danny would spend most of his time on the planet, watching over his new wards. On some days, he'd portal back to the zone. Spend time with the ghosts and deities that saved his life. To check in on the new govermental system that had been put in place.

It was perfect. Simple and nice. Everyone got complacent. The longer time went on without a hiccup or a problem. The longer Danny was able to rest in his odd solitude. The more people got comfortable.

The more they forgot that time was as cruel as it was forgiving.

It had been just another day cycle. Danny was playing with the most recent litter birth. The first time he had seen the birth, he was more disgusted than anything else.

After the third time, Danny had started getting excited. He looked forward to it. Loved seeing the aliens flourish and grow. Watching them thrive and find more fun in the things Danny creates. Every new fun game or obstacle was always made with the things natural to the planet. Or debris that was caught in its gravitational pull.

Danny was playing with Plop. The little guy got his name, and he always plopped out of the water. Unlike the other aliens, this one didn't crawl out. No, he'd pull himself out of the water with his tentacles, only to plop down on the ground.

Of course, Plop had also been the first alien to approach Danny when he arrived. It's how they formed such a strong bond.

Everything had seemed perfectly fine. The day was rolling along just like it always did. That was until a small group of the more elder aliens suddenly came scurrying into their main cave.

They hadn't waited a second before diving into the water. Danny watched, confused and concerned, as each one of them grabbed one of the young. Before shooting straight into the underwater cave system.

The once bustling and living cave was suddenly eerily quiet and void of any aliens. Leaving behind only the confused Danny in the pool.

At least that's what a certain Green Lantern saw when he followed the trail of retreating aliens.

This planet had been categorized to have no signs of intelligent life. It seemed to have the option to nurture life, but there had been no signs.

When Hal Jordan got word of a seeming spike of activity from the supposedly empty planet, he had added it to his rooster.

A quick peek, just a look into what kind of life might be starting to grow there. The little aliens he had seen were adorable, sure. But they didn't seem all that evolved. Still in their evolutionary journey.

That was until Hal saw him.

Now, Hal was no stranger to running into ethereal beauty. It's what happens when someone interacts with aliens on a basic daily. That was something he was used to.

Except, all his breath seemed to be knocked out of him completely. The cave alone was stunning, a stark contrast from the almost barren surface he had first seen.

A deep, shimmering blue pool that vanished into the rocky space around it. Trees, bushes, and flowers decorate the area. It looked almost too good to be true. Like an oasis in the middle of a desert.

Then there was the being that caught all of Hal's attention. Bright blue eyes that looked like gems, pale blue-tinged skin. Long black and white hair seemed to look almost like the night sky. A deep abyss littered with stars.

The closest thing that Hal's brain supplied was a siren. A beautiful, ethereal creature that lured men to their deaths. As beautiful as it seemed, Hal knew there could easily be danger.

Except, the creature didn't attack or threaten him.

Instead, he seemed almost shy. Mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, sharp deadly teeth flashing in the light with each motion.

Hal had just opened his mouth, taken a hesitant step forward. He wanted to know, and he needed to know how this happened. There wasn't supposed to be an intelligent, sophisticated life on this planet.

The moment Hal's lips parted, the creature let out a trill. A sound that seemed more scared than aggressive. Before suddenly, the beautiful creature vanished into the pool.

Hal moved before he could think, rushing to the edge of the pool. He peered into the crystal clear water, just in time to take the webbed feet of the creature vanish into a tunnel.

Now that left Hal with two options. He could either report this and wait for backup...

Or...

He could jump inside. The ring would protect him, and his lungs would be fine. Perks of being a Green Lantern.

That option seemed much more tempting to Hal. Nothing about this scream an outright threat. He felt more like a strange imposing on someone's home. A home that was meant for safety and protection of the young.

Yet, the shimmering water seemed to be calling to Hal. Something in him was trying to push him to get inside. To find the beautiful creature and learn more. Learn how this happened.

Without realizing it, Hal Jordan sealed his fate the moment he dipped a finger into the cool pool. Rippling the steady surface just slightly.

Just enough to get him wrapped up in the strange web created by time and its keeper.

#danny phantom #fandom things #fandom #danny fenton #phandom #dc x dp #dp x dc au #dp x dc crossover #dc comics #dc hal jordan #hal jordan #dc green lantern #green lantern #long post #I love all the posts that evolves Danny into something more than just a halfa #I've been having this idea of Siren!Danny #We're gonna ignore the fact that I got the idea for this from a Ghostsoap fic #I also like to blame the Circe saga from Epic the musical #Please I'm so whipped by that musical #I can't get over Circe and Odysseus' songs #Anyways Hal was ready to die for Danny at just one look #after he manages to get closer #to see Danny take care of and nuture the aliens #it's over for Hal #“I've only know this weirdly ethereal man for five minutes. but if anything happens to him I'm killing everyone in the room and then myself”#if it's not clear enough this is very much adult Danny who technically lived through millenniums but still just looks to be in his twenties #I love this idea sm even if I don't do much for it #I mean come on #I would kill to have art of Hal meeting Danny as my wallpaper #Time forgets most AU

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 1 year

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More Than Enough

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader

Rating: T

Notes: Not beta-read because when is it ever. Technically part of my Men I Always Meant to Write For non-series series.

Length: 9.9K

Warnings: Angst. Angst angst angst angst, mentions of reader having anxiety, friends to enemies to lovers, has a happy ending

Summary: Mr. Ross (Mike, he’d insisted, but you knew that you had to keep the formalities up for your own sakes) introduced Beth first, giving you a chance to just—look. You’d never bothered to catch up with Harvey once he’d gotten a job in New York. You knew that he was there, of course. The few friends that you had kept in touch with from Harvard had told you. You’d heard his name every couple of months regarding some case that he had tried, some deal that he’d closed. But you couldn’t imagine what you’d say to him if you turned up, and you weren’t sure that you wanted to know what he’d say to you—if he’d have anything to say to you.

There were a lot of things that you remembered about Harvey. You remembered his dimples, and the freckles peppering his shoulders; you remembered the way his eyes lit up when he hit on something good; you remembered the casual, almost bored way that he answered questions in class. Most of all, you remembered how he looked at you.

Harvey used to look at you with warmth, and teasing. He used to watch you hunker over your books and notes, stare you down when he was determined to come out on top in an argument. He used to peer up at you as he tried not to fall asleep on your shoulder, sharing the train ride back to spend the odd weekend in New York.

You remembered the way his gaze used to send nervous butterflies swirling through you. The way his smile made your face go hot, and your heart pound in your chest.

You remembered so many things about how Harvey made you feel, things that you held on to for such a long time—and they were in direct conflict with the way Harvey looked at you when you walked into the conference room that morning.

Something funny had happened in your gut when you’d heard his voice, the way he was warning his associate that he would, “Handle this one, and we’ll be outta here in five minutes.”

As you rounded into the room, you could see that his associate wasn’t convinced; you couldn’t blame him. You’d put up a hell of an argument with Mr. Ross a couple of days before, which had no doubt prompted him to return with backup. Now, you felt the first stirrings of panic, faced with a past you'd tried to forget, but you were too close to the conference room to turn tail, and with Beth already two steps deeper inside, it was too late to bail out. You’d promised her that you’d stick to her side through this ordeal. She couldn’t afford a real lawyer, and the few that you’d spoken to about pro bono work just didn’t have the bandwidth to help her case. The rest of your coworkers had been overwhelmingly supportive, your boss included—you couldn’t think of any other employer that would let a lawyer come and speak with Beth at her workplace without raising a stink about it.

Mr. Ross (Mike, he’d insisted, but you knew that you had to keep the formalities up for your own sakes) introduced Beth first, giving you a chance to just—look. You’d never bothered to catch up with Harvey once he’d gotten a job in New York. You knew that he was there, of course. The few friends that you had kept in touch with from Harvard had told you. You’d heard his name every couple of months regarding some case that he had tried, some deal that he’d closed. But you couldn’t imagine what you’d say to him if you turned up, and you weren’t sure that you wanted to know what he’d say to you—if he’d have anything to say to you.

Harvey looked good. Self-assured, confident, wearing a bright, charming smile as he shook Beth’s hand. You could hear Mike introducing you, and had just a moment to brace as recognition his recognition swelled.

It took over his expression entirely as he met your eye.

Harvey’s gaze flickered, brow furrowing a touch. The dimples disappeared as his lips dropped from a smile to a stunned purse. You shook his hand where it had frozen, a quick, firm pump before you let go.

“Please,” You gestured to the small conference table before you set your things down. The space wasn’t at all grand, it was…Homey. Surely not the sort of spaces these two were used to, if the suits were anything to go by.

“I appreciate your persistence, Mr. Ross,” Beth started, tucking a stand of greying hair behind her ear as she tried to steady her nerves, “But my position hasn’t changed since the last time we spoke.”

You glanced from your elderly coworker toward Mr. Ross. Just out of the corner of your eye, you could see Harvey watching you closely. The feeling was at once familiar and foreign; it made your stomach turn.

“Ms. Owens, I recognize that our client has put you in a difficult position—” Mr. Ross started. You had to clench your jaw to keep from rolling your eyes as he went on, “But the valuation that we’ve offered for you to change the name of your LLC and sell the site is incredibly generous.”

You did smile, then. Hell, you couldn’t help it.

“You disagree?”

Your stomach lurched at Harvey’s question, and you looked toward him. Oh—you knew that expression. His eyes were narrowed; his lips were curled into a smirk that dared you to argue with him.

“Isn’t that obvious? If we didn’t disagree, none of us would be in this room right now,” You pointed out.

“We’ve spoken to our client,” Mike cut in, drawing your attention again, “And he’s authorized us to bump the offer up to $100,000.”

You let that hang in the air for a few moments, brows raising when Mike gave a small, encouraging nod.

“That’s it?” You retorted dryly. “You expect me to believe that a pharmaceutical company with a market value of over three hundred billion dollars is willing to drop a whole 100K? How overwhelmingly generous.”

“Do I need to point out that your cash-grab is standing in the way of medical progress?” Harvey argued.

“Oh, please,” You scoffed. “It's a dick pill, Harvey.” You tried to ignore the stunned, slap-shocked look when you used his name, pushing on—“And if you’d read the comparative studies that the company did, you’d know that it works with roughly a third of the effectiveness of the market leaders. This isn’t exactly going to blow the toupee off of Viagra, no matter what your client says.”

“We could bury you under fees and paperwork.”

“Whoa, Harvey,” Mike muttered beside him, casting him a wary look. You could feel Beth shifting nervously beside you as well. You forced yourself to be calm, and to smile a little, even as your stomach flipped. You’ve done your homework; you’ve prepped. You can do this.

