Work Text:
It's New Year's Eve, Mike is home, and he's a little buzzed.
The thing is, he went to a bar. He got himself a couple of drinks, listened to the music and watched the people dance, but for some reason he just didn't feel like staying.
So he's home. Inebriated. Alone.
It needs to be clear that he has had a few drinks, because Mike sober would never do what he's doing right now: taking his phone out and texting his Harvey. On whom he has the biggest, most embarrassing crush.
harveyyyyy
happy new yearrrrr
He stands in the middle of the living room, waiting for Harvey's response with his smiling face buried in his phone. He lightly hums the beat he heard back in the bar as he sways to himself.
Mike. Happy New Year.
Mike giggles as soon as it comes in. His cheeks burn, though it's both from the text and the alcohol.
You're drunk, aren't you?
Another text from Harvey says. Mike scoffs, grinning despite himself.
ha u think u know me that well
u wish harvey
I do know you that well.
Having fun?
as much fun i can have texting u
Lots of fun, then.
Mike will deny it if anybody asks, but this exchange is making him happier than he wants to admit. His cheeks already hurt from smiling and his heart beats loud and fast. Still, his fingers race to send a reply.
hahaha thats so funny
Thanks, I know.
i was being sarcastic
If you say so.
Mike chuckles, hearing Harvey's voice in his head. He daydreams of being in Harvey's office right now, the two of them bantering. He smiles to himself like an idiot, snapping out of it when his phone buzzes.
Don't you have anything better to do aside from bothering me?
You know, like celebrate New Year's?
wow
ik ur time runs $1000/hr but my company is priceless ;)
I think you've mistaken priceless with worthless, rookie.
owww
u wound me harvey :(
Somehow you're still texting me.
hey u said it
i got nothing better to do
u should feel honored im texting u during new yrs
A few seconds pass and Harvey doesn't reply. Mike avoids the disappointment that blooms in his chest.
He doesn't stop talking, though. He never really knows when to stop, sober or not.
sorry
was i actually bothering u
The reply comes immediately this time.
You weren't.
oh
who has nothing better to do now
😂
I have no idea what you're talking about.
u know i got u
admit it
btw thats really sad
its literally new yrs
Might I remind you that you're texting me too.
yea but its more amusing to text ur boss than ur associate harvey
So you're saying I should text Jessica.
what
???
when did i say that.
See?
This is amusing.
no its not ur the worst
Yes, it is.
And I'm the best.
u just find it amusing bcs u enjoy my company hehehe
if i agree that ur the best will u say that u like me
I'm not giving you the satisfaction of getting hard evidence that I ever said that.
BUT YOU DO LIKE ME
YOU JUST WONT TEXT IT
I never said that.
U IMPLIED IT
Did not.
U TOTALLY DID
I CAN READ BETWEEN THE LINES HARVEY
Nuh-uh.
LOLLLL
UR SUCH A SORE LOSER
When did I ever lose to you?
when u implied that u like me LMAO
come on harvey just be honest
u cant even deny it anymore
No.
YES.
MOVING ON.
Great.
so like
r u celebrating new yrs rn
Yes.
jesus man
i mean
give me smthn to work with here
I don't know what you want from me.
bro
where r u celebrating
In my condo.
what really
thats kinda sad harvey
I'm not the only one celebrating in my house here.
It's far more tragic to celebrate in that condemned apartment you live in.
ha ha ha very funny
that was sarcasm fyi
and i mean its not so bad
im having a great time
especially since i started texting u
Welp. He's definitely not sober.
A whole moment passes and Harvey doesn't reply. Mike desperately thinks of something to say because he doesn't want the conversation to end right now. If he had a choice, he wouldn't want it to end at all.
He hasn't even completely thought it through and it's an incredibly stupid question Harvey will probably reject with no hesitation, but for some reason he still types it out and sends it.
can i come over
Do you want to come over?
His and Harvey's text come in at the same time. Mike hasn't even begun to open his mouth to gape when another text follows.
nvm
WHAT
?????????
HARVEY
HELLOOOOO???
HARVEY ANSWER ME
What?
????????????????
WDYM NVM
CAN I COME OVER
WHY WOULD YOU TAKE IT BACK
Didn't like how you beat me to the punch.
SORE. LOSER.
CAN I COME OVER
You've asked me that three times. If I already asked you, that means I'm fine with the idea.
U LITERALLY TOOK IT BACK
WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO THINK
Just come over.
Mike stops. He didn't think Harvey would actually agree. And he even asked Mike to come over. He backtracks, suddenly thrown off.
...
r u sure
Haven't I already taught you not to give your opponents a chance to take things back?
right
ok
not ur opponent btw
anyway
be there in 30
thanks harvey
Don't mention it.
Mike sobers on his way to Harvey's. He probably creeped out his cab driver and the people on the sidewalk with the way he kept laughing and smiling to himself, but if he's being honest he really couldn't care less. He's celebrating New Year's with Harvey. He has the right to be weirdly happy.
He texts Harvey when he arrives at his condominium, immediately receiving a reply.
here
Tell the doorman your name, he'll tell you where to go.
Mike does, but what he doesn't realize as he enters the glass elevator is that it only goes to one place—Harvey's unit. He laughs disbelievingly. He feels giddy and nervous and fuck— empty-handed as the carriage slowly ascends.
The sight of Harvey on his sofa slowly comes into view as the elevator rises. He's in casual clothes. He looks comfortable. It's unsettling.
