Archive of Our Own

"Hey. Get over here." 

Harvey holds a large black umbrella over his head, standing in the middle of the sidewalk waiting for Mike to walk beside him. He's a few steps behind, typing away at his cellphone. He looks up at Harvey's command, probably not even realizing it had started raining. He pockets his phone and jogs to Harvey's position. 

Now, typically, the size of Harvey's umbrella would be perfectly enough space to keep two people relatively dry. But with Harvey and Mike, who are professional colleagues who can't huddle up into each other's sides, some shoulders just have to get wet. 

"You hold the umbrella," Harvey hands Mike the umbrella, which has a wooden and varnished handle and is probably really expensive, and starts walking.

"Uh, yeah, okay," Mike holds the umbrella and tries to find the perfect angle to keep them both covered by it. The rain isn't pouring, but it's a constant shower of light raindrops that can get them soaked if they stand in it long enough.

Mike struggles to walk straight while looking at the handle, then the umbrella, then the sidewalk, and inevitably his shoulders bump into Harvey's more times than he would prefer. Harvey doesn't budge or get off-balanced, but he stops and gives him a look which makes Mike freeze and start formulating an apology. 

And then he laughs, and he rolls his eyes, and Mike can't help but bump his shoulders to Harvey's again. A little more affectionate, this time. (Not that Harvey has to know.)

"Relax, Mike. Just make sure you're getting it over my head. You always say I have a cold shoulder, anyway," Harvey jokes before walking again, Mike following beside him this time. 

"It's the hair, isn't it? You'd look stupid if it gets all wet and stuff," Mike teases, holding the umbrella more comfortably now. One of Harvey's shoulders is a bit compromised, but he said he didn't mind, so Mike doesn't adjust it anymore. 

"Ease off on the insults, rookie. I could easily let you walk back to the firm like a soaking wet puppy," Harvey retorts. 

"And yet you're sharing your umbrella with me. How sweet of you, Harvey. It's like you really do care," Mike says sweetly, teasing Harvey.

Harvey looks at him, maybe even glares, before attempting to snatch the umbrella in Mike's hands. Fortunately, Mike steps back and clutches the umbrella closer to him in time, resulting in Harvey's hand just passing through air. Mike grins really wide, a few strangers bumping into him while he basks in the glory of Harvey's unimpressed face and still stature as the rain falls on him. 

"Oh, come on, I'm just kidding, Harvey," Mike says when he starts walking without a word nor an umbrella. "Aren't you worried your fancy suit will get wet? Your stylish hair? Won't you get sick?" Mike calls out. Harvey gestures to his ear, pretending he didn't hear a single thing Mike just said. Mike huffs a laugh before running back to Harvey's side. 

"For the record, this suit holds up in any climate. It's what you get when you invest in good ones," Harvey looks Mike up and down with disdain before looking straight back to where he's going. "And I don't get sick," Harvey adds. 

Mike looks at him disbelievingly, keeping himself from laughing at his boss. 

"Totally. 'Cause the Harvey Specter is so untouchable. Even to common colds." he says sarcastically, a smile helplessly creeping onto his face.

"Damn right," Harvey replies with a smirk. Mike shakes his head, not even trying to keep himself from looking at Harvey with so much fondness and admiration, knowing Harvey won't spare him another glance now that their conversation has ended.

So he looks at Harvey in that way. What's the problem? 

Actually, there's a lot of problems about that - from compromising a professional work relationship to the possible shift of their dynamic to the simple uncertainty of Harvey's feelings… or capacity to feel at all. 

But Mike shakes it all off, doesn't think of all those complications because it's just a simple crush and nothing else. Nothing else and it won't ever be anything more, which means nothing matters. 

Nothing matters except for this moment, where their shoulders don't bump anymore, just brush against one another every once in a while; where Harvey's looking straight and Mike can look at him any way he wants without the risk of Harvey catching him; where the rain is falling and Harvey is letting him seek shelter under his umbrella, not to mention the fact that he's not making Mike adjust it for his shoulder that's getting rained on.

