She hates the way Harley sleeps, Ivy knows, because it makes her heart pang in the most unpleasant ways. Harley Quinn, who tucks into herself like a purring cat as she naps, who looks so comfortable and perfect pressed against the warm skin of Ivy's body. Ivy doesn't mind it, but at the same time it grates at her resolve.

Resolve, she thinks, so sarcastically, isn't true at all.

A resolve can only exist if one is willing to front it, right?

Harley absently gurgles out a few noises as Ivy strokes through her pretty, yellow hair. Ivy doesn't understand how stupid Harley can act, when there's someone so amazing underneath that skin-tight clown suit and embarrassing headwear. Ivy loves Harley more deeply than Harley's seventh-grade mind can understand.

No, Harley's not dumb, far from it, but Ivy will swear on her own plants that Harley has the mental social standing of a thirteen year old.

Harley sleeps and Ivy thinks. Harleen and Pamela exist again, and Pamela just stares down at Harleen whose vice-grip never loosens at her solid waist. Harleen is needy, Pamela learns early on, sort of like a newborn puppy or an eight year old girl.

"Red?"

Ivy glances up from a reverie, a dream disappearing into the air, and the TV's dull cable box blinks 12:30 in crimson lettering. Harleen disappears in the relentless glimpse of that powder-blue eye.

Harley pushes herself up a little closer until her chin tucks in the juncture between Ivy's shoulder and neck, and her lips still smeared with that tasteless black lipstick and that tasteful feel of Harley, she brushes them gently against Ivy's redder ones. Ivy doesn't move, just lets the other get comfortable, cozy.

Inwardly, Ivy swears Harley off for the final time. Like a bad drug addiction: gone.

Harley nuzzles into Ivy's neck and Ivy just scowls and keeps the tips of her fingers eloquently pressed to the corner of her lips. She's not blushing, she knows, but a part of her feels like the most grandiose form of idiot known to all of mankind.

"Love ya, Red."

The murmur is practically indiscernible, but Ivy's known for her ability to discern.

So Ivy melts and tilts her chin up briefly, letting her fingers flutter there with a pleasant sensation. She steadily lets a hand linger to the back of Harley's neck, and she kisses her softly and swears her off mentally for the last time, she promises.

"Love you too, Harl."

And thus, no more is said.