Harvey turns his torso towards the elevator once he senses its arrival, his expression shifting when his eyes meet Mike's but ultimately remaining neutral.
The doors push open, but Mike hesitates. Harvey motions him in and his feet step into unfamiliar territory.
"So," Harvey starts, reaching behind the arm of the sofa to procure a stack of papers and folders. "Go through these files while I go through our previous negotiations. I'm sure you're already familiar with the situation since we worked on this two days ago. Our client is asking for a few changes and the other side's being stubborn, but it's nothing too complicated. It's pretty simple."
Mike stares blankly at the stack, then at Harvey, then at the files, then at Harvey again, finding nothing but ink on paper and the ever-emotionless face of his boss. He's still trying to wrap his head around his boss calling him to his condo to work on New Year's Eve when Harvey's lips curve up to a grin.
"Jesus. No one should ever pull pranks on you. You look like a kicked puppy," Harvey says, laughing towards the end.
Mild rage flashes through Mike before he's overcome with disbelief and humor. "I quit," he says, shaking his head but laughing.
"I don't think you could. You'd miss me too much," Harvey says, eyes sparkling.
"Nope. It's definitely gonna be the other way around," Mike says, starting to walk around because he might explode if Harvey keeps looking at him like that. "What'd you have for dinner? I'm guessing you probably ate at some high-end restaurant, all alone with the waiters judging you as you ordered your steak and your wine," he says as takes off his coat and hanging it on a chair.
Harvey looks at him like he's offended before saying, "And you? Please don't tell me you only ate a hotdog from the sidewalk."
Mike walks near the kitchen area, which is still close enough to Harvey that he's within earshot. "No, I actually ate a very lovely, very bland dinner with Grammy," he tells Harvey, catching a glimpse of the covered tray of burger patties on the counter. "Wow, you're judging me for hypothetically eating a hotdog for dinner when you ate burgers?"
"You should try one before you judge it. I make an excellent cook," Harvey says with an edge of defensiveness. Mike is too busy peering at the meat to realize Harvey standing up and walking towards him.
Mike is about to make a retort when Harvey reaches for a burger bun and butters it up, turning on the stove to toast it. "Wait, Harvey—"
"My dad loved making burgers for New Year's. It was something he and his parents did, so he taught me when I was a kid too," Harvey tells him as the butter sizzles, his voice softer.
Mike turns his head, unable to hide his surprise. Harvey's never so open about his personal life. His heart squeezes when he finds a wistful smile on Harvey's lips, the yearning so subtle yet so obvious to someone who also knows that feeling closely.
He feels this urge to reach over and comfort Harvey, to touch him or hug him or something, but he knows that's probably too far, too soon, so he settles instead for sharing a piece of himself back.
"My mom never let me and my dad come in the kitchen because one time she was out, I asked my dad to make pancakes. I'm pretty sure he knew how to do it perfectly, but typical Dad, he was being all goofy and everything, so there he was throwing flour all over the place—at me, at himself, in the air—and flipping the pancakes higher than he should've to impress me. I remember laughing so loud and being so happy, especially when I started throwing flour back at him," Mike says, smiling widely at the memory. His eyes sting and his throat clogs up and he will not look at Harvey right now. He feel Harvey's eyes watching him but he refuses to return his gaze because he will start crying.
"When Mom came home," he continues the story, "It looked like a snowstorm had passed our kitchen. I don't even know how it happened, but there was flour in every nook and cranny. So much on ourselves, too. Her face was so shocked and speechless, my Dad and I just fell into tears laughing. And she didn't even get to taste a single pancake," Mike laughs, and Harvey laughs along with him.
Mike suddenly feels his heart ache from it all. From the memory. From the intimacy of it. Of standing side by side, sharing treasured memories as Harvey cooks in casual clothes under the warm lighting of his home. He feels so much yearning, and it truly aches.
"I miss them," Mike says, unbidden. Quiet. It slips out like it's a secret he's been dying to tell.
"I miss my dad, too," Harvey admits, taking the bun off from the skillet.
The silence that follows reveals the presence of a record that Mike didn't notice playing in the background.
"That's him?" he asks gently, cautious not to press too hard where it hurts.
Harvey shakes his head, but he immediately knows that Mike is talking about the music. "It's not but," Harvey pauses, and Mike sees him swallow, like it's hard for him to say. "It was his favorite record," he finishes, glancing at Mike to give him a smile.
He grabs the lettuce and tomatoes from the fridge, keeping it open to go back and get a slice of cheese and a squeeze bottle filled with sauce. Mike asks him, "Did he ever teach you?"
Harvey doesn't expect the question. The answer still comes to him easily.
"He taught me about all the artists he loved; their music and the culture and the world of jazz. He brought me along to some of his gigs when I was much younger and sometimes to the studio when he was recording."
Harvey unconsciously stops preparing the burger, drifting off as he visualizes the memory.
"He taught me not just to listen but also appreciate jazz," he says, going back to his cooking.
Mike watches the way Harvey's expression softens as he talks about his father, his hands gracefully moving on autopilot as he sears the patty.
"You never learned how to play?"
Harvey blinks before answering. He doesn't look at Mike when he says, "Not saxophone."
"But a different instrument," Mike says, more a statement than a question.
"Piano, yes. I stopped shortly after he passed," Harvey explains, his eyes darker but otherwise still appearing unaffected.