When walking side by side in the streets of New York, they usually talk about the case they're handling, or Mike's fear of his secret being exposed and Harvey reassuring him that it won't happen, or maybe Harvey's wolfing down a burrito or a hotdog or something, but right now it's just them and the rain and the noise of New York city.

They had met with a client, their meeting having gone a little overtime because the client was being particularly difficult and Harvey was never one to back down from a fight. Before the meeting, Mike had insisted on walking to the client's office since it was a 5-minute walk from the firm, and Harvey couldn't say no because he knew he would get shit from Mike for being old and not getting enough exercise despite going to the gym everyday. 

Mike now regrets that decision to not call Ray as the rain starts to fall a little harder. 

And by 'a little,' he means it's looking like a storm. 

By the way Harvey's moving his shoulder not too subtly, Mike is pretty sure the rain has seeped in through his suit and his shirt and that it's bothering him a lot. He tries adjusting the umbrella for once, but as his shoulder gets exposed to the rainfall, it immediately gets soaked and now he's all cold and wet too. Harvey obviously notices Mike's effort to save his shoulder, but what catches more of his attention is the wet patch on Mike's shoulder. He sighs.

"I told you. Invest in your suits, rookie," Harvey says before hooking an arm around Mike's shoulders and pulling him closer. Mike tenses but he fights against Harvey's hand, pushing back to the way he's being pulled closer, which makes Harvey look at him weirdly. 

"Come closer, will you? I don't bite, but if I ever did, it would still feel a lot better than getting soaked in the rain," Harvey teases, wrapping his arm a little tighter around Mike's shoulders. Mike exhales a shaky laugh and comes a little closer, shoulder smushed against Harvey's.

Harvey can't hear his heartbeat, right?

He feels Harvey's fingers through the wet, thin material of his clothing, and he can't help but start blushing profusely. When he squeezes his shoulder every thirty seconds or so, Mike feels like he might combust.

They reach the firm soon enough, the sound of rain still drumming in their ears. Harvey removes his arm around Mike, which he immediately misses the second it's gone. Ray is waiting for Harvey in front of the entrance, and Mike's bicycle is just a few strides away. Harvey reaches for the car door and intends on getting in until Mike speaks.

"I'm guessing I get to keep this?" Mike says jokingly, referring to the umbrella in his hand. 

"Real funny, kid. Since you look like you didn't bring one, just return it tomorrow," Harvey sneers at him, though Mike knows deep down, it's just because he cares. 

"Thanks, but I can't," Mike says.

"What do you mean you can't?" Harvey furrows his eyebrows and frowns. It's cute. Mike wants to kiss him. He fights himself against it.  

"Look, I appreciate it, Harvey, but my hands can't hold an umbrella while steering a bicycle through New York traffic," Mike chuckles, folding the umbrella and shaking off the excess rainwater before handing it back to Harvey. "Thanks," Mike opens the car door for Harvey. Harvey just stands there. 

"A few more seconds standing in the rain, I'll be sopping wet, so I'll just leave this open, you can go in, and I'll get on my way home, okay?" Mike says, walking towards his bike when Harvey doesn't move a muscle. He's putting his helmet over his head when he hears the car door close and the sound of an umbrella opening. 

"You're gonna get rained on," Harvey points out, walking towards Mike to hold the umbrella over him. 

"Already am. I'll be fine. I drink my vitamins," Mike says playfully, securing the helmet over his head successfully. 

Mike is fidgeting with his bike lock when Harvey says, "Let me give you a ride home." 

Mike releases his bike lock and turns to face Harvey, shocked and confused and in complete disbelief. "Why?" he blurts out. 

"Because you're riding a bike home, in this weather. And because I'm your boss, which means I'm liable and will also be affected if you don't get home safely, or if you get sick and have to stay home, and—okay, look, you know what, it doesn't really matter. It's a one-time offer. Take it or leave it," Harvey rambles. Mike raises his eyebrows and a smile tugs at his lips. 

"Expires in ten seconds, Mike," Harvey says before turning on his heel and walking back towards the car. Mike panics, considers his options for a millisecond before deciding on taking the offer, then panics again. He forgets about the rain soaking through his clothes. 