“Yes,” You nodded, “You could. But you’d be doing so at the expense of a woman who has owned and operated a company out of her studio apartment under this name since 1995. What Beth has here isn’t just a little stumbling block for your client—it’s an institution, with hundreds of annual customers and testimonials speaking to the way her products have improved their lives. This may be a blip for your client, but it’s a significant part of Beth’s life. And considering the recent, sharp drop in the company’s stock price and the uptick in legal suits, I wouldn’t be surprised if you all need a win right now. If you railroad us, we will go public with your client’s intimidation tactics.”

“Intimidation—?” Harvey snapped.

“Oh, have they not mentioned the non-stop late-night phone calls, the people following Beth to and from home? The private investigators? The threatening letters?”

You watch Harvey’s expression mar with surprise. You can’t help but chuckle then.

“C’mon. You should know better.” You look down at the folder in front of you. “The fact of the matter is, my client has had to endure a mountain of shit for what is only a marginally effective aid for erectile dysfunction—one that’s projected to make your client nearly $18 million in its first quarter on the market. If you need to close anyone, it’s on your side, not ours. You either bump the offer up a mill, or we go to the press with what we have.” You drew two copies of an article out of your folder, sliding it across the table to them. “Just a little taste.”

“Excuse me?” You heard. The four of you turned your attention to the office secretary, who was lingering in the doorway. Right on time, just as you asked. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but you have a call. I can have them hold—“

“No, that’s alright,” You shook your head before turning back to the men on the other side of the table, subtly waving for Beth to stand. “We’re done here. Thank you for your time, Mr. Ross. Harvey, always a pleasure.”

You led the way out, holding the door open for Beth. Vindication shot through you as you just caught Mr. Ross asking, “What the hell was that?”

She was all over the page. Harvey had given the article a couple of passes while he was in the car on the way back to the office, but reading it through again, he felt that even if she hadn’t handed it to him herself, he somehow would’ve known that it was hers.

The argument that Mike was having with Craig Philbrook seemed almost muted to him as he read it for a third time. It was a concise presentation of the facts, but it hit the exact emotional points that it needed to. It was beautifully balanced. Harvey could almost imagine her curled over her laptop, drawing up a draft, editing it with expert precision. He’d seen her work like that before. Sure, it had been a long time ago, but the sight of her hunkered down in Langdell Hall had never really left him—not even when he’d done his best to push it away.

“Harvey!”

He glanced up, brows raising. Craig’s face was the shade of a cherry tomato, and seemed just about ready to pop. His chest was heaving from what must’ve been a spirited bout of argument with Mike. Glancing at his associate, Harvey found Mike wide-eyed and pink-cheeked, at an equal fever pitch. He considered for a moment more before he tossed the article onto the table.

“We don’t have any choices here, Craig,” He admitted.

“A million dollars? That’s insane!”

“Actually, considering what the company expects to pull in almost a eighty mill in the first year, one million is pretty reasonable.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“I’m on yours, Craig. Look, if you wanna action your plan, we’ll sic the dogs on ‘em. But the press is never gonna side with a company that’s putting a little old lady through her extreme financial and emotional distress just for a landing page. If we settle outside of court, slap an NDA on top, none of this ever comes out. Keep it clean.” Harvey pushes himself out of his seat, standing and buttoning his suit jacket before taking the article up again. “Talk to who you need to talk to, but do it fast. Every incident that they noted is another ticking time bomb that we may have to worry about diffusing.” He rounded his seat, heading for the door before he paused and turned back. “Oh, and Craig? Quit having her called and followed. You’re just giving them more rope to hang you with.”

He turned away, tucking his hands into his pockets as he strode down the hall, Mike in tow.

“You think he’ll cave?” Mike asked.

“He will. He has to.”

“Okay—Question.”

“Is it related to the case?”

“Yes. What the hell was that?”

“That was me doing my job. The job you were supposed to handle, and you're welcome, by the way.”

“I don’t mean back there, I mean this morning.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit.”

Harvey cast an irritated glance back toward Mike as he walked into his office. It was no surprise that Mike followed; once he got something in his head, he couldn’t let it go. Neither of them could.

“She said seeing you was always a pleasure,” Mike added as Harvey settled behind his desk.

“Maybe she was just trying to get under my skin.”

“Seems like it worked, and I’ve never seen anyone but Tanner do that. How do you know one another?”

Harvey considered. He didn’t know her, not really. Not anymore.

“We went to Harvard together,” He finally admitted.

“She’s a lawyer?”

“No.” Maybe? He wasn’t sure. He hadn’t checked the bar for her name in a long time.

“So she…Did what with her degree?”

“As far as I know, she never got it. She dropped out, middle of our second year.”

“Why?”

“No idea.”

“Come on, you can tell me.”

“Don’t you have a brief to write or a motion to file.”

Mike was quiet for a moment, gaze sweeping Harvey’s face before his mouth fell open in slight surprise.

“...Oh, my god, you really have no idea,” He managed.

“Why are you still standing here?”

“Does Donna know?”

“Why would she?”

“Because she knows everything.”

“Well, I doubt she would know this.”

“You’re deflecting. She definitely knows.”

“Go ahead and ask her.”

Mike’s mouth works wordlessly again before he turns his head just a little.

“...She doesn’t know.”

“She does not.”

“Unless she does, and you’re trying to double psychy-psych me into not getting an answer.”

“Then go ahead and ask.”

“...She doesn’t know.”

“Are you asking?”

“If she does know—”

“You could be doing this on the other side of the door.”

“Okay.”

Harvey relaxed a bit as Mike leaned back in his seat, then smiled as he heard Mike call out, “Donna?”

He shook his head, taking up a baseball from behind his desk and turning his chair to gaze out of the window, turning the ball over and over in his hands. Mike wasn’t entirely wrong. If there was anyone in the city who may somehow know what happened, he was almost certain it was Donna. Harvey sure as hell didn’t know what had happened.

Harvey could still remember the shock of it—turning up to goad her into going to get dinner with him, only to find that her half of the room was completely cleared out. Her roommate had told Harvey that she didn’t know where she’d gone, didn’t have a number to reach her. Harvey had chased answers down within his means. He’d gone after phone numbers that he’d used and found them disconnected; he’d stopped by her apartment building and asked the doorman for information, even tried to bribe him, but the man hadn’t let a single word slip. Harvey had waited outside for hours in the hopes of seeing her, but had come up with nothing.

No call, no note, not a word of warning or explanation. Harvey hadn’t been worth saying goodbye to then, and he apparently hadn’t been worth saying goodbye to today.

His gaze dropped to the baseball in his hands, his thumb sweeping across the stitching as his chest fluttered with bitterness. Mike hadn’t come back in, so he was almost certain that Donna didn’t have the answers. Harvey eyed the article on his desk, frown deepening.

Maybe Harvey would have to get the answers for himself.

“Um—Did you happen to see Gerald’s email?”

“Nope,” You hardly looked away from your laptop screen as Beth sidled up to your desk. “What’s up?”

“He wants another SWOT analysis.”

You closed your eyes in irritation, drawing in a deep breath.

“Of course he does. Thanks for flagging.” You opened your email, glancing over when you realized Beth was still standing there. “Everything okay?”

“...Just, I haven’t heard anything yet, from…” She cleared her throat uncomfortably. “I just wonder if we were too aggressive.”

You nodded a little, offering her a reassuring smile.

“If anything, they’ll counter, maybe for half a mill.”

“But…What that other man had said about burying us in fees, and paper—”

You turned your chair, taking Beth’s wizened hands in yours.

“He’s not going to do that,” You swore. “They’d screw themselves over if they did, and they know it. They’re probably just ironing out paperwork. It’s gonna be okay.”

Beth’s eyes darted between yours before she finally nodded. You gave her hands a gentle squeeze before you let go, turning back to your laptop as she walked away. You bit your lip, peering at your laptop screen. Your eyes scanned it, but you weren’t really taking anything in. You were just as panicked as Beth was that you hadn’t heard anything from the firm. It either meant something very good, or very bad. But you didn’t dare let Beth know how nervous you were. If it hadn’t gone your way—if the company decided to take Beth down—you would never forgive yourself.

You drew in a deep, shaky breath, curling your fingers into your palms and trying to shake off the oncoming shivers trickling down your spine. You’d always hated this feeling—the fear of loss, the swell of hopelessness. You hadn’t felt either so acutely in a long time. You’d been happy for it; you hadn’t missed them. Arguing with Harvey had brought you back to the contentious moments in law school, the panic of not knowing who the professor would call on next, the fear of tripping over your words in front of a dozen of your peers—

You closed your eyes for a moment, drawing in another deep breath and forcing your mind calm. You weren’t in law school anymore. You were a manager at a marketing firm. You did good work. You liked your job. The life that you led was more than enough. The people that you answered to were satisfied with your results—and whatever happened to Beth could be overcome. You were certain.

You opened the email from Gerald, reading it through before you CC’d Anne from finance, Jason from legal, and your boss before you typed out your response:

Hi Gerald,

Per our contract, we’ve completed the four SWOT analyses that we’ve been contracted for this year. Happy to take this conversation offline to discuss renegotiation.

“I’m going out.”

Donna sprang up at the warning, striding to catch up with Harvey.

“Going out where?”

“I need some air.”

“There isn’t enough air in your office?”

“I like outside air. The exhaust, the cigarette smoke, the waft of salt from the hot dog vendor.”

Donna arched a brow, folding her arms across her chest as Harvey hit the down button for the elevator.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with the woman that Mike asked me about last week, would it?” She asked.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh no?”

“Nope.”

“Too bad. Her LinkedIn, Instagram, and Bumble profile were very interesting.”

Harvey arched a brow, glancing toward Donna before he stepped onto the elevator.

“Since when are you on Bumble?”

“I have a few profiles for research purposes.”

Harvey shook his head, smiling and casting his gaze toward the elevator floor as the doors closed.

When someone came to a stop at your desk, you assume that it’s Beth, or your boss—someone that you worked with. When they didn’t speak, you glanced up, and realized immediately that it was a mistake. Harvey was standing there, his hands in his pockets as he waited to have your attention. You dropped your gaze back to the screen, clearing your throat.

“I’m assuming if you’re here in person again, it’s bad news,” You commented. Harvey’s lips pouted as he seemed to consider.

“Depends on what you consider bad news.”

“I consider Beth getting screwed out of her fair share as bad news.”

“Well, then I have good news and bad news.”

“Okay.”

“The good news is, my client is ready to settle out of court for the requested amount, provided an NDA is signed.”

“I’d need to see that before she signed it.”

“Of course.”

Your brow furrowed.

“Then what’s the bad news?”

“There’s one more contingency to the deal being signed.”

“And what’s that?”

“Get a drink with me.”

Your gaze narrowed, and you couldn’t help but lean back in your seat, arms folding across your chest.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Not at all.”

“If I refuse?”

“Beth will still get her settlement. But,” Harvey tipped his head from side to side, “It’ll probably take way longer.”

“How much longer?”

“Pff…Anywhere from a few months to a year. To be perfectly honest, my client doesn’t want to pay out. I mean, he will, because he knows that our advice is the right way to go, but I can gum up the works.”