Oh. Mike scrambles to apologize, fearing he went too far. Harvey continues to speak before he can. "I just listen now. Sometimes even that feels a little too much, so," he shrugs. "I'm just glad there's a lot left to remember him by," he concludes sincerely.
"Yeah," Mike says, not knowing how else to respond.
The want to comfort Harvey returns then, but with newfound courage Mike clenches his jaw and takes the leap, lightly bumping his shoulder to Harvey's.
It's barely there, but Harvey pushes back.
Harvey finishes cooking the patty, assembling the burger on a plate then gesturing for Mike to have at it. He takes a bite, with low expectations that are immediately exceeded. His mouth is full and there's sauce and grease all around it, but he still gapes and tells Harvey, "Holy shit, this is really good."
Harvey laughs at him, a satisfied look on his face. "You ever heard of manners?" he asks Mike, acting disgusted.
"How dare you," Mike says, mouth filled with burger. "You eat with your mouth full all the time," he argues.
"Stop looking at my mouth then," Harvey retorts, grabbing Mike's burger and taking a huge bite, obnoxiously chewing in Mike's face. He smiles, pieces of burger sticking out past his lips.
Mike shakes his head, failing to keep his own smile at bay. He takes another bite and groans in approval. "Man, your dad is awesome."
"I cooked this. I'm awesome," Harvey counters. Mike rolls his eyes.
"Well, yeah. But he's still awesome," Mike says, unable to control the way his voice goes soft like Harvey's. He averts his eyes and leans back against the counter, staring at the windows.
Harvey hums, mirroring Mike's motions. "He is," he agrees, a long pause stretching before he adds, "And yours, too."
Mike looks at Harvey, raising his eyebrows.
"Your parents, I mean," he says, crossing his arms over his chest.
"What, because my mom cooks and my dad throws flour all over the place?" Mike says, confused but laughing.
"No. It's because they managed to make a kid that's both so gifted and so goddamn annoying," he tells Mike, fond and teasing.
The butterflies in Mike's stomach flutter. He swallows the burger in his mouth before saying, "Yeah, they're really awesome for that." He smiles at their memory, then he looks at Harvey deviously and adds, "And you couldn't be more grateful."
"Oh, yeah? How can I be grateful for a kid that puts my career in jeopardy every time he steps into the office?" Harvey challenges.
"Hey. You hired me. I'm just out here being all smart and stuff," he replies innocently.
"You're the biggest idiot I know."
"After yourself, definitely," Mike quickly remarks.
Harvey looks at him, both impressed and slightly defeated. "After I cook you a goddamn burger, you can't even be grateful."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Mike says, clearing his throat and turning towards Harvey. He puts a hand on his chest before saying, "Thank you, Harvey. Thank you so much for the burger," with exaggerated feeling.
"You're horrible actor," Harvey says, rolling his eyes.
"You're no better," Mike teases. "Got any water?"
"I'm very tempted not to give you any," Harvey says, but looks for a glass and fills it up anyway. He hands it to Mike, who thanks him before drinking it. He finishes the glass and wipes his hands on his shirt before plopping onto the couch. Harvey scoffs, taking his decanter and two glasses before following.
Harvey fills them, handing one to Mike then leaning back. He's taking a sip when Mike says, "There was a piano there."
Harvey faces him, raising his eyebrow in question.
"The room for the associate interviews. You know, Harvard douches, BARBRI handbook, me impressing you," Mike lists down.
"Can't forget the weed all over the floor," Harvey adds and they both laugh. "Yeah. First thing I noticed, actually," he tells Mike.
"Do you ever miss it?" he asks Harvey, watching his reaction carefully.
"Not playing. I miss my dad. The things he'd teach me even though he knew jackshit about the piano. He was a musician, after all. I definitely miss hearing him play along with me. I think that's the reason it's too much for me to even remember," Harvey says, throwing back the scotch right after.
"Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense. And, um, sorry if that was too personal," Mike says.
Harvey shakes his head, his throat bobbing as he eases the burn of the alcohol there. "No. It's— I love talking about him," Harvey assures.
Mike nods, tentatively taking his glass and drinking from it. He's not sure what to say next.
"What was he like?" he decides after a while.
A smile passes Harvey's face. "There's no one word to describe him. He loved with his whole being and was incredibly protective, he was a really great musician and he knew me. He always knew what I needed and what I feared and how to get through to me," Harvey stares at his empty glass, tapping the side of it with his finger. "Sometimes I wish he was still here so he could tell me the answers whenever I'd feel confused."
"Do you think he would've let you hire me?" Mike asks, which prompts a laugh from Harvey.
He has to think about it for a moment. "I don't think he would've," he says finally. Mike looks at Harvey, waiting. Maybe a bit nervous, too. "I'm pretty sure I still would've done it. He'd be disappointed but he'd get to know you then he'd get why I'd done it. Then he'd be super protective and always make sure I was doing right by you," Harvey says, smiling at the thought of it all. Mike stares at him, so many emotions swirling in his stomach.
"You still would've hired me?" Mike asks.
Harvey's lip twitches before he says, "Not that he would've been there in the moment to convince me not to, but yes, I still would've." He looks at Mike to make sure he knows he's telling the truth.
Mike searches his eyes, but still has to ask, "Why?"
Harvey throws him a look—one that says Mike should already know why and that the conversation is over. He sits up to pour more scotch into his glass then he drinks.