"Wait, what about my bike?" Mike asks while removing his helmet in haste. 

"Just lock it there," Harvey replies without even looking back. 

"What if it gets stolen?" Mike secures his helmet around the bike's body. 

"It won't." 

"This is New York!" 

"I'll buy you a new one if it does. Now, will you?" Harvey opens the door and looks at him in question. Mike runs and goes inside quickly. Harvey follows and Ray, who he recognizes from a few days ago, immediately presses on the gas pedal and advances forward once the door closes. 

The air conditioning blows on Mike's wet suit, which is uncomfortably cold. He takes it off, then realizes it's a horrible idea because his shirt is sticking to his skin and the air conditioning now seems to have gotten even colder.

Harvey side-eyes him, looking interested, looking like he enjoys the view, but before Mike can comment on it, Harvey sneezes. And it's nothing cute - it's a full-on dad sneeze. 

Mike's eyebrows climb up to his hairline, laughter freely spilling from his lips. 

"What the hell are you giggling about?" Harvey asks after a sniff. 

"Nothing, nothing. Just—'I don't get sick'," Mike says mockingly. He bursts into laughter, clutching his stomach. Harvey stares at him, with not a single ounce of anger in his face, but with a kind of softness in his eyes. He's never seen Mike this happy in his presence until now. 

"Are you finished?" he asks after Mike's laughter dies down. Mike just nods, a tell-tale smile on his face showing he's definitely not. Harvey shakes his head before leaning back on his seat, shedding his suit jacket and loosening his tie. The chill of the air-conditioning meets his rain-soaked shoulder, which is incredibly unpleasant. 

"Ray, can you turn on the heater?" he asks his driver. 

"Of course, Mr. Specter," Ray says as he presses a few buttons and the car starts to warm gradually. Harvey glances at Mike a few minutes later and sees that he appreciates the temperature change as well, eyes slowly starting to droop down. 

He nods off to sleep soon enough, his head falling forward. When the weight of his head becomes too heavy, he wakes abruptly, looking at Harvey with a mix of alarm, embarrassment, and sleepiness. Harvey motions him to keep dozing off. He moves his hips forward, crossing his arms over his chest while resting his head on the car window. He closes his eyes and goes to sleep, the warmth of the car and the sound of the rain soothing him. It lasts a good while, until he hears a thump and oh, okay, alright, it was his head against the window. 

Mike sits back up, still groggy, and finds Harvey snickering to himself. He raises his middle finger and discreetly scratches his ear, sending Harvey a message. He stops laughing soon enough. 

Mike leans his head on the headrest, which makes him sit awkwardly straight, but he assumes it won't bother him once he falls asleep again.

Somewhere in his in-between state of asleep and conscious, his head starts to feel heavy, but then he hears (or hallucinates, he's not sure) an annoyed sigh, then the seat shifts, then he feels a gentle nudging to his head onto somewhere relatively a lot softer, and his head rests really well on it. He relaxes more, and his sleep is deep and unbothered for at least 15 minutes. 

Of course, the universe has it out for him, because his pillow moves and his head slips from it and he gets woken up by another one of Harvey's dad sneezes. This time it's much, much louder, considering Harvey is now sitting inches away from him.

The sneeze is not the thing that wakes him up completely.

It's the contact of their sides pressed together, the drool just at the edge of his mouth (luckily not on Harvey's shoulder), and the weight of the hand resting on his knee. 

"Did I wake you?" Harvey asks, wiping his nose with his handkerchief. 

"Yeah, no, it's fine," Mike replies, voice slightly rough from his nap. "Don't tell me Harvey Specter has allergies," he adds, teasing. 

"Don't push it. I just let you rest your lolling head on my shoulder so you could sleep well," Harvey says.

"Yeah, you did," Mike replies, proud with a little jest. Harvey makes a face then moves back to his end of the seat, shaking his head. Mike chuckles to himself quietly. They arrive at Mike's apartment after a few more turns. Mike doesn't bother Ray and gets out on his own, walking to Harvey's side before going inside his apartment. He tells him to roll down the window, and it's almost comical from the way the window slowly moves down to reveal Harvey completely stone-faced. 