You pushed out a stunned scoff.

“You’d seriously do that for a drink with me?”

“We each have something the other wants.”

“What the hell could I possibly have that you want?”

“Answers.” Harvey's critical gaze skimmed your rapidly heating face. “So? Are you busy tonight?”

You felt out of place. The bar was nice, and everyone seems dressed for it…Except you. Well, your workplace was fairly casual. It was rare that you met with clients in person. You dressed up in those instances, of course, but your day-to-day work wear is jeans and a nice shirt. You were trying not to shift uncomfortably, or fidget to adjust your cardigan, or the shirt underneath. You glanced up toward the waiter, offering a small smile as he set your drink down.

You picked up your glass, drawing in a long, slow sip. You’d spent the last five hours distracted at work, torn between trying to figure out what the hell you were going to say to Harvey, what sort of questions he could have. You already knew that this was more likely to be an interrogation than a friendly chat.

He was drawing it out, too. He was taking a slow sip of his own, watching you like his gaze could drill through your skull.

Maybe it could. He was certainly trying hard enough.

“So?” You pressed, unable to help the silence. His lips twitched. Ugh, he’d wanted you to cave first, and you had played right into his hand. Bastard.

“Did you ever finish your law degree?” He asked.

Embarrassment prickled your skin. The conversation was going to be a roller coaster if that was where he was starting.

“No.”

“Never went back to Harvard?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I had no reason to.”

“Not even to visit? Maybe pick up something you forgot?”

“I didn’t forget anything when I left.”

“Why did you leave?”

“Irrelevant.”

“I find it very relevant.”

“I disagree.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Are you?”

“Not particularly.”

“Move on.”

“Speaking of moving on, you seemed to do that very quickly.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You disappeared. No one could get in contact with you.”

“I didn’t want contact with anyone.”

“So you just dropped off of the face of the earth, for what? Fun?”

You shifted in your seat a little, fingers pressing into your palms where they were hidden in your lap.

“Trust me, nothing that happened to me then was fun.”

“Why should I trust you?”

Your stomach lurched; your hands tightened in your lap.

“Take my word for it, then,” You corrected.

“Your word isn’t worth anything to me.”

You averted your gaze, jaw tightening as you leaned back in your seat. Maybe you could just slam the drink back and go. You could hear Harvey leaning forward in his seat.

“Tell me,” He pressed, “What happened.”

“Why does it matter to you?”

“This has been a giant question mark for me for a long time. You know I hate loose ends.”

You drew in a deep breath, leg beginning to bounce beneath the table as your nervous energy swelled.

“I couldn’t do it anymore,” You finally admitted.

“What?”

“I couldn’t do…Harvard Law. That environment, I couldn’t do it. Look, I loved it at the start, I loved the feeling of getting in, but once I was in, it was too much.”

You couldn’t meet his eye; his look was as heavy as ever.

“Why didn’t you talk to me?” He asked after a moment. You scoffed a laugh, raising your brows as you finally brought yourself to look at him.

“Are you serious?…Harvey, you were allergic to feelings.” It was a little vindicating to see Harvey shift in his seat as you went on, “If I’d told you that I was struggling, you would’ve told me to buck up, that it wasn’t that hard, that I just needed to put my head down. You don’t respond weakness, you can’t fucking stand it.”

“You did just need to put your head down.”

Your mouth worked wordlessly for a moment, lips curling into a hysterical smile as you breathed, “Oh, my god—” Because there it was. There was the answer you’d expected years ago.

“You were top ten!” Harvey argued. “You were this close to knocking me off out of the top five.”

“I was losing my shit!” You lowered your voice, leaning in. “I couldn’t sleep. I was having panic attacks every time I left my room. I couldn’t handle it, alright? I’m not like you.”

“No, you’re not. I wouldn’t have given up.”

It was like a slap. You bit the inside of your cheek before you leaned back, nodding. You could feel your throat going thick as your eyes welled with tears.

“Okay,” You reached into your pocket, drawing your wallet out for a twenty as you stood. “Well thank you for this lovely trip down memory lane.”

“Sit down.”

“Fuck you.”

You didn’t even care that your language drew the attention of the other patrons. You just strode out of there as quickly as you possibly could, hands fumbling for your phone to get a car. Maybe it shouldn’t have been so surprising that you heard his footsteps behind you moments later. It pushed you to walk faster, to keep him from seeing your watering eyes.

“Maybe it shouldn’t be surprising that you’re turning tail and running,” He sounds almost bored, “You’re so good at it.”

“Leave me alone, Harvey.”

“You know, I had the wildest theories back then. Kidnapped by a foreign government, taken by aliens, activated sleeper agent. It’s a bummer to find out that you were just a coward.”

“Stop it,” You warned, shoving the door open and striding through it. You heard his palm hitting the wood behind you to keep the door from hitting him in the face, and you were desperate to escape it in the city noise. Harvey pushed on as if you haven’t said a thing:

“I used to think we were one and the same, but I would never have done what you did. I never would’ve just disappeared. Why didn’t you trust me—” His fingers curled around your wrist, tugging you to turn to him. His diatribe seemed to falter as he took in the tears slipping over your heated cheeks. You twisted your wrist out of his grip, tucking your arms around your middle and keeping your gaze anywhere but Harvey.

“...You could’ve talked to me,” Harvey finally said.

“You would’ve told me then exactly what you said just now, and that was the last fucking thing I needed back then. Frankly, it’s the last fucking thing I need right now.”

“Look at me.”

“No, you—You got your answers, alright? Get Beth her settlement.”

“You want me to get her settlement for you?”

“I want you to get it for her. Because she deserves it. So, get her the money, the money she’s earned, and just…Just leave me alone.”

You turned away from him again, getting just a little relief from the fact that you don’t hear him following you.

You spent the night worrying that your answers won’t be enough, that Harvey would go out of his way to bury Beth in paper, screw her over to the point where you had to go back to knocking on the doors of firms willing to take her case on a pro bono basis.

But when you turned up to work and Beth practically clobbered you with an excited hug, you knew that he hadn’t gone out of his way to fuck you over. You let out a sigh, patting Beth on the back and letting out a relieved laugh as repeated her thanks.

“Be nice.”

That had been your boss’s only warning as you’d headed into a conversation with Gerald. And you had every intention of being nice. But you also wanted to be realistic. You glanced from the finance rep to the landline in the middle of the conference table as Gerald groused, “There's no need to be unreasonable.”

“I don’t think us upholding our end of the contract is unreasonable," You argued. "We’ve done the SWOT analyses that you asked for in the past, and we’ll be happy to do them again. But we need to adjust the contract.”

“You can’t just do a one-off and bill me extra?”

“We could, but if we open that door, you’re just going to keep coming in, Gerald.”

“This is ridiculous,” He snapped. “I can cut this contract.”

“Yeah, you can,” You nodded. “You are absolutely at liberty to do that.” You heard the sound of a door opening to the conference room, but you felt your focus locked-in to the phone. “But if you cut this contract, that’s going to cost you a lot of time and a lot of money. We have a guaranteed pay clause regardless of termination, so if you cut us loose, you’re still going to have to pay us for the full year. While you’re still shelling out cash to us, you’ll have to pay to bring on another firm. You’d be better off negotiating the additional SWOT analyses instead of paying two firms off at once.”

You were quiet for a moment, brows raising as you and your associate waited in silence. You closed you eyes, holding your breath. Please, please please—

“How many SWOT analyses would I get with the increased cost?” He finally asked.

“That’s up for negotiation,” Anne hurried to reply. “As it is, you’re averaging one per month. If we push it to a dozen, we could work with you to discount them at 25%.”

Another pause. Another moment of you holding your breath, of please, please please please please—

“Send the revised contract.”

“It’s already in your inbox," You admitted. "Thanks, Gerald.”

“Yeah.”

You reached out, stabbing the button to hang the phone up before he could change his mind. You sighed, slowly leaning back in your seat and peering up at the ceiling. Christ, you felt dizzy.

“You can’t keep bullying our clients,” Anne grumbled.

“Our clients can’t keep bullying us. If we keep going the way we’re going, we’ll be the firm that does triple the work for half the pay. We’re too good for that.”

“She’s right.”

His voice made you whirl around in your seat, heart sinking into your stomach. Harvey stood just inside the room, his hands tucked into his pockets. Heat prickled along your neck. How long had he been there? Shit, you’d thought your boss had been the one to come in—

You glanced toward Anne with a guilty smile.

“Can we get a minute here?”

“Sure,” She nodded, pushing herself out of her seat. Harvey grasped the door handle, holding it open and shooting her a wide smile as she walked past. You stood as well, folding your arms across your chest before hurriedly lowering them to tuck into your pockets. You wanted to mirror him, look as nonchalant as he did, not all twisted up and shielded and defensive. Oh, you were cool as a cucumber. Definitely no reason to worry here, no way.

Harvey closed the door, stepping a little deeper inside.

“What can I do for you today, Mr. Specter?”

“Thought I’d come see how Beth’s planning on using her retirement check, how you’re going to use your fee.”

You frowned. “What fee?”

“You didn’t charge her a fee? Standard in New York is 40%.”

“I wouldn't take Beth’s hard-earned money.”

“You earned it, too, considering how hard you defended your client.”

“Beth was not a client. This was a favor for a friend.”

“That’s funny, because you called her that during our conversation.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. You said that your client had had to endure a, what was it…‘Mountain of shit’?”

“Well, that is true,” You muttered. “It was a mountain of shit.”

“Could’ve been two mountains of shit.”

“But it wasn’t, so. I thank you for that.”

“It’s only fair. You did what I asked, you answered most of my questions.”

“Most?” You scoffed, folding your arms over your chest. “What the hell else could you want to know?”

“You wanna do this here?”

“I don’t wanna do this at all.”

“Why didn’t you come to me?”

“Harvey.”

“I didn’t have a clue—”

“I am not doing this here.” You spoke more firmly than you felt. “This is my place of work.”

“Well when I tried to do this elsewhere, you walked out on me.”

“And yet you followed.”

“Because I had a chance to this time. I didn’t get the chance back then."

You shook your head, averting your gaze.

“Look,” Harvey stepped closer. “I’m just asking for a chance.”

“Last night wasn’t enough for you?”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Well, it was for me. Hell of a flashback, just like old times. Same old Harvey, not knowing when to back off. Strong, direct, painful line of questioning—all gas, no breaks.”

Harvey was quiet for a moment, eyes skating over your face.

“It won’t be an interrogation again.”

“How can I know that?”

“I was angry last night.”

“And you’re not now?”

“...Not in the same way.”

“Oh, well. That’s a relief.”

“I just want to understand. Help me understand.”

“Understand what?”

“How one of the smartest people I’ve ever known changed her mind all that time ago, and then flexed the hell out of her legal muscles to get me to close in ten goddamn minutes.”