"The album's done. I'll go pick another one," he tells Mike after swallowing. Mike is still hung up on the previous conversation but decides to set it aside, knowing Harvey will never answer even if he pushes.
"Can I see your collection?" he requests, standing up with Harvey. He sways, the alcohol catching up to him. Harvey doesn't acknowledge him, which he's sure is a yes.
Harvey stops and stands, as if telling Mike to pick the next record to play. Mike's eyes light up then he starts leafing through the records, his collection different from the one in the office.
There's a lot more of his dad's music here, definitely. A big chunk of it is jazz—Coltrane, Evans, Getz, Davis, Peterson, and more. There's really rare ones Harvey probably keeps more than he listens to, while there are also well-loved ones. There's rarely any popular music, but there's still a good portion that's modern for Harvey's time. Harvey stands beside him to return the album that was playing, looking at him asking him if he's chosen one. Mike hasn't, but he doesn't want to take anymore time so he quickly browses through the section he's sure he knows stuff from, picking out a Queen record that sticks out from familiarity.
"Queen, really? I have more notable records there you won't find easily," Harvey says, but he doesn't stop Mike from putting it on the player.
"I know. But this song is fun," he replies cheekily. He's beaming at Harvey, and because he's helpless to Mike, he just laughs and lets him.
Freddie's voice floats in the air with the sharp piano accompanying him.
Tonight, I'm gonna have myself a real good time.
Mike joins in at the second line, to Harvey's amusement.
I feel alive... And the world! I'll turn it inside out, yeah! Floating around in ecstasy so—
Mike sings and gestures and puts his whole body and soul into it, Harvey unable to keep his eyes off him. His falsetto is horrendous, but Harvey is enjoying it, and Mike is too, so he doesn't stop.
—don't stop me now.
Mike pokes Harvey's chest to the rhythm of the words, smirking as he sings to Harvey.
Harvey raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Oh, yeah?" he asks Mike with a grin on his face. Mike nods, pressing harder at his chest when the lyrics repeat.
Don't stop me— 'Cause I'm having a good time, having a good time—
Mike dances to the song, recalling every lyric to the letter. He moves around Harvey, singing only to him. He makes moves that align with the lyrics, directing them always to Harvey, who keeps watching and laughing and smiling. It's intoxicating to be on either end.
Mike touches him whenever the music lets him, a push here, a caress there—and if he isn’t touching him then he keeps eye contact, making his facial expressions as sultry as possible. He winks and he stares Harvey down and he brings his face close to Harvey’s and Harvey indulges him. Lets him do whatever he wants. So he does. (He basically flirts with Harvey as the song goes on. He blames the alcohol.)
It's around the end of the first chorus (after the tambourine comes in and Mike shakes his hips to the beat) when Harvey moves out of the way and sits back down on the couch, drinking his scotch as he watches Mike keep making an absolute fool of himself. He doesn't even fret, simply following Harvey to the sofa and continuing to dance.
I'm a rocket ship on my way to Mars on a collision course. I am a satellite, I'm out of control.
Mike keeps on singing, though already a little out of breath. The second verse comes and he realizes what lyrics come next. And… well… he’s nothing but an opportunist. (And out of his mind. And drunk.)
I'm a sex machine ready to reload like an atom bomb!
He rides on his adrenaline and the shamelessness he's discovered in the past minute and straddles Harvey's lap. Harvey doesn't touch him, in fact his arms fly to the air as his eyes bulge out of their sockets. Mike keeps singing like this is completely normal, his face still overly-expressive as he puts on his performance.
About to oh, oh, oh, oh, oh—
Mike doesn't plan on staying very long in that position, but he does milk every second of it. He comes closer to Harvey's face, touching himself and changing his pose at every beat. He puts his palms on his own torso, chest, face, neck, wherever he can, his mouth wide open and his expressions wildly inappropriate. And still, like he's entranced by the view, Harvey watches him intently, mouth open with the corners of his lips upturned.
—explode!
Then Harvey pushes Mike off his lap in good fun.
Mike falls to the space in the sofa beside him, the two of them laughing. Mike tries to catch his breath, quickly losing it when he catches sight of Harvey looking so incredibly young as his eyes crinkle up from happiness.
"You finally done with your singing?" Harvey asks, breathless from laughter.
"Nope— at the speed of liiiight!" he starts singing mid-sentence, bringing his mouth to Harvey's ear, then whispering, "I wanna make a supersonic woman of you," to him.
Harvey's eyebrows shoot up before Mike stands back up and takes his hand, hauling Harvey up with him.
"Dance with me," Mike tells him, resuming his singing as he coaxes Harvey to dance.
To his surprise, Harvey uses the hand he's holding to jerk Mike towards him, saying, "You couldn't take me," into Mike's ear.
He does give Mike a spin, leaving him reeling as he walks away to change the record.
Mike only finds his voice once the music of Chick Corea drifts around the room.
"Man, do you have to suck the fun out of everything?" Mike says, disappointed as his arms in the air fall to his side.
"I'm afraid it's in my job description," Harvey replies easily.
Mike groans, the adrenaline slowly beginning to crash. "I need a drink," he says, contradicting himself as he face-plants onto the sofa.
"Water is a great drink," Harvey says, tapping Mike's shoulder and revealing a glass of cold water in his hand.
"Not what I meant," Mike says, taking large gulps of the water. "But thanks," he adds, wiping his mouth then laying the glass on the coffee table in front of him. Harvey nudges his legs, making him sit up so Harvey can sit back beside him.
