Work Text:
There's something so intimate about just knowing. Knowing how the other person feels just from a simple glance at their face, or knowing the way they’ll react to something, or something as simple as knowing how they like their coffee. In their many years together, as colleagues and later on as partners, Mike and Harvey have gotten to know each other very well.
When Mike first started working for Harvey, it was like trying to learn a completely new language. Mike quickly learned to pick up on Harvey’s moods. He knew by the way his eyes narrowed and jaw shut tight that he was annoyed, by the way the corners of his eyes crinkled that he was genuinely happy, by the way his nose wrinkled that he was trying to stifle a laugh, and by the way his eyebrows furrowed that he was stuck on a particularly hard case. He’d learned to read Harvey—though it was much harder at first due to the poker face he’d perfected over the years and the carefully crafted walls he’d built—the same way Harvey had learned to read Mike. Not many people could read Harvey Specter, but Mike had committed his little tells to memory.
As they worked together, Mike and Harvey had gotten to know the basic things you’d know about a friend. Mike knew how Harvey had his coffee (black, two sugars, a splash of vanilla) and Harvey knew how Mike had his coffee (black, no sugar). They did bring each other coffee occasionally, though it was mostly Mike getting Harvey coffee. On the rare occasions that Harvey did get him coffee, Mike would smile to himself knowingly. He cared.
Harvey knew that Mike enjoyed his pizza with stuffed crust, as he’d said on his second day at the firm after pulling an all-nighter. Whenever they worked late on a case, Mike on the couch and Harvey at his desk, Harvey would order pizza from Gianno’s for dinner, with stuffed crust of course. Mike finds it cute that he remembered after all that time.
Whenever Mike would work at Harvey’s, which ended up with them splayed on the couch binge-watching Star Trek, he would find his favorite beer stocked in the fridge. Similarly, Mike made an effort to keep the Macallan 18 Harvey loved so much stocked in his apartment, despite how pricey it was. On the rare occasions that Harvey came over, he’d be able to enjoy his favorite drink.
When Mike’s grandmother had died, Harvey knew exactly what he needed—a good long smoke session—despite having banned him from smoking weed. They laughed and laughed for hours, exchanged stories, and even almost pissed in Louis’ office, much like what he and Grammy had done the night his parents died. Mike appreciated it.
The night Harvey asked Mike to be his, they ate at Carbone. Harvey had come to his cubicle and whisked Mike away. One moment Mike was working on an agonizingly thick stack of briefs, and the next he was sitting across Harvey, confession at the tip of his tongue. Harvey was fidgeting—a sign that he was truly nervous because Harvey Specter didn’t get nervous. Dinner was excellent.
Harvey kissed Mike outside the restaurant that day, sweet, slow, and tender. It clicked in that moment, that the both of them felt the same way about each other. Mike knew that Carbone was Harvey’s favorite restaurant and that he’d taken Mike to his favorite restaurant to confess his feelings.
When they got back into the car, Harvey held a bouquet of flowers in his hands, passing them over to Mike. They were gorgeous, baby blue hydrangeas. It’s funny, really, because Harvey didn’t know half the associates’ names, but he knew Mike’s favorite flower.
It felt almost natural, being together, almost as if nothing had changed. They spent almost all their free time together—went on dates, stayed on the couch in Harvey’s condo all cuddled up watching movies, cooked together (despite Mike’s inability to cook), and fell asleep and woke up next to each other. It was the same whenever they were in the office—they left the office together and ate lunch together, and Mike would work in Harvey’s office whenever he could.
Whenever they worked late, they both had a bad habit of neglecting their needs. Harvey would find Mike holed up in the file room late at night, and he’d bring him takeout before taking him home to rest when he’d overworked himself. Likewise, whenever Harvey was fixated on a certain document, Mike would bring him takeout and they would eat together in his office.
Three months into their relationship, Harvey asked Mike to move in with him. Mike was reluctant at first, not because he didn’t want to move in with him—hell he practically did live there already—but because Mike was sentimental and didn’t have the heart to sell his apartment, and Harvey knew that. (“How am I supposed to kiss my favorite person every second of the day when you’re not living with me?” Harvey reasoned, to which Mike responded “You can’t kiss yourself.”) Eventually, Mike gave in. Harvey had even allowed him to hang the panda painting in the living room, a little out of place in the modern condo, but a testament to Mike’s undying love for Grammy, and Harvey’s for Mike.
Harvey quickly learned that Mike was messy. He’d leave trails of clothing scattered down the hall, and in the bedroom, his shoes kicked off carelessly near the front door, and his tie and jacket lying on the back of the couch. Mike tried, he really did, but Harvey had learned to embrace it. Mike knew Harvey was a very neat person, but he’d allowed the messiest person in the world to move in with him.
The first time Mike borrowed Harvey’s clothes, it had been the bed bug incident (yes, the one where Harvey had said “Oh, you walked in there naked?”). He’d seen Harvey’s eyes light up when he’d realized it was his suit Mike was wearing. Ever since that day, especially since they’d gotten together, Mike would find any excuse to wear his clothes—hoodies, t-shirts, sweats, and ties. God, Mike loved wearing Harvey’s ties, one, to piss him off, and two, because he felt like Harvey would be with him the whole day. Harvey would always get a little more possessive whenever Mike would wear his clothes, and he knew Harvey secretly loved it.