“People change, Harvey.”

“You haven’t.”

The two of you watched one another for a long, contentious, quiet moment before he said, “You need to come to my office.”

“What for?”

“To read over the NDA before Beth signs it.”

Fuck, the NDA. You’d forgotten about that.

“Fine," You nodded. "When.”

“How’s tomorrow work for you?”

“Tomorrow's a Saturday. You’re gonna do this on a weekend?”

“Gives us time to turn around any edits you need before you give it to Beth on Monday.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. Goddamnit.

“Fine,” You agreed. “How’s seven?”

“Sure. We can grab dinner—”

“In the morning.”

Harvey’s brow jumped, his chin tipping down a touch.

“Are you serious?” He asked.

“Completely. You wanna get this NDA into your associate’s hands as quickly as possibly, right?”

“You expect me to be in my office at seven in the morning so you can read something.”

“You could’ve saved us both a trip and just brought it with you.”

“It’s still being worked on.”

“Well, you can have someone messenger it over tonight and I’ll drop it off tomorrow morning. Or is it long enough that you’re going to, um…Gosh, what was that neat little threat, again? Bury me in paper?”

You saw something flash across Harvey’s face. You didn’t know if it was remorse, or what—but it’s gone as soon as it appears.

“Fine,” He bit out. “Seven. In the morning.”

“Sounds good.”

“Don’t be late.”

“Oh, I won’t. I’m very punctual.”

“I remember.”

Your stomach flipped. Of course he did. He turned away, opening the door…And holding it open.

“What are you doing?” You asked, raising your brows.

“Are you coming?”

“Are we camping out outside of your office overnight? You strike me as a glamping guy.”

“I thought you were leaving the room.”

“I’m not.”

“Your meeting is over.”

“I have a quiet room and a SWOT analysis to work on.”

“You’re telling me you haven’t done it already?”

Your face went hot at the accusation, lips pressing to hold in your irritation at the way Harvey smiled. You were relieved when he finally turned away. It gave you a chance to sink down in your chair and parse through what the hell just happened.

“Oh, wow. You’re early.”

You raised your brows at the tone of surprise, eyeing the entrance to the building, and then turning your attention back to the young man that had just sprung up in your way.

“Yes, I am. Good morning, Mr. Ross.”

“Please, call me Mike. Not on the other side of the table anymore.”

“Well, until that NDA gets signed, yes, you are, so. Excuse me.”

You made to step around him, but he stepped into your way again.

“I just wanted to say,” He added, “That I really admire how hard you worked for Beth, and I completely agreed with your assessment of the company’s value.”

“...Thank you, I appreciate that. Now, if you could just—”

You side-stepped him again—and again, Mike got in your way, pressing:

“I honestly didn’t think they’d cave for a million, but you really showed them—”

“Mike?”

“Yeah.”

“Did Harvey ask you to make me late?”

Mike’s mouth worked wordlessly for a moment, panic marring his features. You smiled sweetly.

“You know, I’m not sure what Harvey has told you about our past, but he probably didn’t mention that we were in an intramural dodgeball league. I can throw some mean elbows when I’m trying to get what I want, and you look like you bruise easily. So if you’d like to keep your ability to bend comfortably, please step aside and let me in.”

Mike pursed his lips before he nodded once, stepping aside.

“Thank you,” You cooed, sliding past him.

“I really do admire what you did for Beth!” He called out after you. You snorted, shaking your head as you headed to the lobby to get a visitor’s pass. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t more than a little antsy, glancing at your phone as you waited for the elevator, then waited in the elevator. When you stepped off, you found a stunning red-head standing there. Her eyes brightened at the sight of you, and she took a step back as you stepped off of the elevator.

“Mr. Specter’s office is this way,” She waved for you to follow. You raised your brows, falling into step.

“Was that a lucky guess, or did you know who to look for?” You asked.

“I knew. I don’t operate on luck.”

“Right. Did Harvey or Mike show you a picture of me?”

“Nope. I found pictures myself.”

“For what purpose?”

“Curiosity.”

“Sated?”

“Very.”

“Excellent. Do I get to know who you are, or do I have to go sleuthing on the firm’s site after this?”

“I’m Donna.”

“And what do you do here?”

“I just told you,” She stopped, waving you toward an office, “I’m Donna.”

You raised your brows before you turned, walking into the office. How the hell did he look pristine this early in the morning? Did the bastard sleep in a suit? His brow furrowed at the sight of you, shaking his sleeve back and eyeing his watch.

“6:59? What the hell did Mike do down there?”

“He made a valiant attempt, but I got past him.”

“How?”

“How did I get past him?”

“Yes.”

“Bullshitted him. Told him that we used to play dodgeball together, that I know how to throw a mean elbow. He crumbled like a bran muffin.”

“Damn.”

“You really should teach him how to lie. Second I called him on it, he blue-screened.”

“Trust me, Mike knows how to lie.”

“Whatever,” You shook your head. “Can I have the NDA so I can go?”

“Go? Oh, no. This doesn’t leave the office.”

“...Excuse me?”

“This document doesn’t leave the building until it’s ready to go to Beth.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

Your mouth worked wordlessly for a moment before you snapped it shut.

“....Fine.”

Harvey took up the document, holding it out. You fought the urge to snatch it from him, instead taking hold of it before you sat down in one of the seats in front of his desk.

“Need a pen?” He asked.

“Nope,” You shrugged off your bag, rooting around in it before drawing out a red papermate felt tip pen.

“You hungry?”

Yes, you were. You’d been planning on getting breakfast and a massive coffee before going over the damn thing on your own, in your apartment, but no. Harvey had done what Harvey always does: turned the situation in his favor.

“No,” You answered, uncapping the pen.

“Let me know if you change your mind.”

You didn’t answer to that, you just tipped your head into your hand as you settled in:

THE PARTIES: This Non-Disclosure Agreement (referred to herein as the “Agreement”) created on__________, is by and between…

You were quiet for a moment, tipping your head to the side as you skimmed your finger over the pages.

“Harvey?”

“Sure, we can do bagels.”

Damnit, a bagel sounded so good right now.

“Why is this NDA…” You tipped your head to the side, flipping through the file, “Thirty pages?”

“Because it needs to be.”

“Ballpark, this should’ve been six, tops.”

“You’re dealing with a big company. They want to make sure their bases are covered.”

You shot Harvey a disbelieving look from under your lashes before you looked back down at the file.

“Besides,” Harvey added, “It’s not the length, it’s—”

“—It’s the content, yeah yeah,” You muttered. You heard him huff a soft laugh, but you forced the flutter of butterflies in your belly aside in favor of focusing. Hell, you needed to get through this, and fast. If you weren’t careful, your stomach was going to start grumbling.

“Here we go.”

You glanced up, doing a double-take at the sight of the coffee tray in Donna’s hand. You looked back down at your work, finishing a note that you’ve been jotting before you turn the page. You went still when Donna held a cup out to you.

“Sugar-free iced dirty chai with a double shot,” She offered. You raised your brows, taking hold of the cup.

“You’re good,” You nodded.

“I’m Donna.”

“I remember.” You couldn’t help but smile at her before you took a greedy sip of the iced chai. Oh man, that hit the spot. You’d been there a while, and you were starting to get a headache. You hadn’t tried to parse through legalese like this in a long time, especially not on an empty stomach.

“So? Are we doing bagels?” Harvey pressed. You glanced at where he was leaning back against an end table lined with basketballs. He arched his brows. “Come on, it’s been an hour and you’re only halfway through. You’re going to run out of steam if you’re not careful.”

“...You’re paying for them.”

“Of course.”

“Then yes, please. Bagels.”

“They’ll be here in five,” Donna warned, striding past you and back to her desk.

“She’s very good,” You commented, nodding after her as you turned back to your work, making another note.

“You really are gonna run out of ink.”

You fought the urge to mimic him, just going on about your business.

“I’ve got plenty of pens,” Harvey added.

“Law firm this big, I’d hope you’d have a few pens.”

“More than a few. Hundreds.”

“Mm.”

“Thousands, even.”

“If you’re not sure if it’s hundreds or thousands, then maybe you should go count them and get back to me.”

“You just want me out of the room.”

“I want you to stop watching me.”

“Why?”

“It’s creeping me out.”

“Did it always?”

“Objection: relevance.”

“If you allow me a little latitude, I can establish relevance.”

“No thanks.”

“Why are you going over this thing with such a fine-tooth comb?”

“I wanna make sure you don’t screw Beth over somewhere.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“I don’t trust your client. You work for your client.”

“I do what’s best for my client.”

“And I’m doing what’s best for my friend.”

“Your due-diligence.”

“I’m just reading, Harvey.”

“You and I both know it’s more than that.”

You ignored the comment, turning to the next page of the NDA.

“Food’s here,” Harvey spoke up after a few minutes of quiet.

“Thanks.”

You could hear the rustle of bags as Donna unpacked things before leaving again.

“...You gonna put that down?” Harvey asked.

“When I’m finished with it, sure.”

“What about the bagels?”

“I’ll take it to go when I’m done here.”

“Come on, I can hear your stomach growling from here.”

“My stomach isn’t growling.”

“Not at the moment, but it has been.”

“I’ll live through eleven more pages.”

“The bagel will get cold.”

“I’ll heat it back up.”

“You’re going to reheat a toasted bagel?”

“Yes, using the same apparatus that toasted it in the first place.”

“A twice-toasted bagel is gonna be hard as a rock.”

“Oh well.”

“And if you don’t eat now, I will use all of the scallion cream cheese.”

“Knock yourself out.”

“I mean all of it. There’s a ton here, and I probably couldn’t fit all of it on a bagel, so I’d have to go in with a spoon. You want me to do that?”

“Do whatever the hell you want, Harvey. You usually do.”

Blessedly, that shut him up for a few moments.

“So did you,” He countered after a moment. You didn't need a law degree to catch that insinuation.

“I didn’t leave Harvard because I wanted to. I left because I had to.”

“You chose to.”

“I made a decision that favored my mental and physical health over my career prospects. There's nothing wrong with that.”

“You ever regret it?”

You considered for a moment, gaze drifting from the papers.

“...Sometimes,” You admitted finally, glancing toward Harvey. “When this whole thing with Beth cropped up, yeah. It was a bummer not to have the full force of the degree behind me. But…If I had become a lawyer, I probably wouldn’t have met Beth, or had enough time to help her, so…” You shrugged, looking back down at the NDA. “It’s not as easy as just regretting it or not regretting it.”

“You regret leaving everyone behind?”

“...Yeah. I could’ve been better about the way I did it, but at the time, cutting everyone off felt like the right thing to do.”

“Even me.”

“Harvey,” You sighed heavily, “I’m not saying that what I did was right for everyone involved. If I had reached out to you, to Scottie, to any of our friends, maybe I would’ve gotten a different answer, but the way that you reacted to me the other day? When you told me that I was a coward?” You lifted your head to meet his eye. “That was exactly what I was expecting. And you know what, it hurt like hell last night, but there is no way I could’ve handled hearing that from you back then.”