Colorful melodies fill the air as Mike finds his sitting position, distracted by the way he feels Harvey's eyes on him. He settles himself then looks at Harvey, who doesn't say a word. He seems like he's thinking of what to say next, so Mike waits, losing himself in Harvey's deep gaze.
"You're not celebrating with your grandmother," Harvey observes, his voice hushed.
"Mhmm," Mike hums, confirming Harvey's statement. He averts his eyes, letting his head fall back on the back of the sofa as he stares at the ceiling.
Harvey frowns from beside him. "Did something happen?" he asks, his concern unusually transparent.
Mike lets out a long breath, wondering if it's worth telling Harvey. His fingers twitch, feeling the fabric of the sofa to soothe him. "She told me to go celebrate with my parents," he says eventually, his voice quiet. "I know she's getting old. It's already happened before, and it bums me out every time but," he sighs. "You know," he finishes, hoping Harvey gets it.
Harvey pats Mike's thigh once, warm and heavy and ephemeral. "Yeah," Harvey replies then, and it sends a wave of relief through Mike.
He sits properly again, reaching forward to reintroduce himself to his glass. After he takes a hefty swig, he places it down and slumps onto the sofa.
"Thanks for inviting me up here," he says softly. He smiles only slightly, but his eyes are brimming with gratitude. The only way he knows Harvey's heard him is because his expression softens.
They sit in silence for a while, the lively jazz playing several feet away. They take turns leaning forward to drink from their glasses, but otherwise they do nothing. It's comfortable, restful in a way that feels too close to being at home.
He openly stares at Harvey, letting himself admire him from a lot closer than usual. It crawls up his throat—the repressed emotions he has towards him, but he keeps them there. He knows they doesn't belong anywhere outside of his heart.
Harvey catches his stare, which Mike challenges with a smirk and a singular eyebrow. Harvey huffs a small laugh, crow's feet appearing by his eyes before he gazes back into the distance. Mike takes a deep breath, unable to help the smile on his lips as his eyes return to Harvey.
It's almost meditative, the way they just bask in each other's presence, that Mike feels his eyelids grow heavy after a while. He lets himself close his eyes several times, once for a good few seconds, then decides he probably shouldn't sleep on Harvey's sofa. He pries his eyes open, and funnily enough, he finds that Harvey isn't too far off from falling asleep, too.
He pushes himself up, catching Harvey's attention. He feels a bit dizzy, the drowsiness and the alcohol mixing, but he finds Harvey's inquisitive eyes and he's grounded. He points to the floor-to-ceiling windows before walking around the sofa, standing by the windows to stare at the breathtaking view.
Harvey appears by his side without a word, the two of them admiring the skyline. He puts his hands in his pockets and bunches them up in his fists, trying not to think about the way their arms are pressed against each other.
Mike lets a silent moment pass between them before he starts conversation again.
"Any resolutions this year?" he asks, his voice low like earlier. Like it might burst their bubble if it's too loud.
Harvey scoffs. "I don't do New Year's resolutions," he says, their eyes fixed on the city outside the windows.
"Why, 'cause you're already perfect?" Mike says playfully.
"You said it," Harvey replies, cocky and smirking.
Mike chuckles, not knowing why he'd expect anything else from Harvey.
"How about you?" Harvey asks him back.
"I—" Mike hesitates, genuinely not knowing what to say. "I don't know," he says in defeat. Harvey doesn't say anything in response, like he's letting Mike ruminate on why.
"I mean, I guess— Ever since I got kicked out of school, I think I've always just subconsciously made a New Year's resolution to get back on track with my life. I never really made it a real one 'cause I think I was always afraid I could never do it," he says, remembering that feeling of regret and disappointment. "But... now, I don't have to promise myself that anymore, so," Mike says, having to take a deep breath from how his chest constricts. "I don't know," he says, not able to find the words to express what he wants to say. "I guess I have you to thank for that," he says under his breath, pressing his lips together.
"What, not having a New Year's resolution?" Harvey jokes. Mike rolls his eyes, but before he can clarify Harvey adds, "I know what you're trying to say." He feels Harvey move just a bit closer to him after that.
They stand there silently again, the music a little bit farther away now. Mike's gratitude hangs in the air, unspoken yet understood. He wants to say it, wants to tell Harvey he's grateful, but it just comes so difficult.
"I'm glad you're here, Mike," Harvey breaks the silence, staring out the window.
Mike's heart leaps. He doesn't know what to respond to that. He says, "Me too, Harvey," and it seems like it's enough.
It's for many quiet minutes that they stand there by the windows, side by side. Mike fights the urge to rest his head on Harvey's shoulder from how they're standing so close together. He tells himself that the warmth along the length of his arm is enough. That Harvey choosing to stand so close to him is enough. That Harvey choosing to be so close to him, both physically and—somehow—emotionally, is enough.
When the album ends, the room falls to an emptier silence. Mike feels Harvey squeeze his shoulder before he leaves his side, both a command to stay and a reassurance that Harvey will be back.
Mike tenses up once the music starts playing. The two-bar intro to Elton John's "Your Song" plays, vivid memories of his parents flashing through his mind as it does. He can almost feel the breeze from the windows of his childhood home, smell the distinct scent of fresh air and wet grass and home-cooked meals, hear the laughter of his parents in his ears as they dance along to Elton's melody. The nostalgia knocks him so hard, the bittersweet feeling of it leaving his chest aching.
