Work Text:
There’s a reason behind Harvey’s strong distaste for spending the night at someone’s place instead of his own, but he’s never had to reflect on said reason for a long, long time. That is, until today. The first inclination Harvey gets that informs him he’s not in his own bed is how the sunlight seems to hit his face at the most uncomfortable angle. Prying an eye open in the hopes that he won’t get blinded, Harvey peers around groggily and sighs when he takes in the sight of a room that is most definitely not his own. The bed creaks when he shifts his weight and Harvey grimaces.
An inkling of a hangover creeps up on him as he stumbles out of bed and collects his clothes, but he glares it down as he shuffles to the bathroom and sets to work making himself look presentable. One reason he hates waking up in someone else’s place? Half the shit he needs for his morning routine are never, ever present. Like his toothbrush, for one. Making do with (cheap) mouthwash and (equally cheap) floss, Harvey scrubs the heaviness out of his pores with (again, cheap) soap and fixes his hair. Pulling on his clothes, he steps out of the bathroom, picks up his phone and keys (pointedly ignoring the slip of paper with the guy’s number on it), and makes a beeline for the door.
Except there’s another human being blocking his way.
“Good morning,” the person says pleasantly, spatula in hand. “Or rather, good afternoon. Well, almost.”
Harvey blinks, once at the spatula and a second time at the clock.
“Afternoon,” he replies brusquely. As he makes to step around the Guy With The Spatula, he catches a whiff of bacon. Oh, he wants.
“Hangover?” He sounds understanding, not reproachful – it’s nice. Harvey takes another whiff.
“Maybe.”
“Would you like some food before you leave?”
“Maybe,” Harvey says again, and promptly takes a seat by the modest breakfast bar.
“I’m Mike.” A plate slides into Harvey’s view a second later, and a pile of bacon follows soon after. Harvey tries not to make sparkly eyes at the strips of meat. “Derrick’s roommate.”
“I’m –”
“I know who you are,” Mike says, leaning back against the counter and plucking a strip of bacon off his own plate. “Harvey Specter. The city’s best goddamn closer.”
Harvey simply shrugs. “You read the paper, I see.”
“Not usually,” Mike replies. “But I read an article a couple of years ago that had you in it.”
Harvey swallows around a mouthful of bacon and raises an eyebrow. “A couple of years ago? And you remember my name and face?”
“I’ve a good memory,” Mike says, winking.
“How good is this ‘good memory’?” Harvey asks, polishing off his plate and wistfully eyeing Mike’s own pile of bacon, an act that doesn’t go unnoticed by Mike. Amused, Mike nudges his plate over to Harvey’s as a silent invitation.
“Eidetic, actually,” Mike shrugs, “but it’s not a big deal, really.”
“It frustrates me when geniuses refuse to admit that they’re geniuses,” Harvey mumbles, chasing grease down his throat with a gulp of water.
“Having an eidetic memory doesn’t automatically make one a genius,” Mike points out, but bows graciously regardless. “But alright, if you insist, I’ll admit that I’m a genius.”
They fall into easy conversation, one that comprises of Harvey searching up old news articles just to quiz Mike on their contents and Mike slipping in movie quotes whenever he replies – to his pleasure, Harvey responds with his own movie trivia. The next time Harvey checks the time, he’s surprised to see that it’s well into the afternoon. Which also means that he’s got work to do.
“This,” Harvey says, gesturing to the now-empty plates and glasses, “has been quite pleasant, I have to say. But it’s getting quite late, and I have to get to work, so –”
“Of course,” Mike says, waving the explanation away. “Don’t let me hold you up. I’ll see you whenever Derrick brings you over –”
Mike stops speaking when he catches the look on Harvey’s face.
“Or whenever you happen to drop by my store then,” Mike finishes easily, pulling out a name card from his wallet and passing it over to Harvey. “Don’t worry, Derrick doesn’t work with me.”
Holding back a snort, Harvey glances down at the card and feels his eyebrows rise in mild surprise. “You own a record store?”
“I own the record store,” Mike corrects him. “Self-proclaimed to be the best in Manhattan. Maybe even New York.”
“I collect records,” Harvey comments absently, flipping the card over.
“You’ll like my store then,” Mike says confidently, placing the plates into the sink. “The city’s best closer is bound to like the city’s best record store.”
Harvey’s lips relax into an easy smile and he leaves the apartment with Mike’s See you soon! floating out behind him.
“You look happy,” Donna surmises, eyes narrowing just the slightest as Harvey walks past her, back straight and not a single hair out of place.
“Do I now?” Harvey quips, settling down into his chair and booting up his laptop as Donna follows him into his office.