"Drink lots of water and take a hot bath or shower. And I know you're a coffee kind of guy, but you should try honey and lemon tea just for today. It's good for colds," Mike says jokingly. "Thanks for the ride, Harvey."

Harvey nods at him, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips, before the window rolls back up and the car drives forward. Mike finally heads into his apartment, ready to take a hot shower to rinse all the cold rain water off of his body. 

===

Mike comes into work the next day by cab, a raincoat stuffed inside his bag for when he goes home. He thanks all the gods out there when he finds his bike fully intact and existing in front of Pearson Hardman, but when he goes inside the same gods teach about karma (or in the religion of law, quid pro quo), because Harvey isn't in his office. He didn't even come in because he called in sick. Naturally, he laughs when Donna tells him because Harvey never gets sick. Donna frowns at his reaction and tells him that Harvey never gets sick in a much more worried tone. And by never, she means it literally. This is the first time he's called in sick in all his years working at Pearson Hardman. 

Mike's face falls, not only because he just laughed at his boss getting sick for the first time, but because it's his fault it even happened. 

Not knowing what to work on without Harvey there, Mike plans to go and check on Harvey. Louis interrupts his plan by throwing him into a pile of briefs. He unwillingly takes it and heads to his cubicle, immediately beginning to work on them. He works mechanically, just letting his brain do the work, without a single break or even a sip of water. It's unusual having no one calling for him every two hours, but the thought of Harvey's absence helps him power through. He finishes a few hours later, back popping and stomach grumbling. It's already way past lunchtime, but not late enough for an associate to go home yet. Mike doesn't care - he already did his work, and he sees Harvey go home at this time sometimes. He drops the folder off at Louis's office after notifying Donna that he's done for the day and he'll be checking on Harvey. She tells him he doesn't like guests over, but Mike is as stubborn as ever and doesn't budge on his decision. Donna lets him go, tells him she'll keep cover for the rest of the day. Mike thanks her and promises to buy her a coffee tomorrow, while she shrugs it off, a proud smile tattooed onto her face.

Unlocking his bike, he pedals to Harvey's apartment.

He anxiously knocks at Harvey's door, scared that he might end up being a bother more than a worried colleague (friend?). He doesn't realize he actually is one until he hears an answering groan to his knocking.

Harvey might have been sleeping. Fuck.

Mike paces five steps, raises his fist to knock again, then drops it, contemplates whether to go through with his plan, decides maybe he shouldn't, then walks three steps away from the door until it opens. It presents a Harvey wrapped in blankets, probably shivering under them.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Harvey asks, his usual mighty demeanor tampered by his sore throat and trembling figure.

"You look like shit," Mike blurts out his only observation. He's standing still, unsure what to do next. 

"Any other reason you're here other than to insult me?" Harvey fumbles with the blankets around him, clutching at them so they wrap around him tighter. It's adorable, but also pitiful. 

"Uh. I don't know. Just wanted to know how you are, I guess," Mike answers, unsure. He doesn't really want to leave Harvey alone in this state, but he doesn't want to cross any lines either. 

"Well. I'm sick. There's your answer," Harvey says annoyedly before poking out an arm from his blanket cocoon and slamming the door in Mike's face.

"Harvey!" Mike calls out after a beat. He hears Harvey grumble from the other side of the door. He opens it, somehow more annoyed than before. 

"What?"

"Can I come in?" Mike says, surprising himself. Harvey seems to be surprised, too. 

"Why?" 

"'Cause… I'm your associate, and I was liable for you getting sick and I, along with my work, are affected by you getting sick, so I need to do my best to resolve this as soon as possible," Mike says in a mock-lawyer tone. Harvey scoffs, partly annoyed, but also maybe… could he possibly be… fond?

He steps aside and opens the door further, letting Mike in.

"You know that's nonsense, right?" Harvey says when Mike removes his bag and sets it on a table. 

"You let me in, anyway," Mike smirks. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit. To put it simply," Harvey says, retreating to his bedroom.

"That bad? What's your temperature?" Mike asks, standing by the door. 