Harvey comes back, possibly even closer than before, and when Mike finds his gaze he senses his tension.
"Is something wrong?" Harvey asks, brows furrowed and eyes filled with concern.
Elton's voice is clear even from a distance, and it makes melancholy swirl inside Mike.
He hesitantly says, "My parents just— loved that song a lot," he smiles a sad smile, looking down at his feet then back at out the window.
"Should I change it?" Harvey asks him gently.
He thinks about it, breathing in and out. He lets the sentimentality overpower the grief, lets himself smile at the memories rather than hurt, and tells Harvey, "No. No, I loved that song, too."
He sees Harvey smile from beside him, both their shoulders relaxing. "Then... you'll let me?" Harvey asks him in a lighter tone, his hand out and his head bowed slightly.
Mike looks down at Harvey's outstretched hand, looks up at Harvey—who is waiting expectantly—and puts his hand in his, unable to believe the way Harvey holds it so firmly yet so tenderly, pulling him to the free space in the room.
Mike nervously watches Harvey, not knowing how serious he is. He finds out how serious when Harvey takes his other hand and guides it to his shoulder, his palm finding Mike's waist. (He's not joking, apparently.) Mike pushes down the shiver that wants to rack through him, gulping as he follows Harvey's swaying. Harvey moves them from side to side, occasionally spinning Mike with a smile and bringing him even closer. Mike's eyes are glued to Harvey's as he lets his body follow naturally, full trust in Harvey not to let him trip or fall.
It almost hurts how Harvey is looking at him right now. His gaze is warm. Affectionate, even. It hurts because it's so different from how he normally looks at him when they work: cold, emotionless, intense, seething. And it's all so overwhelming—feeling giddy and nervous from Harvey dancing with him, but also feeling that familiar emptiness as his brain supplies every lyric as they're being sung, and the old, long-past memories tied to every one of them. And yet, there's something so intimate too, about what they're doing. The music is special, personal to both of them, and they're swaying to it hand in hand, chests touching, hearts yearning.
"Harvey..." Mike whispers, his voice lost from all the emotion.
"Don't ruin it," Harvey tells him lightheartedly, refusing to acknowledge any uncertainty or ambiguity. Mike can't help the pang of rejection that strikes through him, but he understands why—he knows that it'll only complicate things if they're both honest, so he just accepts it and comes closer.
He feels Harvey pull him closer in response, the length of their bodies touching. It aches even more now, how similar this feels to a distant memory playing behind Mike's eyelids.
They're too close to maintain eye contact, but there's Harvey's hand in his, there's Harvey's hand on his waist, there's Harvey's chest rising and falling against his, and it's more than enough. Mike feels like he's not alone, for the first time in a long time, and it makes him hold Harvey a little closer, a little tighter.
They keep swaying, almost cheek to cheek, until the song fades away. When the heavy silence fills the room, Mike tampers down his beating heart, afraid that it'll reach Harvey's ears.
He keeps holding Harvey, afraid to let go. Harvey moves away, but doesn't remove his hands from Mike either. Their interlocked hands are still in the air and his grip on Mike's waist is solid.
There's a raw honesty to Harvey's gaze. There's something there, Mike knows—something more, something deeper, and he wants so badly to hear it put into words, even though he knows that will never happen.
They never part, their faces just inches away for a long moment as something heavy hangs in the air. Harvey's touch feels warm—almost hot, now—his stare even more so. They're both waiting for something to happen, for someone to take that step further, but neither of them do.
They're left staring in each other's eyes, waiting, wanting, so close to each other, so close to the edge— and then something booms outside.
A flash of light caresses the side of Harvey's face, then there's the sound of sizzling. They turn their heads to the windows, fireworks soaring in the sky.
A smile finds its way on Mike's face, the view of fireworks never having been this clear, this close, this mesmerizing. Continuous explosions of sparkles and light and color dance in the sky, bursts of glimmering, fleeting confetti decorating the vast darkness.
Mike glances at Harvey, not wanting to break their moment, but Harvey's watching the fireworks too, and he knows that it's already over. They walk to the windows wordlessly, watching as all sorts of patterns and colors light up the sky.
Harvey lightly drags the hand on Mike's waist across his back before stepping away, nodding at Mike to tell him to keep watching.
Mike revels in the breathtaking view, all sorts of streaks painting the sky as he realizes the white noise of the spinning vinyl is now gone. He's then startled by an unexpected pop, whipping his head around to find Harvey opening a bottle of champagne on the kitchen counter. A laugh bubbles from out of Mike, Harvey looking proud of himself.
Mike's eyes follow Harvey as he pours the champagne into two flutes, walking to him with a gleeful demeanor.
"Happy New Year," Harvey greets as he hands Mike his drink. Mike's fingers brush against Harvey's when he takes it, delicate yet intentional.
"Happy New Year, Harvey," Mike says back, the view of the New York skyline forgotten as Harvey smiles at him wondrously.
They clink their glasses before bringing it to their lips, the crisp, fruitiness of the champagne a major contrast from the intensity of the scotch earlier. They watch as the fireworks slowly peter out, only the lights of the city being left once it's all gone.
As they look past the windows, a weight begins to settle in Mike's chest, the excitement-dampened scariness of the new year and the expectations that come with it starting to unfurl itself. What makes it worse is the thought of the night ending; of closeness and tenderness and honesty returning to the corners Harvey tucks them away to; of leaving the apartment and coming home to his flat alone and hollow and longing; and most of all, of waking up tomorrow knowing they'll pretend this night never happened.