His assistant rests her weight on a leg and peers intently at him. “Yes, you do. And you’re late.”
“I’m managing partner, Donna –”
“You’re later than ‘late’,” she interrupts pointedly, and Harvey rolls his eyes.
“Don’t push it,” he warns when he sees the cogs in her head working,, but he doesn’t look away until Donna catches the twinkle in his eye.
Laughing, she exits and returns to her desk with a grin. Positioning her fingers over her keyboard, Donna turns back towards the open door and calls, “I hope you continue to see whoever he is! I quite like this side of you, I must say.”
Harvey simply waves her words away – regardless, the presence of Mike’s business card burns through the soft leather of his wallet and the expensive material of his clothes, and Harvey can’t bite back a content sigh. There’s something about Mike that Harvey finds intriguing, and there’s only ever been a small handful of people who have intrigued Harvey to that extent. He can’t quite place a finger onto what about Mike interests him, but he’s sure he’ll find out one day.
Unfortunately, the rest of his day is filled with work regarding three different cases, and Harvey doesn’t have the time nor energy to think about anything outside of the information he sees on the piles of papers in front of him. It’s close to midnight by the time he leaves the office, Donna long gone, and he folds his frame into his car wearily. Ray’s soft voice drifts in and out of his ears, and he’s close to nodding off when he catches sight of a particular store.
Play The Man
It’s Mike’s record store. The words flash past in a matter of milliseconds, but the storefront burns itself into the back of Harvey’s eyelids. He’s feeling quite awake now, and the first thing he does when he gets home is to place one of Charles Bradley’s records on the player.
Two days later, Harvey hits a case on financial fraud out of the ballpark and finds himself with a bit of free time on his hands. A satisfied Jessica hadn’t given him another case to fill in the gap, and he’s waiting on associates to finish proofing the other two cases he has. With nothing to do (well, he could technically aid Louis with the mountain of files he has on his desk, but he’d rather not), Harvey strides out of his office, deft fingers doing up the top button on his suit.
“Where’re you headed?” Donna asks casually, not looking up from her screen.
“Out,” Harvey replies vaguely, pausing in his steps.
She glances up then, and Harvey knows he doesn’t need to tell her anything because she already knows.
“Don’t forget to get me my coffee,” she says instead, turning back towards her work with a fleeting smile.
Picking up a bagel from his favourite food cart, Harvey eats as he walks down the street, free hand in his pocket. Mike’s store isn’t far from the office, and the weather’s oddly nice today, making Harvey’s walk quite pleasant indeed. The second he glimpses Mike’s store, however, he gets a sudden onslaught of nerves. It isn’t common at all that Harvey’s unsure of how to hold himself in front of someone, but this situation isn’t common either. Harvey doesn’t really care much about his social life, and this is very much social.
Straightening his already-straight tie as he walks up to the store, Harvey pushes the door open and walks in. Music is playing softly in the background, and Harvey doesn’t know what artiste this is.
“What artiste is this?” He asks nonchalantly, walking up to the counter and leaning against it. Mike, who has his head buried in a book, grins at the voice and shuts his book.
“Shame on you for not recognising Jean-Michel Jarre,” Mike answers, setting his book aside and turning towards Harvey.
“Not really my cup of tea,” Harvey defends himself, but lets a smile grace his lips all the same.
“Are you here to add to your record collection or to subtly insult my music taste?” Mike’s grin stretches even wider and he steps around the (surprisingly clean) counter.
“Both, perhaps,” Harvey replies. Mike tilts his head towards the aisles of records and Harvey follows close behind.
“Try these,” Mike says, slipping a record out of a shelf and pushing it into Harvey’s hands before moving down the row a few steps. Glancing down, Harvey reads: Jean-Michel Jarre – Equinoxe printed across the top of the cover. He doesn’t have time to comment before Mike lets out an aha! and brandishes another record. Vangelis – Heaven and Hell.
“Dude wrote the score for Chariots of Fire,” Mike comments, turning back to the shelves once Harvey closes his fingers around the record.
“Good film,” Harvey says, and Mike turns around, curious.
“You’ve seen it?”
“Film buff, remember?” Harvey replies, pointing to himself.
Nodding, Mike thumbs through records and says lightly, “Right; I like film buffs, you know.”
The trill of Harvey’s phone interrupts his train of thought, and Harvey frowns slightly as he fishes his phone out of a pocket. It’s Donna – Jessica needs him.
“Work?” Mike asks knowingly, and Harvey confirms it.
“Don’t worry, my store isn’t going anywhere. Listen to those,” Mike says, jerking his chin towards the two records in Harvey’s hands, “and let me know what you think of them. Maybe they’ll open up your mind to the genre.”
