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Harvey Specter wakes up before dawn, does a 3-km jog around the block, and is impeccably dressed in his three-piece suit by 7am in the morning. He gets breakfast at the nearby all-organic café, two streets away, and treats himself to a power breakfast of an open-faced broiled egg, spinach, and tomato sandwich, a ginger-mango smoothie, and a lemon blueberry scones. If only the tinge in his left shoulder would stop bugging him, it’s be the perfect wake-up.
He needs his strength for today’s court hearing, and he’s feeling like he’s on top of the world. He shamelessly flirts with the young-ish waitress with bleached blond hair and too-red lipstick on her lips as he digs into his meal. Harvey pays for his meal, winks at the waitress, and grins when he sees a number scrawled on his receipt. If all goes well, he might call her.
“Good Morning, Harvey,” Ray greets with his usual smile and welcoming demeanor. “What do you feel like today?”
“Something happy,” replies Harvey in a cheery tone, “And good morning to you too, Ray.” He slides into the back seat, newspaper and dark Italian roast in hand. The partition is left open and Ray selects a bubbly album from the Carpenters as they ride off. Harvey’s happy mood continues when he arrives in the office. Donna has her mouth hanging open as he enters the office before eight-fifteen.
“Did you sleep at all?” She goes up to his desk and asks him, in her arms is a stack of paperwork that needs signing and a couple of brief that were on her desk this morning. She places them in a need-to-do pile on the right side of his desk then crosses her arms.
“Because your tie is PER-FECT and I know that stupidly happy smile on your face is only normal when you lack sleep. Compare that to your foul-temper before I left the office at nine .” She grouses with a frown, chastising him like a mother hen. He loves and hates her for it. Right now, she’s ruining his mood.
“I took a power nap at four o’clock.” He replies petulantly, somewhat stand-offish. “I’m fine, Donna,” he says, waving her off, “Can’t you see I’m actually in a good mood despite my lack of sleep? This case is the big one , the one who will get me on the Junior Partner Fastlane for sure. Jessica will be begging on her knees for me to sign my non-disclosure on the partner’s next vote.”
Donna keeps frowning. “You aren’t getting any younger, Harvey. Bless you and your youth. But you can’t keep this up for long.”
“Donna…” he almost, almost , whines. But he clamps it down on the last minute and manages to sound firm. “Thanks for your concern, Donna. How about we focus on the bright side and celebrate me becoming a Junior Partner within the year? I am going to crush Elijah Eton like I’m going to crush the rest of Cameron’s attack dogs from the District Attorney’s office. My client is walking away a free man.”
Defeated, she shakes her head and smiles a little. “Fine, but for lunch we’re going to get some of those really greasy burgers on the way to the courthouse. There is no way that you are leaving me here with Louis. He’s going to hover, hover, Harvey , over my desk the entire afternoon. Like a mouse when the cat’s away!”
Harvey laughs out loud. “He’s one big mouse.” He flashes her a grin while rotating his left arm, working out the clinks from leaning against it heavily on the cab ride to work.
“Humongous,” agrees Donna, “Okay. Rat. He might be a rat, not a mouse.”
***
Lunch is greasy burgers at a bistro-pub in downtown. They take the subway to the courthouse. Harvey smells faintly of sweat, grease, and the collective smell of New Yorkers in rush hour. Donna smells like she wore too much perfume in an attempt to mask the scent of food. Together, they enter the large ominous building, a good hour before the hearing is scheduled. Harvey massages the arm he used to hold the overhead bar.
It’s still turning out to be a wonderful day.
Amanda Flint sits across them in the holding room, dressed like the posh boarding-school rich kid that she is, with her father James Flint looming like a thundering presence behind her. She smiles coyly at Harvey with a hint of fear and uncertainty in her eyes. It’s normal for a girl, accused of cheating her school while she counter-sues for libel, to feel. It will be overwhelming for anyone.