"I don't know. Earlier I was feeling really hot, but right now it's really fucking cold and nothing's doing the trick," Harvey says, drowning in his lump of blankets. Mike tentatively steps inside and stands at the side of the bed. He slowly moves his hand near Harvey's forehead to feel his temperature, to which Harvey warily watches Mike's hand for every inch it gets closer.

"Geez, you're burning up. Have you drunk anything?" 

"So many questions. I didn't know you were a fake doctor, too," Harvey grouches. "No, I've just been lying down the whole day. Can't even fall asleep."

"Do you even know how to take care of yourself?" Mike walks back to the living room and grabs his bag. He digs inside and his hand blindly searches for a medicine pill. (As someone who sleeps five hours a day at most, headaches are quite frequent.) "I'm guessing you also haven't eaten anything," Mike says, handing Harvey a pill and a glass of water. Harvey shakes his head after swallowing the pill. Mike walks out again and wanders to his kitchen. 

"Do you have anything here? I can cook you something," Mike asks while looking through the cupboards. It's all empty aside from an old coffee maker gathering dust and three instant ramen packets probably on the verge of expiring. Mike takes them out and checks if they're still safe to eat.

"Considering your very wide range of groceries, I can cook you an awesome bowl of instant ramen," Mike tells Harvey. He doesn't even need to check to know that Harvey's rolling his eyes. 

Mike starts boiling a pot of water and looks for bowls to put the ramen in while he waits. Harvey has no chopsticks (obviously, 'cause he's no Japanese restaurant), so Mike settles with forks.

He places the blocks of noodles into the pot once the water boils and adds the powder packets once the noodles are cooked. He mixes in an egg that he finds in Harvey's refrigerator before he turns off the heat.

Mike grabs two bowls and puts two-thirds of the noodles in the bigger one and the rest in the smaller one. He does the same with the soup. He takes a tray that he finds, doesn't question where it came from or why Harvey has one, and puts the two bowls and two forks on it before bringing it to Harvey's bedroom where he finds Harvey still tucked in, but wide awake. 

Harvey stares at him and his tray of ramen, and Mike stares back, and they have a staring contest for a whole minute because Harvey won't speak nor move and Mike doesn't know what to do or where to place the tray. 

"I know cold noodles are a thing but it defeats the point of a hot meal when you're sick," Mike says when Harvey doesn't budge. 

"No way I'm eating on this luxury mattress and thousand-thread sheets," Harvey says, contradicting himself when he sits up against the headboard and scoots to give Mike space.

"Well I am, so you either join the party or you don't," Mike says, sitting down on the space at the side of Harvey's bed, laying the tray on his lap. 

"Why are you eating? You sure as hell didn't come here just to have a free meal, didn't you?" Harvey asks, accusatory. 

"What? I was too busy, I didn't eat lunch," Mike replies defensively. He avoids Harvey's eyes and slurps up forkfuls of noodles, soup drops threatening to splatter all over Harvey's bed. 

Harvey narrows his eyes, noticing something unusual about Mike. 

"You were too worried about me to eat lunch, weren't you?" Harvey says, all smug, even crossing his arms over his chest. 

"Wow. Even when you're sick you still think so highly of yourself," Mike says, amazed. He knows he didn't confirm nor deny Harvey's accusation, but neither of them comment on it. "Might I tell you that I can easily eat two bowls of ramen, so I'd recommend you stop being a dick and maybe resume being sick and helpless so you have something to eat," Mike continues, shoving noodles into his mouth right after his sentence ends. Harvey chuckles so softly it's almost inaudible, before he takes the other bowl of ramen. 

"Such a softie," he mutters under his breath. Mike looks at him pointedly, then at his bowl, then back at him. Then he breaks into a fond smile, shaking his head before resuming to his bowl of ramen. Harvey gazes at him for a moment, all love and affection, before taking his first bite of noodles. 

"This is good," Harvey comments while chewing, his mouth full of noodles. 

"It was literally about to expire." 

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," Harvey quips. 

"Did you just quote Kelly Clarkson?" Mike asks incredulously. 

"I keep up with modern day music, too," Harvey admits. 

"Shocking, honestly. For a guy your age," Mike teases. 