He already knows how it's gonna go. Even if they've shared so much of each other tonight, tomorrow he'll go back to work and Harvey will look at him—never in the same way he's looked at Mike tonight—and bark his orders with his walls up and his heart sealed away. Mike will have to face stone cold and emotionless Harvey—the one that doesn't talk about his memories of his father or cook burgers for Mike to eat, the one that doesn't slow dance to Elton John or smile at Mike with gut-wrenching sincerity. Mike wants so badly to believe it won't be so, that this time Harvey won't act like nothing happened, but it's always so much more heartbreaking when Mike keeps his hopes up. So he decides to follow Harvey's lead and put it aside once the sun rises, but for now, under his roof and by Harvey's side, he's going to take everything he can get before it all disappears.
A stray firework shoots up to the sky, making Mike jump. That makes Harvey chuckle softly, the smile lingering on his lips when his laughter fades. Mike looks at him and Harvey does too, their smiles and their eyes soft.
They're right back to where they were earlier, thick, unspoken want living in the space between them. Mike can hear his heartbeat in his ears, Harvey's expression so open, so willing and so real. Honest, and raw, like he wants this, too. Like he wants Mike, too.
Mike wants to kiss him. He'll fucking say it. He always has, but even more so now. Especially now. And it makes sense. It's New Year's—it's a thing, and they've spent this whole night sharing parts of themselves, unable to keep their eyes or their hands off each other, having quiet moments like these that just scream for them to close the distance.
Harvey's still looking at him. Mike really wants to, but the heaviness in his chest grows by the minute and he knows—as much as he wants it, as much as it makes sense right now, that it's an incredibly stupid idea. So he slowly backs away from the thought in his head and waits for Harvey. (He'll never be able to fully remove it, though. Not when Harvey's gaze is so hypnotizing.)
It stretches on for a while longer, the tension a challenge—on who breaks first, on who's the braver one, on who's daring enough, on who's willing to take the risk. Mike observes Harvey, trying to see what he might do. He waits, watches him blink, watches his mind run a mile a minute, watches nothing happen. He swallows, the disappointment bitter on his tongue.
Harvey has to be the one to do it, or nothing will happen at all. Apparently, it's going to be the latter. Mike readies himself to smile courtly and break the moment, to step away and go home.
He still trying to stomach the pending consequences of his decision when Harvey exhales a breath and steps forward. His hand reaches up to hold Mike's face, Mike's heart stopping at what's happening. Harvey moves slowly, letting Mike know he can back out, but he doesn't want to—of course he doesn't—so Harvey cups his cheek and pulls him closer, bringing their lips together.
Mike powers through the shock and finds it in himself to kiss Harvey back, relief flooding his veins as their lips interlock in a tender kiss.
It starts out soft, which is what surprises Mike the most. If Mike thought anything of their first kiss, it would've been passionate, hungry, fervent and intense.
But it's soft. Harvey's lips against his are so, so soft. He's being careful, like this is as frightening for him as it is for Mike. He's gentle with the way he presses his lips, and it's so confusing, because he kisses like they're in love.
It aches too much, to be kissed so tenderly, to be held so affectionately—when it probably means nothing to Harvey, so Mike kisses back asking for a little more.
Harvey gives Mike what he wants. (As always.) He anchors himself with the hand on Mike's jaw, using it as leverage to deepen the kiss. His touch burns, lips pressing firmly onto Mike's, who willingly opens his mouth and lets Harvey lead the kiss.
It's hard to breathe, not only from kissing but also from how tight his chest feels. His heart feels like it's burst into a million pieces, bleeding out in his ribcage.
When Mike feels Harvey's tongue run along the seam of his lips, his hand flies up to Harvey's neck on instinct, kissing him as hard as Harvey kisses him. But now Harvey's hand is slowly sliding from his jaw, down his neck to his chest, warm and solid and oh— pushing him away.
Mike removes himself from the kiss, ignoring the way Harvey still chases his lips. He finds Harvey's eyes, clouded and filled with emotion, then feels the heavy weight of his palm on his chest—and it all comes crashing down.
He went too far. It might have just been some kind, dumb, obtuse fucking gesture—a silly New Year's kiss that Mike shouldn't have taken as seriously as he did. He wanted, wanted so much, wanted more than Harvey was giving him, and now he's revealed too much of himself to Harvey.
Harvey pushed him away, and God, how could he have been so stupid? Maybe Harvey never wanted him in the first place. Maybe— maybe he was just imagining things, trying to live out a fantasy he's been harboring for so long. Maybe Harvey's too drunk to think straight. Maybe Mike has ruined everything now and— fuck, he can't do this. He can't face Harvey, he can't stay here, he can't—
He pulls his gaze away from Harvey's, tamping down the words clogged in his throat and the tears stinging his eyes. His hands shake as he runs to place down the champagne flute and to the door, leaving Harvey speechless, frozen in his living room.
He frantically pushes the button for the elevators, one luckily opening only after a few seconds. He tries to catch his breath on the ride down, crying and running and heartbreak making it a daunting task. The elevator dings and he's downstairs, staring at the floor as he weaves through the people in front of him and storms out the door.
He's hit with a freezing breeze, somehow forgetting that it's fucking snowing outside. His coat is still at Harvey's and— Dammit, he will not fucking cry in the middle of the street.