“Good Afternoon, James,” Harvey greets the father first, “Amanda, how are you feeling today?”
Amanda ducks her head. “Good, Mr. Specter,” she replies.
Harvey flashes her a million-dollar grin that works for females of all-ages. “I thought I told you to call me Harvey,” He says in a faux-hurt tone, “I’m the man who is going to clear your name and make your school pay for accusing a sweet girl like you of cheating. They will wish that they never crossed you in the first place.”
James grunts. “You better make sure, Specter, else I’m finding myself another lawyer and suing your firm. My daughter will do nothing as disgraceful as cheating. I want the school dis-licensed and discontinued from further operations. Then, I’m moving her to England.”
“Harvey, please.” Harvey urges with an uneasy chuckle. As much money as James contributes to his billables, sometimes he feels that it’s not nearly enough whenever he has to work face-to-face with the insufferably arrogant man. “While I can win this trial for your daughter, we’ll have to speak again about filing another case for dis-licensure of the school.”
“Fine,” James grunts. He keeps silent for the rest of the waiting period. Harvey goes through Amanda’s testimony should she ever take to the stand again. He knows that he doesn’t need it but it’s best to enter the courtroom prepared for every scenario. He has his smoking gun and a killer closing argument.
Nothing, absolutely nothing, can ruin this for him.
***
Court is in session.
They all rise for the honorable Judge Garvin Steiner. He’s Daniel’s Wednesday golf buddy, and Harvey is confident that he will rules in their favor. The man of nearly fifty, with greying white hair, strides in with an air of complete authority.
Everyone sits at the fall of his gavel.
“Mr. Specter, are you ready for your closing arguments?”
“Your honor,” Harvey stands and nods at his name, “yes we are.” He takes a brief look at Elijah Eton who is sweating in his seat like a pig. Then he turns and smiles at the Jury—more females than males, with age and social stature empathetic to Amanda’s case.
“Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, opposing counsel has accused my client, fourteen, in high school, all-around honor student, vying for valedictorian, school paper editor, reserve cheerleader, Amanda Flint, a great deal of many things…” That’s when he feels it. It starts off with increased discomfort from his left arm, crawling with its claw-like finger down his chest. He grimaces at the pain.
“Harvey,” he hears Donna’s worried voice from behind him. He can’t answer.
“Mr. Specter…” Judge Steiner’s voice feels like it’s miles instead of mere meters away. “Mr. Specter are you alright?”
Harvey clutches at his chest. His vision swims. Darkness floods from the sides of his eyes, enveloping his sight quickly like the locust plague, until he cannot see anything, cannot hear anything, cannot feel anything. The world grows quiet even if a hundred voices are calling out to him simultaneously. Then, he’s gone.
“HARVEY!” Donna yells, court ethics be damned, as her boss and friend falls down on the floor, hand clutching his chest. “Oh dear, god,” she panics and mumbles and stutters, going past the wooden partition so she can kneel by his side. “Help us, help us, please!”
Judge Steiner is standing from his pedestal. “Bailiff!” he bellows in the loudest voice he has, “Call an ambulance, NOW!”
***
Mike Ross has not slept at all. He’s on his second year of residency as a surgeon. It is not much different from his first grueling year as an intern. He still has four-day shifts, goes home to his rat-hole of a condo for sleep and a change of clothes, gets to visit his grandmother once a month, and complies with the mandatory stint in the emergency room.
He’s a brilliant aspiring young surgeon on his own.
He entered college through a scholarship, got into the surgery track by mistake and continued it through a patron’s grant, and graduated at the top of his class at Stanford University. He received numerous offers from top-rated hospitals in the country but decided to go back to his hometown to stay close with his grandmother. There wasn’t any hardship since he chose the one with the best cardio program.
Today is a slow day. He should be thankful except for the fact that he’s only two days in, on his four-day shift, and he’s falling asleep on his feet. He barely had enough sleep when two interns were not discreetly having intimate relations in the bunk next to his. Jesus, did they not hear of single-bunks at the attending’s lounge? Or maybe, he should have gone there instead.