Mike knew when something was on Harvey’s mind. He’d play this specific blues jazz record, scotch in hand as he sat and stared into the distance. He would ask what was wrong, and Harvey would try to deflect, but eventually, he’d crack, because he knew Mike was able to see through his bullshit the same way Harvey could see through his. Likewise, Harvey knew when something was on Mike’s mind, and he had the perfect fix every time. Mike knew how much he “didn’t like having emotions”, but with him, Harvey had been able to lower his defenses and be vulnerable, and Mike would always treasure his trust.
When it came to food, Harvey knew what Mike liked. He'd pick up Mike’s favorite snacks—especially his favorite cereal, Cinnamon Toast Crunch with almond milk—without him asking. Mike knew that Harvey disapproved of his unhealthy diet, so whenever he’d bring back a few sweet treats from the grocery store, Mike would smile and gratefully tear the packaging open.
Harvey also somehow always knew what Mike would like and dislike. Whenever Harvey would order something new and Mike insisted on trying it, he’d always say “You won’t like this,” and nine times out of ten, he was right. Despite always denying it, Mike did eat like a child; he’d give his olives to Harvey, and he’d always cut the crust off his bread. Harvey knew that, and Mike hadn't had a single sandwich with the crust on ever since they’d been together.
Whenever they’d cook dinner together—or better, whenever Harvey cooked and Mike “helped”—they’d sing and dance together to whatever record he had on. They’d steal kisses, and they’d just exist together, and it felt so terribly domestic. Mike knew that Harvey didn’t mind that he didn't really help, and he knew that Harvey secretly loved cooking for him.
With Harvey’s (awfully pretentious) taste, Mike knew that he hated the taste of Red Bull and cheap beer, but he’d grown to tolerate it over the years. Harvey would endure the taste of it if it meant he got to taste Mike’s lips. Mike had also grown to love the Macallan 18 Harvey adored, loving the smooth silky feeling as it slid down his throat.
Mike knew he rambled—a lot—but Harvey would always listen to his long tangents and information dumps. He’d listen with this fond look on his face, with an expression that Mike learned to recognize as the “I-want-to-kiss-you-so-bad-but-I-love-hearing-you-talk” face. Mike knew Harvey loved his brain, and he was the one and only person who wouldn’t take advantage of it.
Their morning routine was one of the most sacred parts of their days. Mike knew Harvey’s morning routine, and he’d slowly become a part of it. Waking up next to Harvey (Mike’s side was always the left) was one of the biggest joys in life (not an exaggeration), and Mike knew that he stayed in bed longer despite being an early riser. He would stay in bed longer, carding his fingers through Mike’s tousled locks, limbs tangled together as he cuddled into Harvey’s warm chest. Sometimes, Mike slept naked but ended up curling against Harvey for warmth in the middle of the night. Most days, Mike would wake up with his entire body splayed over Harvey’s, and he didn’t seem to mind.
After a little good morning kiss—bad breath be damned—they head into the shower together (which isn’t always a good idea, especially when they’re running late). Harvey knew that Mike liked shaving him, so despite his clumsiness, he’d let him put the shaving cream on and start shaving away. If he’d endured a few cuts and razor burns over the past few years, he never complained. Similarly, Harvey would return the favor with skilled precision, and he loved how intimate it felt.
After their little shower shenanigans, they head into the kitchen, where Harvey would cooking breakfast and Mike would run the coffee machine. They both loved the peace and serenity of the morning before going into the chaos of the office, and they savored every moment of it.
Harvey knew how to make Mike feel good. He knew Mike’s most sensitive spots, how to make him scream and moan and shudder, how he liked to be kissed, and most importantly, how much he loved to be marked. Harvey would leave trails of red and purple love bites all across the vast skin of Mike’s body, loving it when he cried out in pleasure. Mike, however, also had a little possessive streak and loved leaving little marks of his own on Harvey. They belonged to each other and each other only.
Sure, Mike did things that pissed Harvey off too, like singing Justin Bieber at 7 a.m. or commenting on every single line of a movie, but Mike knew he found those endearing as much as it was annoying.
Something that Mike didn’t expect when they’d first started dating was that Harvey was secretly a romantic, and very touchy. Harvey would buy him flowers, give him affectionate little pats whenever they’d brush past each other, cup his face tenderly whenever they kissed, and get him little gifts out of the blue. Mike knew that Harvey wasn’t big on affection, but with him, he’d been nothing but affectionate.
Mike recognized the smile on his face whenever Harvey would smile at him. It was the private smile, the private Harvey reserved only for the important people in his life, like Donna, Jessica, Marcus, and now him. Mike would smile back knowingly.
Mike knew he’d fallen in love when he won a particularly tough case in court, and he could see Harvey looking back at him with a huge smile on his face and the biggest sense of pride. Mike knew that was all he needed—Harvey’s love and support and of course, Harvey.
Mike knew that Harvey cared, and Harvey knew that Mike knew he cared.
They'll never get sick of knowing each other.