Harvey’s jaw worked for a moment.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” He admitted softly. “I’m sorry.”

You hesitated before you nodded a little, turning back to the NDA.

“If it’s what you felt—”

“It wasn’t,” Harvey shook his head. “I was mad, and I let it get the better of me.”

“And you’re not mad now?”

“Not at you for that.”

“But you are mad at me.”

“For making me get up to be in the office at seven in the morning? Yeah, I’m outraged.”

You fought back a smile, shrugging.

“Didn’t mean to fuck with your beauty sleep, princess.”

You turn the page, twiddling the pen between your fingers.

“You’ll make it up to me.”

“Will I?” You arched a brow. “How exactly do you think I’m going to do that?”

“You’ll pay for dinner tonight.”

“Oh, we’re getting dinner?”

“I’m fully aware of the vast difference in our salaries, so I’ll pick somewhere with only one Michelin star.”

“What a generous smug asshole. Time really has changed you.”

“It hasn’t changed either of us.”

“I don’t know. I think you’re more of a dick than I remember you being.”

“I’m blushing.”

“Sure, Specter.”

“Put the NDA down and have a bagel.”

“Bossy.”

“It’s my office, I get to be bossy.”

“Fine. I’ll take the NDA to a conference room and give us both some space.”

“Keep your seat, have a bagel, and let me see what you have so far.”

You didn’t look up until you saw a plate lowered into your field of vision. You arched your brows before you raised the NDA, holding it out to Harvey as you took hold of the plate. You shifted in your seat, sitting up just a bit. Crap, you hadn’t realized how far down you’d slid in your seat over the course of the last hour. You set the bagel aside for a moment, capping your pen and tucking it behind your ear. You twist the top off of the bagel, lapping at the thick layer of cream cheese before taking a bite. You can’t even help the soft, relieved groan that you let out at the taste.

Damn, you were hungry.

You glanced across the desk, met by Harvey’s smug smile.

“Shuddup,” You mumble around the mouthful.

“Didn’t say anything.”

“Didn’t have to.”

You took another bite as Harvey began to flip through the notes that you’d made in the NDA.

“You’re having fun with this,” He comments.

“I’m protecting my friend.”

“And you’re having fun doing it.”

“Sure, Harvey.”

“You are.”

“So you’ve upgraded from not analyzing your own feelings to telling everyone else theirs?”

“Not everyone. Just the people that I know.”

“Bold claim.”

“I told you—you haven’t changed. This NDA proves that.”

“How so?”

“Because so far, you have marked every single thing that I threw in there to trip you up.”

You nearly dropped the plate, and the bagel. You completely froze in the middle of your chewing. Harvey’s smug smile widened as he closed the NDA and reached out, taking up another, far thinner file from his desk, holding it out.

“Here’s the clean one.”

You reached out, setting the plate down on the desk. You flipped it open, embarrassment beginning to well up as you saw entire passages from the previous NDA—the very ones that you’d spent your time marking—omitted. You nodded for a moment before you muttered, “Okay.” You dropped it into your purse, slung your purse over your shoulder, and stood, taking the remainder of the dirty chai and the bagel with you.

“Hang on,” Harvey groaned.

“Nice meeting you, Donna,” You commented, ignoring Harvey as you passed her desk.

“You too!” She chirped over Harvey’s following, and his call of, “Would you wait a minute!”

“Why, so you can keep making a fool of me?” You bit out.

“I didn’t do it to make a fool of you, I did it to make a point.”

“And what point would that be?”

“That you’re a damn smart person—”

“I knew that already—”

“And that you would’ve made an amazing lawyer! You could still make an amazing lawyer!”

“That doesn’t mean that I want to be one!” You whirled around to face Harvey, face hot and close to his as he comes to a sudden stop to keep from ramming into you. “Just because my goals changed doesn’t make them any less important than yours. I am glad you’re a lawyer. I’m glad you have your corner office, your fancy fucking suits, your title, your position. But I’m glad that I have my life, the way I want it, without all of this. I get that what I did hurt you back then, and I am sorry. But I wasn’t fighting to knock you out of the top five when I was at school. I was fighting for my life. I know that I am smart. I know that I could’ve been an amazing lawyer, but I am happy just being myself as I am, right now. If that’s not enough for you, I don’t give a shit, because it’s my life, not yours.”

You left Harvey standing alone in the hall, his gobsmacked, stunned expression remaining as you turned away from him and strode to the elevator. He didn’t bother to chase you down this time, which was a relief. You managed to hold it together as the elevator doors slid open, studiously ignoring Mike as he stepped off and greeted you:

“Hey! Done already?”

You reached out, jabbing the lobby and door close buttons as quickly as you could.

Mike’s brow furrowed as she disappeared from sight. He turned away from the elevator, peering around the corner to see who might be nearby. There wasn’t anyone there for a few moments, and then…Harvey, standing there looking stunned and lost.

“Did she already finish her mark-up?” Mike asked. The question seemed to snap Harvey out of his reverie. He cleared his throat, straightening and turning away.

“She got halfway. I gave her the clean version.”

“What? I thought you were only going to give it to her if she caught 95% of the errors."

“She was on track to catch every single one. Spoiling the surprise didn’t seem like such a bad idea.”

“Is that because this whole endeavor has been a bad idea?” Donna piped up as the two neared her desk.

“I don’t wanna hear it,” Harvey warned as he strode past her.

“I wanna hear it, but I don’t have time, I have uh,” Mike pointed down the hall, “A 10-Q filing to comb through—”

“Go,” Harvey nodded him away before he turned, heading back into his office. He reached out, taking up her half-marked NDA. His gaze skated over her notes, and it was as if he was transported back to Langdell, to the notes that she would scrawl in his margins, questioning his citations and methodology.

“...She’s happy as she is.”

“Donna."

“She said it herself!”

“She’s not working at her full potential.”

“Sounded like she preferred it that way. You’ve seen her at work. Is she bad at her job?”

“No.”

“Good at it?”

“What’s your point.”

“My point is,” Dinna leaned in the door frame, “That success looks different to different people. For you, it apparently looks like rubbing someone's skills in their own face. And I think if you keep harping on what might’ve been, she’ll just resent you for it—and if you lose her again, you’ll resent yourself for that, too.”

Donna raised her brows pointedly before she pushed off of the door frame. Harvey looked after her for a moment before he lowered himself into his seat, tossing the NDA onto his desk. What to do next?

Bringing her there hadn’t brought him much luck, but so far, going to her had been far more effective.

“I’m going to file a restraining order.”

“May as well do it on a full stomach.”

“I don’t have the NDA here, I sent it back with my edits.”

“I know.”

You glanced between Harvey’s calm expression and the bag of takeout that he was holding up. You sighed heavily. You thought you’d been able to shake Harvey, at least for the day. As soon as you’d gotten home, you’d double-checked the NDA, and hadn’t been able to find a thing wrong with it. You’d sent it back with a messenger, unwilling to step foot in that damn office again that day. You’d been certain that that would be in, but there Harvey is.

“I promised you dinner,” He adds.

“I thought you said that I’d be the one paying for it.”

“I take cash and Venmo.”

“Okay—” You drew your hand back to shut the door, but Harvey pressed his palm against the wood before you could.

“Wait a second.”

“Harvey, I can’t do handle a repeat of this morning.”

“I’m not asking you to. This morning, I wanted to understand what happened, I got that.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

Harvey seemed to have to brace himself.

“The woman that I knew at Harvard…The woman that I thought I knew—”

“Thin ice, Specter.”

“—I had a different perspective of you then. I know we can’t blank slate this, but I’d like to get to know you properly, and I want you to get to know me. As adults. I wanna know what I’ve missed.”

You considered for a long moment, your gaze dropping to the bag of takeout. Letting him in wasn’t the greatest idea. If it went south again, you couldn’t just storm out—it was your apartment. But there were things about Harvey that you’d missed, too; things that you hadn’t been able to learn about through your mutual friends, and things that you couldn’t just get from googling the guy’s name.

“What’d you get?” You asked finally.

“Chinese.”

“Dumplings?”

“Vegetarian, fried.”

You sighed, stepping back and nodding over your shoulder with a concession of, “Alright.”

There were a lot of things that you had remembered about Harvey. But sitting on the floor of your living room, leaning back against your couch as you ate dinner and drank beer was bringing back so much more. Harvard had held so many bad memories that it had nearly crowded out the good ones, the warm ones. But now, as Harvey busted your balls, teased you, ribbed you as he nudged your knee with his, or your arm with his, or your shoulder with his, was bringing back memories of vicious butterflies.

Oh, you’d had the worst of crushes on this man. It had only been made worse by late nights spent in his dorm, all-nighters pulled at the library, nights spent dancing with him at parties. You’d been certain that there had never been anything there, and you hadn’t pushed it. Harvey had been your friend, a good friend. But now, with the way Harvey’s smiles softened and his gazes lingered, you found yourself wondering if there had ever been anything more, anything that the both of you had buried.

“...I was sorry to hear about your brother.”

Your admission came out of a quiet moment, and it sobered the both of you. Harvey nodded a little, lowering his head and looking at the beer in his hands.

“I would’ve reached out,” You added, “But I didn’t think you wanted to hear from me at that point.”

“I didn’t.”

You nodded at his confirmation, and it was your turn to look at the beer in your hands.

“You knew more about my life than I thought you would,” Harvey added, leaning back against the couch and shifting to face you a little.

“Well, some of our mutual friends kept me informed on the happenings of the great Harvey Specter.”

“Why didn’t they tell me about you?”

“I asked them not to.”

“Why?”

“Figured you hated me.”

You bit your lip as Harvey reached out, taking the beer out of your hands and setting it on the coffee table. Your stomach flipped as his hand raised, tucking two fingers beneath your chin to turn your head toward him. You hesitantly met his gaze, stunned by the warmth you found there.

“I never hated you,” He murmured. “I was upset, sure. I was angry, and confused. But I didn’t hate you.”

“Maybe you should’ve.”

“Couldn’t if I tried.”

“Did you try?”

“Yes.” Hervey’s thumb smoothed along your jaw. “But every time I got angry, I worried, too. I had no idea where you were. I didn’t know if you were alright, if you were at another school or dead in a ditch somewhere.”

“I’m sorry—”

“I know,” Harvey nodded, hand smoothing around to your nape. “But I’ve gotta say, if you ever disappear on me like that again—”

“You’re done?”

“I’m gonna send a hundred fucking Pinkertons after you.”

You scoffed a laugh, brows raising. “That a threat, Mr. Specter?”

“It’s a promise.”He shifted closer. “I’m not losing you again.”

“You did fine without me.”

“I would’ve done better with you.”