As it was, Mike feels like zombie. A slow day would have been welcome if he were in any mood to enjoy it. Maybe he’s a sadist for wanting a five car pile-up in the freeway, a burning building, or something to make things pick-up in the slow Emergency Room. So far, today, they’ve only had a sprained ankle, a dog bite, and false labor. Nothing remotely interesting or related to his field of interest.
—well, until they brought him in.
“We’ve got an ambulance coming in five!” The ER head shouts over their heads, “Anyone interested?”
Immediately, all of the residents and interns alike were scampering for the door, dressed in sterile coats, face masks, hair covers, and gloves. They trolled through the tight corridor, fighting their way to the ER door to meet the ambulance. Mike want to beat them all of with a stick because no one is stealing this care from him.
“I’ve got it!” He yells, squeezing his way to the front of the pack. He’s the first person to get hands on the stretcher. He nearly squeals in triumph as the other back away with groans of protest. He nods to the EMT riding in the back. “What do we have?”
“White male, thirty, collapsed from a heart attack in open court. Condition is stable.” The EMT rattles off while they bring the unconscious man into the hospital. In the corner of his eye, Mike sees a distraught red-head stepping off the ambulance to follow them.
“Nurse,” he calls out, pulling the first nurse he sees by the elbow, “Can you see to the wife?” the female nurse nods and rushes to the woman’s side. To the EMT he asks, “Family History?”
“You’ll have to get it yourself. We’ve been trying to keep him stable on the trip over. His heart beat has been erratic.” The EMT replies apologetically. Mike holds the curse on his tongue and wheels the man into one of the cots areas and closes the curtains.
“On my count,” Mike barks out the order. There are five of them who help transfer the patient to the bed. “One, two, three, HEAVE!” The transfer is smooth and efficient. He signs off on the ambulance tab and goes back to checking his new patient.
The man would be even more gorgeous if he was awake—dark hair, clean face, and slicked-back hair. The dark blue suit jacket and cotton grey shirt has been cut in order to place probes on his chest and the remnants of a silk red tie is tucked into the jacket pocket. He is still unconscious but his heartbeat is stable.
Mike wants to touch the man’s face. Instead, he leans close and whispers, “I’m going to save you, Harvey.” He read the name on the information chart provided.
“HARVEY!” the wife bursts into the screen, teary-eyed and snotty, as she sobs the man’s name over and over again. It’s not an uncommon scene for the ER. Mike has had a handful of experience with hysterical family members over the last five years in this hospital.
“Mrs. Specter,” he says in a practiced, reassuring, tone, “My name is Dr. Michael James Ross. You can call me, Mike. Can you tell me what happened?”
The woman blushes. “I’m not…” she hiccups, “I’m not his wife. He’s a lawyer and I’m his secretary! He’s my boss and if he dies, I’m going to lose my job. Is he going to be alright?”
Mike is taken aback by the statement. A traitorous part of himself dares to hope, just a little. “Ms...?”
“Paulsen.” She fills in, “Donna Paulsen. Executive Assistant at Pearson-Hardman. He is Harvey Reginald Specter, Senior Associate. He’s on the partner track you know. At least until… until…” she starts to hiccup again, fighting with the sobs that were wreaking over her.
“Donna, then,” Mike starts, waiting for her to nod, because he found that addressing them by their given names always brought more comfort and helped induce a bridge of trust more easily. She does. “Donna, does Harvey have any other family that we can contact? Anyone who knows his medical history? Just in case we need to operate.” She renews her sobs, and he wants to knock his own head on the wall.
“It might not come to that… It’s merely for precaution. He’s already stable on medications alone. It’s a good sign. He seems like a fit young man.” He reassures, patting her on the shoulder with care. “I’ll need to know if he has allergies, past or familial history of heart problems, so I can treat him properly.”