He shivers, wrapping his arms around himself to warm him up and ease the pain in his chest, his breath shaky. He walks and walks, trying to chance upon a cab every time one passes yet never catching one. Tears roll down his cheeks and he stubbornly wipes them away, hugging himself tightly as he continues to find his way back to his apartment.
His mind is reeling and so, so loud, but he walks in a daze, his thoughts sounding distorted and distant like he's underwater. He doesn't know how far away he's gotten from Harvey's condo when somebody grabs his shoulder, firm enough to stop him, and yanks him backward so forcefully that he makes a 180-degree turn.
He stumbles on his feet, rage rising in his system until he sees who it is.
It's Harvey.
He looks at Mike sadly, with disappointment or pity or hurt, Mike can't tell, his fingers pressing into Mike's shoulder hard. Harvey drops his hand, holding up a coat with both his hands.
"Your coat," he tells Mike. He holds it in a way that Mike can just slip it on easily, which he helplessly, silently, confusedly does. Harvey runs his hands along the coat, buttoning it up for Mike. They're both looking down at his hands, some tears falling from Mike as he works his way up. He lightly clutches the lapels when he runs out of buttons, afraid that Mike might slip away again.
Harvey finds the courage to place his hand on Mike's cheek, running his thumb across it to wipe away the tears. It makes Mike look up at him, bright blue eyes shining with sadness.
Mike can't place Harvey's expression right now, his mind and his vision too blurry to. Harvey's hand tenderly caresses his face and it's breaking his heart, but he can't find it in himself to move away.
"Mike," Harvey says, so soft it's almost a whisper. Then he steps closer and brings their faces together, his nose brushing Mike's cheek but never meeting his lips. His breath hovers over Mike's lips as Mike dodges the kiss, leaning back.
"Harvey, please. I— Don't kiss me," he says brokenly. Harvey immediately backs away, eyes wide. His hand never leaves Mike's cheek. "It's driving me crazy. I don't— I don't know what you really want," Mike admits, blinking as tears well up in his eyes.
"Mike," Harvey starts, unsure. Mike has never heard Harvey be less than sure of himself.
"You have to tell me," Mike pleads. "I can't be sure until you tell me, Harvey."
Harvey looks conflicted, but he levels his face with Mike's and his expression slowly shifts. It's determined, and it's genuine. "I'm tired of pretending. I'm tired of pretending that I don't care about you, that I don't want you," Harvey says, staring right into Mike. "I need you, Mike. I can't lose you."
A tear forms and leaks out of Mike's eye, Harvey's thumb immediately catching it and wiping it away. "Harvey, you need to tell me what you want," Mike begs, the hurt so obvious in his gaze.
"I want you, Mike," Harvey says easily. Then, "I want—" he starts, the words difficult. Mike holds his breath, waiting. He knows it's hard for Harvey to say it, to put it into words, but he's trying. He looks like he really wants to say it, and it fills Mike with hope. "I want us to be together," Harvey finally manages, the words weird on his tongue but still out in the air. Mike's heart squeezes.
"There's so much on the line, Harvey. You have to really want this. I can't—" Mike's voice breaks. "I can't lose you either."
Harvey's other hand finds the other cheek, his two hands now cupping Mike's jaw. "I have wanted this for so long. Believe me," he tells Mike firmly, and it's enough.
Mike believes him.
Mike lets out a breath. His eyes are glassy but he smiles at Harvey, nodding. Harvey caresses his cheek, smiling back.
"Can I kiss you now?" Harvey asks, tone close to desperate.
"Please."
Harvey kisses Mike. It's salty from tears and chapped from the cold, but it's everything. He feels tears running down Mike's cheeks and he holds him even closer, bringing him into a deep embrace. Mike brings his hands to Harvey's jaw—no resistance this time—feeling the warmth of his skin and the roughness of his stubble. He holds Harvey firmly, kissing back as he pours all of his emotions into it, Harvey catching him as he falls forward. The gravity only deepens their kiss even further, but it makes Harvey laugh, happiness seeping out of him like it's too much to keep in.
It makes Mike laugh, too. They part from the kiss, his weight still on Harvey. He stands upright again, but he wraps his arms around Harvey's waist and burrows his face into his neck, hugging him tightly.
A hand cradles the back of his head, the other spread wide on his back. Harvey holds him just as tightly, the rise and fall of his chest slow and comforting. "Do you wanna come back up to mine?" Harvey asks into Mike's hair.
He feels Mike nod against his shoulder. He loosens his grip and they move away from the hug, the two of them standing in front of each other. Harvey leans forward and plants a kiss onto Mike's forehead, letting it last a few seconds. "Let's go," he tells Mike after, wrapping his arm around his waist.
"Hey, are we dating?" Mike asks suddenly into the quiet. Harvey huffs.
"If that's what the kids call it nowadays," he jokes, to which Mike glares at him. He tilts his head and looks Mike in the eyes. "Yes, Mike. We're dating," he says, and it sounds so sure Mike could cry.
They walk back to Harvey's apartment in each other's hold, not daring to let go. Mike glances one last time at the sky before they go in, dark and all-encompassing, with stars adorning it.
They come inside, go back up to Harvey's apartment and slow dance. They kiss and they drink and they hold each other as they sleep.
Dreams dance behind their eyelids as another singular streak of light travels across the night sky. (It's even more beautiful than a firework.)
It grants a wish when the sun rises: two bodies in a bed rather than one—for the rest of eternity.