“You didn’t need me! You had Scottie, you had Jessica, you have your career and your suits and your—”

Before you could say another word, Harvey pressed his lips to yours. Your eyes went a touch wide at the sudden unexpected contact. It was a moment before you let yourself lean into him. You raised your hand hesitantly, resting it on his chest as he drew you closer. Your knees knocked against his as you cuddled against him, humming softly as Harvey sucked your lower lip between his. You leaned back a touch, smiling as he rested his forehead against yours.

“I want you around,” Harvey murmured. “Can’t that be enough?”

You nodded, sweeping your thumb gently under his collar.

“It’s enough. More than enough.”

Taglist: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @paintballkid711 ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight; @recklessworry ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @nolanell ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @20th-centu-fairy-girl

#Harvey Specter x Reader #Harvey Specter x You #Harvey Specter/Reader #Harvey Specter/You #Harvey Specter fic #Harvey Specter imagine #More Than Enough

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coffinflop · 9 months

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#fanfiction #fanfic #tumblr polls #polls #milestumblr #personally i split each pairing into a document bc i can keep my shared notes about dynamics and lore etc #sometimes if a fic gets long enough it’ll get its own doc #but i rarely write fics that long #and i also rarely write more than one fic for a pairing #also if u saw me post this already: no you didn’t

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wordstome · 1 year

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what is it with me and school/university settings because I can't stop thinking about having a nasty one night stand with König at some frat party and he becomes obsessed with you while you don't even know his name. you're just trying to get through uni without crashing and burning while coping using drugs and sex and there's just this fucking guy who you slept with once and now he's everywhere, caring about you to an infuriating degree

#OH MY GOD WHAT IF THE READER CHARACTER GIVES HIM THE NICKNAME KONIG WHILE THEY'RE FUCKING #and she just doesn't care enough to learn his name so she just calls him konig #i just have a thing for reader characters who like #do not match his energy whatsoever #but he's persistent and devoted and has a massive cock #and once she gets closer she's like oh okay. there's more to this guy than i thought #oh fuck do i like him???#it's fun having a cod writing sideblog i can just talk to myself #and have all my thoughts in one place #2am thoughts #König #König x reader #konig #konig x reader #cod #mw2 #cod mw2 #university au #fic: now playing

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littlefankingdom · 3 months

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The Batman fandom infantilizing a near 30 years old white man taking in a child, saying he was a brother more than a father as if he wasn't a full grown adult taking in a child he could have birthed, but parentifying a brown young adult taking in his brother pre-teen for less than a year, saying he was a father more than a brother (only a year is barely enough but ok), or saying he was more a father to his other brothers than Bruce, when he met them when he was 18 and 21 is making me uncomfortable, ngl.

Like, Bruce is a "kid" when he became Dick's guardian when he canonically was over 25 (he started being Batman at 25), and a brother to him when he raised him for 10 years (and Dick probably has not many memories from before Bruce now), but Dick is a "father" to Damian he only had as his charge for less than a year, half of which they were fighting each others??? Make it make sense???

#dc comics #batman #nightwing #bruce wayne #dick grayson #my ramblings #Bruce was 25 when he became Batman so at least 26 when he got 8 years old Dick #He was old enough to be a father and not a child stop calling him a kid he was closer to 30 than 20 #But Dick is younger and Damian is like 10-11 and only in his care for a year #but that's more a father/son relationship than Dick's yearly years with Bruce? pls #stop parentifying Dick all the time and making him raise his siblings when he is a young adult who did so many immature thing #let him be his age and grow up normally #something something the stereotypes are showing guys #there are so many fics on AO3 with people writing Dick as Jason father figure #HE WAS 18 AND IN FULL TEENAGER ANGST MODE #I do not care that comics say that Dick and Damian had a father/son bond it doesn’t make sense #However there are a ton of comics of Dick being like “You are my dad! You're my dad! boogie woogie woogie” to Bruce #also the letter he wrote to Bruce in Nightwing First Year where he is like “I'm not ready to see you rn because I'm mad at you #but also you're the best father I ever could ask for.“ even mad and lost he still viewed Bruce as his dad whatever the man said

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museaway · 6 months

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kudos don't determine worth

#such Opinions on the internet today #you and your writing are so much more than a number!!!#unpopular opinion but I'd like a site without stats at all #I know I know - I'm a writer too I get it #but imagine if you didn't go in with that bias #and could just select something because it sounds neat #I prefer that to people asking when a fic is 'good enough' to read #fandom #oh btw there's a post about this making the rounds #you'll probably see it at some point #just...sigh.

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absoluteminimum · 3 months

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I did some rough comparisons across several issues of MTME to figure out irreducible Minimus and Ravage's size difference and my conclusion is wow Ravage is actually quite large (or maybe Minimus is just small)

#maccadam #minirav #transformers #transformers idw #idw transformers #minimus ambus #ravage #tf ravage #transformers ravage #mtmte #more than meets the eye #my art #god I ship minirav so hard and I may be the only one actively doing it but I've got enough fic ideas to last me a while

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ghost-proofbaby · 1 month

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never love an anchor (e.m. x reader)

"On some level, I think I always understood that a ship could never really love an anchor."

warnings: severe hurt/brief comfort, suicidal ideations, severely depressed reader. again: detailed recount of suicidal ideations. dead dove: do not eat.

wc: 5.8k+

an: i cannot emphasize this enough - this fic deals with a severely depressed, and blatantly suicidal reader. it is extremely heavy. it is extremely triggering. it is extremely self-indulgent. the romance aspect is ambiguous and the comfort aspect at the end is brief. this is a genuine, and sincerely personal piece of writing. it is an outline of how suicidal ideations may present themselves to some people. of these 5k words, 4k is deeply littered with reader's ideations without sugar coating. please, please, please do not read this unless you're in the state of mind to read it. you've surely heard it before but i'll say it just to be sure: it is a permanent solution for temporary feelings. and, just in case no one has told you, i'm glad you're alive. if you're reading this, i'm glad that you're alive. you're enough.

if you find yourself feeling like reader, i urge that you find resources such as those linked. hotlines, therapists, friends, your doctor, your family - please. i do not wish these emotions upon anyone, and they should never be taken lightly.

that being said, here are my guts from a very vulnerable moment, spilled out across the page. please handle them with care if you choose to read.

Technically speaking, the pressure that the human body is capable of handling almost seems infinite. When introduced slowly, and time is given to adjust, there is no pinpointed amount of pressure that dooms the human body. Like a crab in slow boiling water, your body should be theoretically able to handle a steady increase, bit by bit, and never truly notice.

So why does it currently feel like you’re dying?

The pressure was never an overnight thing. It was a conglomeration you’d gathered, piece by piece, collecting little souvenirs of all the responsibilities you can’t currently remember if you’d ever agreed to along the way. It hadn’t been sudden, it hadn’t been with lack of adjusting, it hadn’t been a pressure suddenly unloaded upon you all at once – you’d done this, brick by brick, all with your own two hands.

Keeping up with friends, keeping up with work, keeping up with expectations. Always trying to run ahead of the curve, always trying to be better. You should be fine. You shouldn’t even notice. You shouldn’t be sobbing on your bathroom floor, clutching the edge of your porcelain tub, every single breath a labor of survival.

It feels like every bone in your body is splintering. It feels like the world has cracked open your ribs, one by one, just for show. You don’t feel poetic like the movies, you don’t feel like a valuable lesson learned in the books. You feel as though you’ve become nothing more than some crude display in a contemporary art gallery, and you were the one to hang yourself on the wall.

Needles prickle across your skin with another heaving sob, as if you can feel the push pins you’ve used to spread yourself out for consumption.

We still on for tonight?

The text from Eddie glares at you from your phone discarded on the floor mere inches away. You’re lucky the screen hadn’t broken when you’d thrown it down on the ground on your way to the toilet, dry heaving through all your tears.

He wasn’t a part of the issue. If anything, he was part of the solution.

A shining clean slate, pristine whites and a scratch-free surface for you to press your cheek to when it all got a bit much. An abyss of freedom and openness for when the world was all a bit smothering. An anchor to cling to, a rope to tie around your wrists to keep from floating too far. The willow tree in a graveyard to rest your back against, the caress of a warm sun even if only momentarily as you stared out across headstones of all the pieces of you that you can never get back. Every version of you that has long since buried, a few even with newly churned dirt resting upon them. Something soft, something sacred, to rest your hands upon.

Why does he still let you rest your bloodied and dirtied palms on his shoulders? Did he ever agree to that to begin with?

You can’t remember. Or maybe your brain is simply refusing to recall.

I hate to cancel, but I’m sick. I don’t think I can come out tonight :-(

What? Is everything okay? Are you okay? Do I need to bring you anything?

Please don’t.

The please is what gives you away. You should have forgone it, should have offered him a lighthearted response instead.

But there is a pit in the bottom of your stomach, and seeing all the question marks across his text only made it more terminal. Only gave it more reason to swallow you whole. Only gave it more reason to grow and to tangle up and to restrict each stuttering breath of yours that you can’t seem to steady.

Another buzz comes from your phone, but you don’t look to read it. You resort to resting your forehead against the lip of your toilet, all attempts at a deep breath futile as you finally taste the salt across your lips.

Were you too much? Were you not enough? Was it possible to be an odd juxtaposition of both?

A harrowing thought crosses your mind, and you know if Eddie could read minds across the intricate webbing that connects cell phones, he’d grab you by your shoulders. Maybe shake you until you see sense, or maybe cling to you until the thought has faded into nothingness. As if he could squeeze you hard enough to press together all the splinters that are left of your bones, forming a new body – a better body. One that can handle the pressure. One that isn’t imploding upon itself. A more durable mind, a more capable suit of skin to occupy.

Does it even matter anymore? Would it even matter if I simply vanished?

Would it be so bad to let the pit finally consume you? To just give in, to let it erase you from existence. To finally wave your white flag and let the awfulness inside of you finally win the battle, erasing you from existence and leaving behind an empty space in the world that could be filled with someone better.

Someone who could be a better friend. Someone who could be a harder worker. Someone who wasn’t choked up on their bathroom floor, beginning to contemplate if the painful gasps were even worth it.

Were you worth it? Were you worth the air in your lungs? Or could it better serve someone who could handle all the pressure?

And it wasn’t even that much pressure to begin with, if you pick it apart thread by thread. It was the natural weight of the human experience, and you were still crumbling.

There was a full bottle of ibuprofen in the cabinet. There was a busy street not far from your home. There was a bathtub that could easily be filled with water – you’d never been good at holding your breath, unless someone counted the last few months, in which that seemed to be all you were good at.

There was even a bridge, 5.27 miles away from your house exactly. You could already envision the patch of grass you could park your car at, feel the drop in temperature as you stood and overlooked the tame waves of a man-made lake.

Maybe your feet didn’t even have to leave the pavement. Maybe it would be enough to just stand in the silence and see the jump with your own two eyes.