“Both his parents are alive. He also has a brother.” She answers, already beginning to calm down.
“Good, you’re doing very good, Donna. Harvey is so lucky to have a friend like you.” Mike nods. He ushers her outside of the curtain and brings her to the large, fluffy, waiting room chairs with a nurse behind him. “Can the nurse get their contact details? The hospital will contact them.”
His pager rings. Mike excuses himself in a hurry and sprints back to the ER the moment that he’s out of sight: Bed 11 is crashing—Harvey Specter is seizing!
***
Harvey sees glimpses, hears glimpses, feels glimpses. He knows there a warm, steady, reassuring hand on his chest, on his neck, on his face. He knows that there’s a voice, loud and confident, telling him that he’ll survive, telling him that he will get over this, telling him that he will wake-up. He holds on to it. He clings to it. He lets himself believe in whoever is trying to save him.
***
In the end, by miracle of God, Harvey does not need surgery. Mike is able to melt the clot and dislodge it with a combination of drugs. He signs the patient in for two more days of observation. That’s how long it will take until the tiny clot can be removed through a non-surgical procedure through the thigh. It’s safer to get it out farther away from the chest cavity.
Donna, the ever-reliable Donna, gave them all the information they need. The hospital phones Gordon Specter, the patient’s father, a reputable jazz musician, who is flying in tonight. His brother, Marcus Specter, is overseas in Italy with his wife.
He forces the agitated Donna to go home, take a bath, and settle things in the young aspiring lawyer’s workplace, because there’s nothing for her to do while they keep the patient sedated. She reluctantly leaves, only after he promises to watch over Harvey in her stead.
Mike, being Mike, with his over-emotional feel-ness, agrees.
“Remember,” She tells him. It is perhaps the first time she’s seen her out of her stupor and into the role of efficient assistant. “Harvey is really, really cranky when he first wakes up. He might be, he will be, disoriented. And he will not take kindly to being in the hospital and losing an entire day’s work. Let alone three! He’ll go berserk. Sedate him if you must just to keep him safe.”
“Just please,” she holds onto his hand, so hard that he flinches, her long nails leaving crest moon imprints, “Please make sure he comes out okay.”
Mike nods, “I promise.”
***
Harvey wakes up at dawn the next morning—dazed, drugged, and delirious.
Mike is doing his rounds in the pediatric ward (pawned off by an attending). He gets announced through the PA instead of being paged. The nurse’s station is deserted when he arrives. He sees nearly all of the night-time nurses crammed into Mr. Specter’s room.
“Let me go!” comes a yell from inside. “I demand to see my doctor! I can’t stay here! I need to leave! I need to finish crucifying stupid Elijah Eton and get my Junior Partnership offer!”
“Do as he says,” Mike barks over the commotion, nostrils flaring as two male nurses hold his patient down on either side, “Don’t stress him out. He’s just had an acute heart attack. For Christ’s sake, you don’t want to trigger another one, right? He’s a lawyer. We don’t want him suing this hospital for malpractice too. Go on,” he urges them calmly, “I’ve got this.”
One by one, the nurses file away until they are the only two people in the room. Mike tries his best to give a comforting smile without looking condescending. It’s tough given his lack of sleep and heavily caffeinated brain.
“Mr. Specter,” He says slowly, “My name is Dr. Micheal James Ross. I’m your resident physician while you’re confined in this hospital. I’ve been handling your care since you came in this afternoon. How are you feeling?” He sticks to the important details for now, remembering Donna’s warning.
“Like I just lost my chance at Junior Partnership,” Harvey grouses, glaring at Mike as if the whole affair was somehow the young doctor’s fault.
Mike’s too professional to bite. “I see that you haven’t lost your snarkiness. Your assistant, Donna Paulsen, warned me about it.” Name-dropping builds connection and makes it easier to earn the patient’s trust, having a relation with a familiar person creates the foundations of trust.