“I’m sure they will; how much are –”
“Don’t worry about it,” Mike cuts in, “think of it as an investment.”
With that, Mike bids him goodbye before turning and disappearing into the back of the store. Harvey’s just placed a twenty on the counter when he hears the music in the store change. Tucking the vinyls under his arm, he places his name card over the bill and exits the store. He doesn’t forget to drop by Donna’s favourite coffee shop before he heads back to the office.
It takes Harvey another two days and continuous plays of the two records for him to work up the nerve to text Mike. Mike replies almost instantly, and Harvey nearly knocks his glass of scotch over onto a sheaf of bylaws in surprise.
Took you a while. How’s the music?
Jarre’s playing on the record player, and in all honesty, Harvey likes it. He’s always been very narrow-minded on the genres of music he’ll have in his impressive collection, but the new additions have proven to be quite worthy of his shelves.
They’re alright, I guess.
He’s just highlighted one sentence when Mike’s reply comes through.
Don’t kid yourself. Why up so late?
Harvey grimaces at the bylaws.
Got a ton of work to do.
I could help if you want. I might know a thing or two about law.
And that’s how Harvey finds himself opening the door to his home at twenty-three minutes past midnight. Mike looks very alert.
“How are you so awake?”
“I’m not old,” Mike answers swiftly before sniggering at the look on Harvey’s face. “What do you need help with?”
“Don’t try and change the subject,” Harvey says indignantly, but leads the way over to the table covered with papers. “I need to find a loophole out of these bylaws, but –”
“What’s the case at hand? If you’re allowed to talk about it, of course.”
“Hypotheticals should be alright,” Harvey says, sinking down into his seat and curling fingers around his half-finished tumbler of scotch before launching into the case.
Close to two hours later, Mike thrusts a sheet of paper under Harvey’s nose and lets out a proud sound of achievement. Stunned, Harvey stares at the highlighted bylaw for a few heavy seconds before tugging the paper out of Mike’s grasp.
“How?”
“Told you; I know a few things.”
Harvey fixes him with a pointed look.
“I’ve read a few law books,” Mike shrugs, and taps his temple.
“Damned memory,” Harvey mutters, dropping eyes to the paper once more.
“You owe me,” Mike says, yawning and stretching in his seat.
“How about coffee?” Harvey ventures, eyes trained resolutely on the paper in his hands.
“I could use coffee right now, yes,” is Mike’s reply, but Harvey can hear the smile hiding in his voice.
“That’s not what I meant,” Harvey grumbles, setting the paper down and leaning back, wincing when each vertebra cracks in protest.
“I could use coffee over the weekend too, I’m sure.”
Harvey looks up and catches sight of an actually smiling Mike.
Louis gapes up at him unattractively and Harvey fights back the urge to reach over and slam his jaw shut.
“How did you find this?”
“That is none of your business,” Harvey replies evenly, “but it is your job to use this information and bring this case home.” With that, Harvey turns on his heel and walks out of Louis’ office.
Donna’s gaze is hot on his face when he walks towards his office, and Harvey cuts her off before she can open her mouth.
“He did not spend the night,” Harvey states, before lifting an eyebrow at her and closing his office door.
“No sleepover and yet you already look this content?” Donna’s voice comes crackling through the intercom and Harvey jabs at the button. Donna doesn’t even look insulted.
A pile of work finds itself dumped on Harvey’s desk Friday night, and it takes all of Harvey’s willpower not to complain. There’s no way he’ll be able to watch his weekly game, much less go on his date with Mike. It’s with heavy reluctance that Harvey sends Mike a text to let him know that he’ll have to take a raincheck. Mike’s reply is understanding, which just makes things that much worse.
Saturday announces itself with an alarm going off at 9 A.M., and Harvey drags himself into work (because he knows how unproductive he’ll be if he works at home), spotting Donna at his desk.
“What are you doing here?”
“Assistants never leave their bosses to their own devices,” Donna declares, taking a sip of her coffee. “Especially bosses like you.”
Harvey purses his lips and says nothing. Donna grins.
By the time noon comes around, Harvey’s buried nose deep in files. His jacket’s (carefully) draped across the back of his chair – Donna can count the number of times that’s happened on her fingers. She’s about to ask him if he wants her to get some food when the phone on her desk rings. As the receptionist starts talking, Donna feels her curiosity perk.
“You’ve got a visitor,” she announces to Harvey once she hangs up. He blinks, obviously not expecting anyone.
That’s when Mike appears in front of Donna’s desk, a takeout bag in one hand and a vinyl in the other. Donna takes one look into Mike’s bright blue irises and understands.