You felt like nothing more than a ghost of yourself, yes, but maybe. Maybe, just maybe, there would still be a broken shard within you that could stir awake at it all. Maybe if you got up off the bathroom floor and set yourself into motion, it would open its eyes just in time to scream no.

Ghosts don’t just appear. They were a vibrant soul once – they were somebody once.

But it’s hard to imagine that you ever were. When it gets like this, it’s hard to push through all the tumultuous thoughts and loathly emotions to remember that. A version of you vibrant, a version of you that might have been worthy, if only for a moment.

A version of you that wasn’t insulting to compare to others. That was capable of progress, of earning your blip of existence.

You don’t want the bottle of ibuprofen. You don’t want the busy street. You don’t want the overflowing tub. You don’t even want the calm of the bridge. You just want it to stop.

There’s a knock on your front door that echoes through the entire apartment. You dread that you already know who it is, but you can’t get up to answer.

You can’t move from this very spot. You’re terrified of what will happen when you do.

Will your bones collapse into ash upon the floor? Will you make one wrong move, and in a fit of pressure, make a terribly permanent decision for what feels like a terribly permanent feeling?

Maybe you were born with the pit in your stomach. Maybe you were born with that black hole inside of you. Cursed to always be yearning, always be a juxtaposition, always be a ghost of what could have become.

You think you hear the click of your front door opening. You think you hear heavy footsteps across the hardwood floors. You think, you think, you think. That’s the issue.

The tears are still coming and going in erratic tides. The salt is drying out your lips, your cheeks, the corners of your eyes. You’d thought you’d been incapable of any more emotions like this, but your tear ducts have managed to prove you wrong.

Does it even matter anymore?

You’d left the bathroom door wide open.

Were you worth it?

You’d been home alone – past tense.

A more durable mind, a more capable suit of skin to occupy.

A soft gasp of your name has you microscopically lifting your head from the toilet seat. You know what the scene looks like; it looks like nothing more than the excuse you’d used. You look as though you’re ill, like you’ve been spilling your guts across the bathroom floor all night.

If you had been, would it all feel a little less heavy?

“Hey, Eds.”

You’re tired. You’re exhausted. Your voice is nothing more than a drag of a whisper as you look up at your anchor standing in the doorway, his face painted with concern.

Maybe you were an anchor – maybe being an anchor wasn’t a good thing. After all, what use does an anchor have beyond weighing down the ship?

“Jesus,” he mutters as he rushes to your side, falling to his knees carelessly as his hand flies out to brush back tendrils of your hair, “You look like shit.”

You felt like shit.

Selfishly, you lean into his touch, desperate for comfort. Desperate for those caring palms to soothe the ache you’d carried since birth. Desperate to hear him tell you that you’re wrong – hands to promise you that you’re worthy, fingers to wrap around your bones rather than these burning ropes. You’re bloodied and raw, fully on display, and you just want to be okay.

You don’t want the bridge. You want Eddie. You want him to magically make it okay, and that’s unfair.

You’re not his weight to carry, not his burden to shoulder.

After far too long of a silence, one in which he sits patiently in with you, all you can really reply is a broken, “Yeah.”

Immediately, he knows something is wrong. Because of course he does.

Because he’s a good friend. He’s a good person. He has the right words more often than not, and his hands were always formed to heal rather than injure. Create rather than destroy. Those warm palms are made to hold the space he’s earned in the grand scheme of the Universe, and it almost makes you nauseous as the jealousy spreads.

He’s good.

And you’re simply rotten.

You used to lie to yourself and say it was simply one rotted bit amongst plenty of good, but tonight, it all seemingly comes to clarity. You can’t dig out the bad, cleanse yourself of the rot, because it’s all decay.

You don’t have to let the pit consume you – it already has. You were born with it, and it had swallowed you whole from the first cry that had ever left your lips.

He makes himself a bit more comfortable, and you almost feel bad for reducing him to nothing more than the bathroom floor, “You wanna talk about what’s really wrong?”

“I’m sick.”

“This isn’t just some stomach bug.”

Your throat begins to tighten again, and suddenly, his gentle touch across the crown of your head burns. Your eyes water ferociously, and your chest caves into itself.

You can’t make a better body or a more sound mind out of the mess you’ve become. You can’t pull gold from tarnished rubble.

Confessing to him will only be handing over something heavy, something terrible, that he shouldn’t have to struggle with as well. But not offering him a sliver of the truth almost feels more dishonoring.

“Do you ever feel like a waste of space?” you croak, leaning back, finally accepting that the small space of the toilet that had been cooling your face has gone warm. Another thing you’ve ruined, in hindsight, “Like, this world is filled with great people, and I just… I just, I’m taking up the space- I’m wasting the space-”

You can’t get out the proper words. You don’t know how.

How do you say you want to cease to exist when you’re not really sure if that’s the truth? You’re miserable, and you’re selfish, and you’re not entirely sure your feet would have ever left the pavement if you had driven yourself to the bridge. You’d be too scared to do it.

Too scared to miss the day that science announces it’s found a cure to all your rot, a miracle drug to erase the pit, a way to reverse all the damage you’ve been comprised of your whole life.

His brows furrow and his hand stops all the calming movements, “What? Are you- are you saying you feel like a waste of space?”

It feels silly to admit it to other people. To try and describe how it all feels. Like a child trying to convince their parents the Boogeyman is real, you have to make him see that you’re right. You have evidence, you have proof, and it’s not just a feeling.

“I don’t feel like I’m a waste of space,” you finally correct, both yourself and him, “I know I’m a waste of space.”

“Bullshit.”

“Eddie, don’t-”

“No,” he cuts you off. And somehow, in only a way that he’s capable of, it’s not offensive, “You’re not. I’m not going to sit here and listen to my favorite person claim they’re wasting space-”

“I am!” It’s your turn in the cycle of interruption. You pull away from him entirely, chest heaving with the weight presenting itself once more, tears starting to fall all over again. You can’t even distinguish where the old tears stop and the new ones begin, “I really am. All I seem to do lately is just exist. And that’s such a- such a- that’s such a waste. I can’t read any of the things I should enjoy these days, I can’t even write. All of the words feel like they just come out wrong. I’m letting everyone down left and right, I’m never living up to whatever pedestal you’ve put me on. I don’t even know what I’m doing with my life. I don’t even know where I’ll be in a year from now – I can’t even see that far in the future.”

Heaves become sobs, and the crumbling has begun once more. A cycle of breaking, a cycle of demolition. Even leaving behind the rubble feels like a crime. A waste of space.

“I don’t think I’m a good person,” you manage to spit out between all your visceral reactions, “Every year, I tell myself the same thing – I’ll be better, I’ll be kinder, I’ll be worth it. And every year, I fail.”

Can he see it? All the fractures and splinters and pits and metaphors?

Can he smell it? All the rot and the destruction and hopelessness?

Can he feel it? All the pressure?

Through your sniffles, you press your back to the tub, knees to your chin as you wrap your arms around your legs, desperately trying to shrivel up. To take up less space. To waste less space.

“I used to think I could make up for it,” you whisper, “I could offer people things that made them forget I’m… so useless. But I don’t think I’m even capable of that anymore.”

If he’s about to respond, it’s drowned out by your cries. You press your eyes hard into your kneecaps, until you see stars, and you try to swallow down all the embarrassment. Try to stop all the hurt from spilling out, to stop all your guts from painting the bathroom walls.

He could simply sit there, let you wallow in your misery alone. Sit and stare as the artwork finally serves its purpose to the visitors of the gallery. Maybe jot down some commentary on how with your bones all spread out like this, the point the artist was attempting to make becomes oh so clear.

And yet, he doesn’t.

You know it’s his arms that are wrapping around you, pulling you from the chill of the tub and into the warmth of his chest. And you let yourself smother within the fabric of his shirt the same exact way in which you’ve convinced yourself you smother everyone around you, let yourself breathe in drugstore cologne and his last cigarette rather than think about all the thoughts that had been spiraling you into dismay over the last twenty four hours – over the last twenty four years.

He’d probably been smoking while waiting on your call tonight. Probably riddled with anxiety, if the shake of his hands pressing into your back are anything to go off of. An anxiety and waiting game that wouldn’t have to exist if you didn’t exist.

The thought makes you cry harder.

If a ghost dies, can it even still return back as itself? Can it still find it within itself to haunt empty hallways, and watch the ones it once loved find peace?

“You’re not useless,” it sounds as though Eddie might be crying as well, if not just a little choked up, “You’re not- I swear- You’re not useless, okay? Never have been, never will be.”

His murmured words are nice, but they fuel an unimaginable guilt. It was supposed to be a nice night. A night of movie marathons and midnight coffee, of trying to remind yourself why you still stick around. A moment of incomparable joy and sweet reprieve as your stomach ached from laughter, your cheeks swelling with an infallible grin that Eddie always seems to pull out of you.

There’s no smiling, no giggling, right now. Just his favorite band shirt from the show you two had attended a few years before, soaking with a fast-growing stain from all your tears.

When you don’t answer him, only manage to wrap your selfish arms around his waist, he continues, “How long have you felt this way, sweetheart?”

And if you hadn’t already been shattered previously, that would have finally broken you.

You can’t pinpoint when it started. You can’t clear the smoke of memories and find an exact moment that you can point to and say, there. That’s where the hurt starts — that’s where the rot starts.

“I don’t know.”

In your mind, it’s a wail. Loud and ferocious, efforts of all it has taken to withstand the pressure of your undoing screamed out loud.

But on this quiet bathroom floor, it can’t even be considered a whisper. Nothing more than the spoken words lingering from a ghost who can’t give up the haunt. An echo of a memory, an echo of the piece in you that can’t let go, not yet.

Not of existing, and not of him. Your fists hold him so firmly against you, you’re scared that you’re going to bruise him. Hurt him just from the sheer effort of trying to show that you love him.

The only way you know how to love – a violent dog who will always bite the kindest hands. Leaving behind bloodied knuckles even if you hadn’t so much as snipped this time.

You take a sharp breath, aware of the levity of the words you’re about to say, “I don’t want to exist anymore, but I wouldn’t even make it off the bridge if I tried.”

It’s not about the bridge anymore. In all likelihood, it wouldn’t be the bridge you turn to. There’s a grand metaphor somewhere in the admittance, but your mind is just too tired to try and paint a prettier picture of it for him.

Because exist is just a placeholder. And there’s a bigger, scarier word that should stand in its place.

He starts to break the hold, and you nearly sob out again just at that. Losing the warmth of his chest and arms strike pain somewhere deep within you, just north of the pit that’s devoured all that’s left of you.

“Bridge?” Phrased as a clarifying question, but when you see his face, it’s clear he knows. There are no good words left to say about it, “Sweetheart, no.”

There are worse reactions to be had. More scenarios that end in slamming doors or deafening silent treatments. Realizations that you’re right and it’s not worth it – defense mechanisms that involve them leaving first.