“Then you must be an idiot,” Harvey spits out with a huff, “You’ve still come here despite her warnings.”
Mike chuckles to himself. “You are very fortunate to have her, Mr. Specter.” He says in a light-hearted tone. Even as he stands, he takes in the different monitoring equipment readings and jots it down in his head. He’ll fill in the charts later. “You should put a ring on her before you miss your chance.”
It was clear from the interactions with Donna how she feels deeply for her boss.
Harvey scoffs from the bed. “Beyoncé, really? If that’s what you listen to, then I should ask for a new doctor. One who does not have an abhorrent taste in music.”
“How elitist of you, Mr. Specter.” Mike snorts, rolling his eyes. At least the heart trauma does not seem to have any lasting effects on the patient’s sense of dry humor. “Perhaps Etta Jones is more your style? Shall I bring you my iPod so you can listen to my diverse music library?” He mentions the old iPod classic from his uni days.
The last comment earns him an eyebrow raise. “Not bad, kid. I might take you up on that.”
“I’m not kid,” Mike protests, cheeks red. “I’ll have you know that I’m twenty-eight.”
“Perfect,” Harvey doesn’t sound convinced, “I have a baby doctor.”
“This brilliant young aspiring doctor saved your from having major surgery, probably saved your firm a whole lot of money in medical bills, and kept an eye out while you were asleep.” Mike retorts, with more annoyance than malice. It’s really hard to be mad at a handsome thing like Harvey Specter for long. “I think you owe me a thanks.”
“How about dinner?” Harvey asks, surprising Mike that he nearly falls back on the visitor’s chair.
“Excuse me?”
“I am a gigantic douche. It’s one of my better talents.” Harvey tells him with the utmost seriousness. “Dinner,” he repeats, more confidently. “I’d like to thank you by taking you out to dinner for saving my life.”
Mike is beet red. He’s flustered. He’s speechless. He’s conflicted . Harvey Specter is not only hot, handsome, and heart-throb-y but he’s also a patient who just survived a heart attack at the ripe age of thirty. It’s common for people coming out of a near-death experience to make out-of-this-world spontaneous decisions which they regret later on.
“No,” Mike replies. It sounds choked off and weak to his own ears but he steels himself. “No, thank you, Mr. Specter—”
“Harvey,” Harvey corrects.
“No thank you, Harvey,” Mike amends, unable to meet the man in the eye, “It would be unethical of me. I could lose my job. It’s strictly against hospital policy… and I… I don’t date patients. I’m sorry. I would have to decline.”
“Fine then,” Harvey says, without further contention. “I’ll have to wait until I’m discharged to ask you out again.”
“Mr. Specter!”
“Harvey.”
“Harvey!” Mike sputters, feeling his face heat up, his heart beat faster, and his hands become clammy. “I already told you that I do not date patients.”
“You stated rules, ethics, and procedure. Trust me, I’ve gone through hospital bylaws and medical ethic guidelines for cases. It’s fine as long as I’m no longer an active patient. So transfer me to another doctor when the coast is clear.” Harvey shoots back nonchalantly, sounding as if the verdict is out, and he’s already won the case. “You also never said that you were not interested in having dinner with me.”
“I…” Mike has no words to disprove that statement. Because he is interested in the hot young lawyer currently residing in room number 1227. He’s found a few patients interesting over the years but nothing drew him to them like Harvey does right now. There’s something about him—even when he was unconscious in the ER—the makes Mike interested . “I’m sorry.” He stammers, fleeing.
***
Mike studiously avoids going back to Harvey’s room after that.
He meets Harvey’s father the next day.
“Mr. Specter,” Mike greets, newly showered and in a fresh set of scrubs. But even the fresh hair, fresh breath, and fresh clothes, cannot hide the dark circles under his eyes. “I’m Dr. Michael James Ross, your son’s resident doctor. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to ask you a few question on your family’s medical history.”