“Go on in,” she says, and Mike sends her an equally bright smile. Oh boy.
“I’m assuming you haven’t eaten anything,” Mike begins, walking into Harvey’s office as if he belongs there, setting the paper bag of food down on Harvey’s desk.
“You would be right,” Harvey responds, surprise giving way to gratitude as his stomach rumbles.
“Need my help?”
Harvey’s sorely tempted to say yes, but it’s risky, what with them being in the office and all. Mike catches the look on Harvey’s face and gets it.
“No worries, I get it; just eat up before you get back to work.”
Nodding, Harvey pulls out a container stuffed full of oyster linguine and inhales happily.
“I got you a present,” Mike continues, and Harvey swallows around a mouthful of pasta before replying.
“Is this not my present?”
Mike presents Harvey with the vinyl he’d brought.
“The Topics?” Harvey flips the vinyl over.
“It’s rare,” Mike says, “took me a while to get my hands on it. And although it may not be what you’re used to, I think you’ll like this.”
Slipping the record out of its sleeve, Harvey walks over to the record player and places the record onto the turntable. He catches Donna’s gaze as he does so – oh, is she going to grill him later. A gentle placement of the tone arm later and music fills the room.
As Harvey settles back into his seat, he sees that Mike’s already got a book out, and his eyes are flitting across the pages at an incredible speed. Harvey eats quietly, and when he’s done, he returns to his work.
Mike reads as Harvey works, and time flows by easily. Before he knows it, Harvey’s gotten a fair amount of work done, and Mike’s just about finished with his book.
“Thanks,” Harvey says softly, capping his pen. “This was nice.”
Mike simply smiles.
Things develop heart-stoppingly quickly from there. Whenever Harvey has to work late, Mike drops by with dinner and the occasional record. Mike’s got Donna wrapped around his finger in no time, and she’s always happy to see him – it doesn’t hurt that Mike never forgets to bring Donna something from her favourite coffee shop.
Harvey tries to have time for their weekly date, and although he isn’t always able to make it, Mike never seems to mind. In fact, Harvey will come home after court or after meetings to find Mike puttering about in his kitchen, whipping up an easy meal. He doesn’t even remember when he’d given Mike a key to his place. Mike’s things have been slowly trickling past the door and into his home, adding a little mess to the pristine condition Harvey likes to keep his place in, but Harvey finds that he really doesn’t mind the clutter at all.
But there is one thing that keeps nagging at Harvey; the fact that he hasn’t yet kissed the younger man despite how their relationship’s progressed.
It’s a Thursday night, and Donna’s packing up to go home. She steps into the office briefly, to bid both him and Mike goodbye, and Harvey watches her go absently.
“What are you thinking about?”
Glancing over at Mike, Harvey tries not to let his gaze drop to Mike’s mouth.
“You,” he answers truthfully.
“What about me?” Setting aside his work, Mike leans over Harvey’s desk, and Harvey wets his lips instinctively.
“This,” is all he says before getting up to walk around his desk. Sliding a hand around to cup the base of Mike’s neck, Harvey pulls Mike up to his feet and closes the distance between their lips.
There’s a nibble on his bottom lip and Harvey parts his lips in mild surprise, only to have Mike take advantage of it, licking his way into Harvey’s mouth smoothly.
“About time,” Mike comments when they part for air, and Harvey snorts.
“Can’t make it man,” Mike says, phone clamped against his ear with his shoulder. “Got a date with the boyfriend.”
Harvey feels his eyes widen and he looks away from the news to find Mike gazing right back at him, baby blues fixed on his face.
“Will do,” Mike continues, dropping two slices of toast onto a plate. “I’ll let you know when the shipment comes in. Yeah, no problem; alright, bye.”
“Boyfriend, huh?” Harvey tries his very best to look composed, but he’s never really given a thought as to what they can be categorised as. They’ve been together for the better part of half a year, but they’ve never talked about what they are. He’s never been a big fan of labels, but when he realises that the churning in his gut is closer to excitement than apprehension, Harvey takes a deep breath and stands.
“Yeah, if you want,” Mike shrugs, pushing a plate across the kitchen counter. Harvey takes a seat at the bar but doesn’t pick up his fork.
“Of course I want,” Harvey says, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so sure about anything before.
“In that case, Donna owes me twenty bucks,” Mike murmurs as he leans in, lips barely brushing against the lawyer’s.
“Why?”
“She bet me that you’d do a little freak-out when that word came out.”
Harvey presses a soft kiss against the corner of Mike’s mouth and scoffs. “And yet she thinks she knows me well.”