"That joke's getting old, you know," Harvey retorts. 

"So it's just like you," Mike replies immediately. A grin spreads on Mike's face, wide and victorious. Harvey meets his eyes, the same fond smile back on his lips. His lack of a comeback is enough for Mike to consider as his defeat, but he doesn't find that too important right now. Mike is enjoying himself— really enjoying himself, and really, nothing else can be more important than witnessing that.

"You need to go back to your day job," Harvey says, his tone helplessly affectionate. 

"We both know you enjoy my company," Mike says confidently. 

"That's incredibly presumptuous for someone who makes fun of me for his own enjoyment," Harvey says. 

"That only makes it better. And you letting me in and me still being here is already enough evidence," Mike replies.

"You done making your case?"

"Only if you admit to being guilty of enjoying my company." 

"I plead innocent, your Honor." 

"Too bad. The court finds the defendant guilty. You are now sentenced to five years of Mike Ross's companionship," Mike smiles. Inside, he hopes it can be a life sentence.

"No way you're gonna leech off of me for just five years. Give or take, it'll probably be eight years before you learn to stand on your own feet," Harvey says, not meaning it. Mike does well on his own. He just doesn't want Mike to think he wants to limit the length of their relationship to five years. 

"In eight years, you won't be able to stand on your feet because your knees have given out," Mike retorts, cheekily finishing his ramen. 

"Okay, I get it, I'm old. Let's move on."

Mike hides a smile (he's miserably failing to) and says "Sure," in a tone that is full of triumph and promise of not moving on. 

"You're insufferable," Harvey scoffs, but continues before Mike can clap back. "But thank you," he says softly.

Mike turns his head and raises his eyebrows, speechless. 

"For being insufferable?" he says after finding his voice. 

Harvey gives him a look that says "You know what for."

"No need to thank me, I promise," Mike says honestly. "It's what friends do when they care. You know, like humans with feelings and emotions do."

"Ha ha," Harvey laughs flatly. "Really, though. You didn't have to," he says genuinely. 

"As long as I don't have to feed you or wipe your ass, I'm completely fine with being here, Harvey," Mike reassures. 

"Are you saying feeding me is as bad as wiping my ass?" Harvey asks with a grin. 

"I'm just saying I'm not doing any of that for you. I can cook and tidy up your things but that's as far as I'll go," Mike answers.

"Too bad, then," Harvey shrugs. 

"Do you want me to wipe your ass, Harvey?" Mike asks seriously. Harvey almost chokes on his noodles. It makes both of them break into a laughing fit. 

"Hell no," Harvey says in between giggles. 

"Good," Mike says, out of breath.

Harvey's phone rings and buzzes on his nightstand, interrupting their brief moment. Mike swats Harvey's hand when he reaches for it. 

"I'll take it," Mike says, reaching for the phone. "It's also part of my job to take your phone calls when you aren't available," he adds. 

"Not if they're personal," Harvey says, looking over to check who's calling. It's a number he hasn't saved. 

"This obviously isn't personal - there's no name or picture. Also because this is Mr. Rodriguez," Mike says and Harvey looks skeptical. "Saw his business card yesterday," he supplies before answering the call and bringing the phone to his ear. 

Mike tries his absolute best not to stammer under Harvey's intense gaze, muttering out a "Yes," and "Okay," and "I'll be right there." 

"Where are you going?" Harvey asks Mike as he places his phone back on the nightstand. 

"Back to the firm. Mr. Rodriguez just wants us—well, me to review a few changes he wants made on the contract," Mike says, standing up. 

"You think I'm gonna let you go there all by yourself?" 

"I know that in your state, I wouldn't let you come with me, even if you wanted to." 

"Can you handle it?" Harvey asks doubtfully. 

"You wouldn't be asking if you thought I couldn't," Mike says confidently. Harvey looks at him, trusting and faithful in Mike's abilities. Mike clears his throat and turns around, going out of Harvey's bedroom. He puts his bowl in the sink and the tray on the counter, running his hand through his hair and fixing his tie once his hands are free. He wears his suit jacket and takes his bag before walking back to Harvey's bedroom. 