Gordon Specter is an agreeable man. He’s a respectable height with a charm and an aura that makes all the older female employees swoon—no matter the distinction or position. He’s in a loose grey Henley, faded trousers, and new heavy-duty boots, with a small overnight bag slung on his shoulder.
“How’s Harvey?” He asks instead of answering.
“Harvey woke up this morning around three am in the morning. He’s off sedation and is currently enjoying some natural sleep. Hence, my offer to ask you questions now instead of later.” Mike gives him a small smile, already leading the older man into the cafeteria. “It should only be few minutes. I’ll let you wake him up and sneak him some breakfast, if you’d like.”
Gordon beams. His face changing from worried to relaxed in seconds. “A doctor willing to sneak a patient food. What kind of doctor are you?” He says in wonder. There’s no ill-will in his tone, just curiosity.
“A doctor who knows what it’s like to be fed bland food when one barely had any appetite. Most of the food served in this cafeteria is organic and healthy. As long as we stay away from the spicy, the salts, and the sweets, Harvey should be fine. The heart attack was minor and will cause no permanent damage.”
Gordon melts into one of the chairs. “Is he all right?”
“Your son is stable. The drugs were able to dislodge the clot which caused the attack. I’ve had Harvey undergo a couple ECGs to monitor its path. If all goes according to schedule, we can perform the procedure to remove it by tomorrow night.” Mike answers, bringing two cups of vending machine tea to the table. “Here, to calm your nerves.”
“Thank you,” Gordon accepts the paper cup graciously. “You’re a bit young to be a doctor.”
Mike rubs the back of his head, shyly. “I’m twenty-eight but I guess that’s a bit young compared to the rest of the residents here. I was accelerated to high school and overloaded my classes in uni. Medicine’s been the only thing that managed to challenge me enough to extend the full five years.”
“My son is lucky then,” Gordon says with a nod, tone slightly amused. At Mike’s blush, he adds, “I take it that he’s already flirted with you? Something would be wrong if he didn’t even try.”
Mike’s face grows even redder. Sometimes he hates his pale complexion and the lack of sun exposure. He feel vulnerable blushing too much that he might seem unprofessional. He coughs, “He has, and I assure you, Mr. Specter, that I’ve declined his invitation to dinner on ethical grounds. Rest assured, it will not affect my treatment of your son.”
Gordon makes a noncommittal sound “Dinner, huh?” he says under his breath just loud enough for Mike to overhead. He takes a look over the forms at the table then over at Mike. “Now, let’s see what kind of forms you have for me.”
***
Mike does not see Harvey until the procedure. It’s safe because they have Harvey sedated, lying unconscious on the table in a medical down and a thin blanket over his frame. Mike cannot help but think of how young the lawyer looks while he’s asleep. Color and health has returned to Harvey’s face in the past two days, probably due to Gordon and Donna sneaking in food.
At the same time, Harvey looks vulnerable while asleep on top of the steel operating table where the procedure will take place. Mike needs a sterile room to work despite the simple procedure. Since it’s going to be in a tricky place—near the crease where leg meets pelvis—the OR was easier to book.
“Suction, ready,” he tells one of the nurses and waits for a nod. Then, he opens his hand for the “scalpel,” then he makes the first cut.
It goes smoothly. He is able to extract the small blood clot with minimal incision. It’s only in inch long and barely grazed the subcutaneous tissue before finding the right artery. He clamps the vessel where he where he intends to puncture and sucks out the tiny clot with a small needle-like tube. He closes it up with minimal fuss. It takes only an hour from start to finish.
After that, he sends a sleeping Harvey back to his room. The lawyer should be ready for discharge by tomorrow morning. Mike pawns off the post-op check to another resident and goes home. So that he can forget all about the stupidly handsome patient and get back to not having a life beyond the hospital, fully wishing that Harvey Specter is just another patient—
—but he’s not.