“I couldn’t do it, even if I want-”

Even if I wanted to. The words you can’t speak, dying on your tongue.

Do you want to? Where does the pain begin? And where could it end?

“You really don’t see it, do you?” he laughs humorlessly, his hands still gripping your biceps in a death hold, “You… you just…”

He doesn’t know what to say, and you don’t blame him. You knew this was heavy; you knew this isn’t the type of bomb to drop on someone you love.

But if you didn’t, where would the bomb have gone? You’re not equipped to detonate it. You’re not equipped to survive the explosion. You wouldn’t want to survive that explosion.

“I’m sorry,” your words pour out, beginning to shake beneath his palms, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Dry, cracked lips feel as though they nearly split from the apologies. More violence, more devastation, more of what you always knew you were. You can see it in his eyes – you’re dragging him down with you, right down to the bottom of the ocean. You’re being an anchor.

He’s all stutters and harsh breaths, panic filling the space with your own as his eyes search yours, “Don’t apologize. You don’t have to apologize. Just-”

He cuts off and is pulling you close again. Slamming your bones into his, wrapping up around you as if he might be able to keep you safe from the world. From your own mind.

“I don’t need apologies,” another squeeze of your closer to him, another attempt to pull you away from the dangers that lie within, “I don’t- I just… Can I help? How do I make it better? Just say the word. I’ll do it.”

It’s not your job. That’s not your job.

You don’t realize you’ve said the words out loud until he’s squeezing you so tightly that you now can’t breathe. Until all you are is him. All his old t-shirts he’s lent to you that hang in your closet, all the nights spent with tangled legs as you sit across from each other on your couch, all the phone calls in which he refused to be the first one to hang up. Cologne that is too cheap to be able to cling so ferociously as it does to all your surroundings, chain-smoked cigarettes you always chastise him for because they’re gonna kill you one day, the smoke of his latest blunt resting in an ashtray as his head finds home in your lap.

All the inside jokes. All the hugs. All the simple texts, if for nothing more than to just check in on each other. The broken reminders of having someone out there that cares. That loves you.

How can such rotten hands pull such love from others? How have you yet to infect him?

“I know it’s not my job,” he finally says, and you know for a fact he’s crying along with you before the first of his tears have wet the crown of your head, “It’s never been a job. You’re not a job. Okay? Get that through your head. There’s- Fuck, there’s plenty of things I wanna drill in that pretty little head of yours right now, but I know I can’t, so just get that.”

He’s trying. A little trill of his tongue that falls a bit flat when he refers to your pretty little head, a brief squeeze of your shoulders as he tries to relax a little. He wants to make you feel better. He wants to make it better.

But he’s still holding you like he’s terrified. You did that – you instilled that fear.

“I’m a mess,” you whisper in bitter realization, ash on your tongue as you process what you’ve done. You’ve already apologized, but you’re seconds away from doing so again, “I’m- I’m a mess, and I’m dragging you into it, and I’m sor-”

“Stop being sorry.” Definitive words, no room for argument. The smallest of shifts as things click into place. He isn’t budging – he isn’t letting go, “Do you remember when I first met you?”

You can’t tell if the question is meant to have a point, or if it’s meant to be a distraction. You let it grow into the latter.

“Yeah,” you breathe out against him, melting into his chest, trying to focus on his voice rather than the ones in your head, “But tell me about it anyway?”

“Two years ago. Technically, two years and seven months,” he starts in the same voice he used to take on during Hellfire sessions, before the members had scattered from coast to coast and his D&D club only became a rarity when the stars aligned. There’s still a crack to his voice from his tears, but that doesn’t stop him, “We were in some cursed fucking diner we don’t even go to anymore, in the dead of the night, and all the servers knew your name and order,” he paints the picture with a humor that should feel out of place, but it settles some of your breathing. Omitting all the vivid details, opting for triggering the memory with words you’d just get. You can feel the stick of the plastic beneath your thighs, you can smell the grease of the kitchen. You can see the cloudy night out of the oversized windows. He’s a natural born storyteller in the most subtle of ways, always knowing his audience, “You were sitting all alone in that booth, and all of Hellfire had just left. Gareth had just told us how he was going to college in California – did you know that?”

“I didn’t.”

“Well, he did,” his chin presses against the top of your head, a huff of a laugh escaping him, “Dropped the bomb it was our last summer as a club probably. We were happy for him, though. Real fucking happy. Got milkshakes to celebrate and made plans to get drunk off our asses the next night to keep the party going. It was dumb, and I’m getting off track, but…”

Baited breath, you’re waiting for him to continue. No thoughts of the bridge. No thoughts of your failures. Living in a small memory with him on the floor of your bathroom.

“Anyways, you were sitting there all alone, with a plate of fries and ranch.”

“Oh, God,” your nose scrunches and you try to pull away, suddenly remembering how embarrassing this memory ends for you. It suddenly didn’t seem like the best way for him to make you feel better by any means, “No, I remember how this story ends, and-”

“I’m not done,” he locks his arms around you, and you can feel the whisper of a smile as it brushes against your temple, “Obviously you know where I’m going with this, but I’m not done, sweetheart. Because all the other guys had just left, and I’m sitting there, realizing the only other customer was some random person over across the diner, scribbling away in some notebook. Thought you looked cute when you were all focused like that, y’know? But then you were so focused that it became distracted, and you spilled that ranch all over yours-”

“Please, stop.”

You’re laughing through the words, weakly, the air of desperation in the word please being far different from earlier in the night. No bridges, no failures.

“I was probably being a weirdo, trying to run over and help you or whatever the fuck I was trying to do. I probably made it worse, right?”

You’re there, remembering a version of Eddie that was a stranger, taking napkins to the knees of your jeans and smearing the ranch rather than really helping you clean it up. “Yeah, just a little bit.”

“Sorry for that, by the way,” he airily apologizes before continuing, “But I just remember thinking about how focused you were on that notebook. And how you laughed with the waiter. And how you were just… lost in your own little world. And how you were so cute. You were so nice. The type of person I wanted in my life. Took one look at you with that ranch all over your lap and thought, huh. I want to get to know that person.”

“Nice? I was not nice, I was-” you cut off, heart all but stopping as you recognize the point of it all. It wasn’t meant to just be a distraction. He was making a point. “I was a… a mess that day.”

“Exactly.”

He pulls away again, and this time, it’s a little easier. The world has put a pause on its ending and you can handle the weight of his arms lightening for a few seconds, just so he can get a good look at your face.

“You were a mess the day that I met you, and I still wanted you in my life,” he says each word deliberately, not breaking eye contact. Fear has broken through to determination. “And even if you’re still a mess today, I still want you. Nothing changes. You get that?”

No bridges.

No failures.

The weight of it all had been heavy. The type of sorrow you thought was never meant to be carried by more than your own two hands. But he had taken it in his palms, lifted it from you entirely, even if it would only be temporary. One day you’d have to endure the pain again, get to the root of the problem. Figure out if all your ailments had been something wired into you since birth, or things you’d picked up along your way. But for now, you could breathe again. You could hear the drumming of your heart in your ears, and you could hear every single one of both yours and Eddie’s breaths in the silence, and that was enough.

“I don’t want to die,” you finally quietly admit. Saying one of the bigger, scarier words. The thing you’d been too afraid to let slip off your tongue originally. “I just- sometimes it all gets a bit loud, you know? And I know you said don’t apologize, but I am sorry that I scared you. And I’m sorry that you have to take the bad to also get that little bit of the good with me.”

His hand leaves one of your arms for the first time since he’d first wrapped you up, and it finds its way to cradle the side of your head. Holding you as if you’re porcelain still. You know that won’t go away, not tonight. “I’d rather have your bad days than have nothing at all,” he chokes up once more, and you can see tears threatening to welt in his eyes, “You get that, too. Alright? You’re worth it. Bad, good, funny, sad – give it to me. I’m asking for it. Just don’t… don’t leave me with the nothing.”

You’re worth it.

He’s found a worth in you attached to nothing at all. He’s sitting here with you, on the bathroom floor, and his perception of you has nothing to do with what you can only offer.

It just has to do with you. He sees you, and he’s decided you’re worth it. Even now.

He smiles softly, as if he can see the realization dawning upon you, “You wanna get up off the floor now? We can go sit on your couch or bed or something.”

You’re quick to shake your head. Your knees are partially digging into his thighs, your breaths are matching his.

“Okay,” his face falls slightly, but not entirely. Not entirely, “That’s okay. Do you want me…. Do you want me to go?”

Another shake of your head. But this time, you need to offer more than just the motion of your head, especially when you can feel tears returning as your throat tightens up, “No. No, just- Stay with me? Please?”

Your hands reach out without you even processing it, gripping his wrists, desperate and clinging and still verging on the edge of violent. The thought of being alone is terrifying, but the thought of having to watch him walk out of this room is even more petrifying.

He doesn’t even flinch as you sink your claws in. His smile only returns, and he shuffles to pull you both to hold your backs up against the wall across from the toilet, “Of course. I’ll stay, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere – wouldn’t even dream of it.”

His words shake just a little less than they had when he’d first entered the room.

He can’t fix it all magically. That isn’t his job, isn’t his role, isn’t his choice. But he can sit here with you, on the floor of the bathroom, endlessly patient and tragically caring as he urges you to lay down. He stretches his legs out and pats his lap once before hovering his hands over your shoulder, guiding you until your temple is flush with his thigh.

He can choose to not hesitate as his fingers immediately push through the baby hairs by your temple, a soft hum in the back of his throat that sounds exactly as you feel.

Hesitantly content. Just for now. It’s enough.

The storm is receding. As hours pass by, and noises of uncertainty become more confident hums of a song you faintly recognize, it all settles. He stays. You stay. The storm passes for the time being, and the hole tempers itself for just the night.

It’s enough for now. You’ll worry more tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that. You’ll talk more about why you feel this way, and he’ll offer better solutions. The weight won’t simply be passed into his waiting hands and forgotten – one day, you’ll find a way to lighten it through dissipation rather than through catastrophe.

One day, the seas will calm, and you’ll find yourself the ship rather than the anchor.

And the captain can be the boy who sits on the floor with you through the sadness, content to wait out the storms with you until you find the worth he sees in you.

#not using taglist due to the triggering nature of this fic #ghost's stories #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson angst #tw suicidal ideations #this felt more like a journal entry than a fic at times #but i needed to write it so i did #writing eddie's bits were hard because i've always been bad at being on that side of these things #finding a way to have two humans discuss the emotions in question out loud was just hard #and in case anyone who's reading the tags needs to hear this: you're not a burden for telling your loved ones when you feel this way #i guarantee they'd rather have these hard and uncomfortable conversations than the alternative #the ending only feels rushed and like a band-aid because i truly don't know if i'm capable of writing that type of dialogue #it's already scary enough posting this as it is lol #but save the leaves? idk now im using humor as a coping mechanism #alright i'll shut up now no one is reading this far into the tags

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