"I'll check back on you after I handle this. To, uh, bring you up to speed with the changes, too," Mike says before raising his hand to awkwardly wave. He turns immediately and walks himself to the door. 

"Don't fuck it up!" Harvey calls out before he shuts the front door closed. 

===

Mike handles the client without a single bump in the road, which leaves him with a skip in his step - excited to boast about it to Harvey when he knocks on his door for the second time that day. 

"Harvey, it's me," Mike says from the other side of the door. 

"Door's open, come in," Harvey says, voice shaky.

Mike opens the door to see Harvey trembling on his couch. He drops his bag and paces to him. 

"Jesus, Harvey, are you okay?" Mike crouches down, his hands hovering all around Harvey, unsure. 

"It's so fucking cold," Harvey mumbles. Mike puts his hand on Harvey's forehead and finds him even warmer than earlier today. 

"Your fever's gotten worse. Didn't I give you medicine?" Mike panics. 

"I checked. Thanks for the free multivitamin. It'll definitely help me not get sick next time," Harvey says sarcastically, despite his voice being unsteady. 

"Fuck, sorry," Mike says, reaching for his bag to hunt for a real medicine pill. "Wait, why are you on your couch?" Mike asks mid-search. 

"Bedroom's a/c was too cold. Couldn't find the remote," Harvey says, shivering without pause. 

"Jesus Christ," Mike says. "Aha! Paracetamol," Mike says when he fishes out a tablet from his bag. He hurriedly walks to get Harvey a glass of water before returning to the couch. 

"Here," Mike brings them closer to Harvey. Harvey's hands appear from his blanket cocoon to pop the pill in his mouth and take a sip of water to swallow it down. 

"Let's get you to your room. The bed will be better for you when you fall asleep," Mike urges. Harvey groans in response. 

"Come on, Harvey. I'll help you," Mike puts his hand behind Harvey's neck before helping him sit up. Mike stands up from his crouching position and helps Harvey up with him. Harvey's world spins for a minute, Mike's hands on his arms steadying him.

They trudge to his room, the blankets around his legs stopping Harvey from making large steps. He also makes sure the blankets don't slip from his shoulders. Not even his two thickest sweaters help with the cold. 

"The air-con," he mutters to Mike when they enter the room. Mike looks around and finds the remote behind the lamp on his nightstand. He doesn't turn it off but he brings the temperature up a bit. 

"That okay?" Mike asks. Harvey just nods. 

Mike guides him to the edge of the bed, lightly pushing Harvey down so he gently lies down on his bed. 

Apparently, gravity wants the exact opposite of Mike's plans, because Mike guiding Harvey forward also brings him forward, and he ends up falling forward onto Harvey's chest, knocking the wind out of him momentarily. For a split second Mike relaxes into the position, with Harvey's chest to his, with Harvey's head right beside his. Harvey fumbles under his blanket and Mike pushes himself up until two sleeved arms wrap around his waist, pulling him back down. 

"Harvey?" Mike asks, astounded. 

"You're warm. Feels much better like this," Harvey drawls. 

"Harvey… we're, uh," Mike tries to find the words, terrified at how Harvey seems to be perfectly calm. "Cuddling," he whispers. Harvey hums in approval. 

"Are you sure this is okay?" Mike asks softly. 

"Only if it is with you," Harvey says. Mike fully relaxes into Harvey's arms the second he finishes his sentences.

"Okay, rookie, I like feeling warm but I also want to breathe," Harvey gently pushes him off his chest and to his side. Mike lies on his side, facing Harvey's back. His arms hover around Harvey until Harvey grabs his hand and puts it to his chest, wrapping Mike's arm around him as a result. Mike inches closer, his body now pressed against Harvey's. 

"Feel better?" Mike asks. 

"Much," Harvey answers, eyes closed.

"Go to sleep," Mike tells him, softer this time. 

"Okay," Harvey squeezes his hand. "Mike?" Harvey asks after a minute. 

"Mmhm?" 

"When I fall asleep, don't go. Stay," Harvey requests. 

"I can do that," Mike says, pressing closer. 

"Good." 