***
A month after the fateful encounter, something happens. Mike deliberately avoids any morning shift. No, he keeps on lying to himself, it’s not because he wants to avoid Harvey Specter going through his mandatory physical therapy. He takes on night-shifts because the commute is less crowded, the hospital is less busy, and the emergencies in the ER are real emergencies . He eventually gets found out.
“Mike,” his attending calls out, “I don’t want to see your skinny ass on the night shift for another month. Do you hear me? You look like you’re about to fall off your feet, and it’s not good for patient morale.”
Reluctantly, Mike packs his duffel back and goes home.
There’s a sports car parked right in front of the entrance, lights blinking in a hazard. It’s impolite and improper to block the hospital driveway. And, it’s only eight o’clock in the evening! It’s too early to be slacking off. He huffs, adjusting his bag, and knocks on the door.
“Excuse me, but you can’—t” His words melt as soon as he sees the driver. Smug, handsome, and gorgeous just like he remembered, Harvey Specter leans across the driver’s seat and opens the door latch. “Harvey! What are you doing here?”
“Do you know how many days I’ve been waiting for you in front of the hospital?” He asks in lieu of a greeting. His smile is dazzling.
“I…” Mike flushes, “I don’t know what to say. I can’t… I don’t… you’re a patient.” He finishes.
In response, Harvey shoves a manila envelope to Mike with a gruff “Open it”. Mike does. Inside is a certification of completion of his mandatory physical therapy and the written referral for his medical needs to be transferred to another hospital—one that is also accredited by the PH health card.
“You’re not my doctor. This isn’t my hospital.” Harvey tells him with the audacity to sound smug. “So are you going to keep freezing your ass off or are you getting into the car? I’ve got reservations for a small Italian place in Brooklyn.”
“Brooklyn,” Mike repeats, confused. “That’s way a long way from my flat. I’ll never get home.”
Harvey smirks, eyes sticky like glue, staring up and down Mike’s form. “What makes you think I’m letting you go home?”
Mike huffs out his chest. The feelings that he’s failed to keep at bay, failed to keep separated from work, which forced him to be a vampire for over a month, threatened to burst out of his chest. Yet, he’s uncertain to make the leap. “What makes you think I’m interested?” He shoots back, albeit weakly.
“You never said you weren’t,” Harvey points out like a champ.
“What if I don’t want to be another notch is your expensive prada belt?” Mike crosses his arms in half-hearted defiance. He doesn’t even know why he’s stalling in the first place. But he wants to know, he wants to be assured, that the feelings aren’t just skin deep. Because if he invests in this, it could ruin him.
“It’s Gucci.” Harvey shoots back, “Didn’t my dad tell you?”
“Your dad told me you were a flirt.”
Harvey groans, hands rubbings over his face with a deep sigh. “Look,” he starts and Mike can faintly make out the color on the other man’s cheeks in the dark shadows of the parking lot. The lamppost light is close to nothing with the car’s heavy tint.
“I flirt. I don’t ask random people out on dates.”
Somehow, that simple statement is enough to reassure Mike.
“So we’re going on a date?” He asks, feeling the power in him now, like the ball is in his court, like he’s not the only one who is uncertain about everything. “Is that what we’re going to do, Harvey? Are we going to start dating?”
“Yes,” Harvey’s answer comes out small, “If you’re like. I’m bad at dating. I’m a workaholic. I’m ambitious. And, I love my job. But yes, I’d like to date you Dr. Michael James Ross, if you’d let me.”
Mike bursts into a smile and slides in. “Well, then,” he says, turning to Harvey, “I’m also bad at dating. I have no social life outside of work. I do four-day shifts on a normal basis. And please, call me Mike if you want to date me properly.”
“Okay… Mike,” Harvey tests out the name, his smile going even bigger than it was a few minutes ago. “Let’s go get some food, Mike.” He says like he will never get tired of saying the name. Maybe, he never will.