The two of them fall asleep in minutes.

Mike wakes up first, having slept earlier than he usually does. The sky outside is still a dark blue, a soft kind of lightness to the way the sun is still yet to rise. It's more than enough for Mike to be able to admire Harvey's features. 

Sometime in the middle of their slumber, Harvey turned to Mike and is now facing him, an arm draped across Mike's side, their legs tangled together.

Harvey is attractive, Mike knows that. But he's beautiful. Now, close-up, not a single tense muscle on his face. He's absolutely beautiful. And he's real. This is real.

Mike has always seen Harvey as, in his own words, untouchable. Someone so high, someone beyond reach, distant, and cold, and demanding. But today, he saw Harvey be vulnerable. Though he didn't particularly enjoy seeing him helplessly shaking, unable to move properly, Mike appreciated seeing that Harvey's human, too. That sometimes, he asks for help when he needs it, too.

And now, knowing that he's holding Harvey in his arms, here, warm, solid, and breathing, and real - it's enough to give him hope.

Mike brushes Harvey's hair away from his forehead, as gently as possible, fighting the urge to kiss his forehead, tender and intimate and loving. 

He feels for his temperature - he's still warm, but a lot better than last night. He lightly traces his fingers over Harvey's face, admiring every line and blemish and whatnot. He unconsciously moves his face closer, simply to get a closer look. 

It's that moment when Harvey stirs slightly, groans quietly, before slowly opening his eyes. Mike's hand is still on his cheek, their legs are tangled and their faces are inches apart. Mike's blue eyes are staring right at him, full of adoration, clear as day even without the presence of light. 

"Good morning," he says quietly, voice rough from sleep. He doesn't let go of Mike's gaze, he'd rather get lost in it more than anything else. 

"Good morning," Mike greets, just as quiet. Like if they spoke any louder, it'd burst their bubble. He caresses Harvey's cheek mindlessly. "Are you feeling better?" 

Harvey smiles and nods, taking Mike's hand on his cheek into his own. "Thank you, Mike," he says affectionately. 

There's something to Harvey's tone, something about it so raw, and tender, and Mike glances at Harvey's lips once, twice, thrice, until—

He presses it against his own.

The kiss is soft, gentle, close-mouthed. No teeth or tongue, just a press of lips. A confession. 

Mike reluctantly parts their lips, and the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is Harvey's disbelief. 

"Fuck. I'm so sorry," Mike jerks away from Harvey. "I know the… hugging, and all that, was just 'cause you're sick, but I crossed a line. I'm sorry," Mike avoids Harvey's eyes, looking down where he fidgets with his fingernails. He blinks back tears, preparing himself for the blow of Harvey's rejection. 

Except it never comes.

Only a finger tilting his chin up, a hand cupping his cheek, and Harvey telling him "It's okay. We're okay, Mike."

Harvey's thumb runs across his cheek, wiping away the tears that never fell. 

Mike laughs in relief, tears once again threatening to spill. He places his hand on the back of Harvey's neck and brings their foreheads together. He leans in for another kiss when Harvey pulls back.

"No. You gotta wash your mouth, maybe gargle some Listerine," Harvey says. 

"What!?" 

"I'm sick. We kissed. You might get sick, too," Harvey points out. Mike stares at him. 

"Are you worried I might get sick?" Mike chuckles. "That's really sweet, you know," Mike presses the quickest of kisses on Harvey's lips. "Okay. I won't wash my mouth and if in 12 hours I don't get sick, I get to make out with you. Like. For real," Mike offers, lips still inches from Harvey’s. 

"And if you do get sick?" Harvey raises an eyebrow. 

"You get to tell me you told me so. Which I know you just love to do," Mike says. 

"Deal." 

"You'll also be the big spoon," Mike adds. Harvey smiles. 

"Win-win," Harvey wraps his arms around Mike and nuzzles his head in Mike's neck. Mike kisses his hair, happy and content. 

===

At 5:16pm, Mike appears at Harvey's door unannounced. He sniffs, clears his throat, presses his hand to his forehead and his neck, then grins childishly. He finally launches himself onto Harvey and kisses him real good.