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Mike had expected—hoped—he’d wake up to at least a kiss. A sleepy murmur of “Happy anniversary” pressed against his hair. Maybe even a lazy morning in bed, Harvey Specter, shirtless, smug, and insufferably affectionate when no one else could see.
Instead, he woke up to an empty space beside him and a cold pillow.
Harvey was already gone.
At first, Mike brushed it off. It was Harvey, after all. He was busy, probably.
He got a text saying get to office asap.
Mike went to office early—earlier than usual, which was practically unnatural for a man who loved sleep as much as Mike did.
He was greeted by Donna outside Harvey’s office.
“Whoa, whoa,” she said as he reached for Harvey’s door.
“It’s me,” Mike said, frowning. “Harvey asked me to come early today.”
“I know,” she replied sweetly. “But Harvey also told me not to let anyone in. He’s on call with a very important client.”
Mike blinked. “Right now?”
She nodded.
He glanced at the clock. “At eight in the morning?”
She raised one perfectly arched brow.
“Okay…” Mike shifted awkwardly. “Did he, uh—did he mention anything else?”
Donna tilted her head. “Like what?”
“…Something about today?”
“Oh,” she said lightly. “Yeah. He will be out in the first half today.”
Mike gave her a sad look.
“You can survive four hours without him, Mike.”
Mike stepped back, hands in his pockets, trying not to look as deflated as he felt.
He forgot.
Harvey forgot.
He wandered over to the associates’ bullpen, flopped dramatically into his chair, and pulled out his phone, planning to sulk in peace and maybe send Rachel a text that said to see if she had any interesting cases going on.
But before he could even finish typing, his phone buzzed.
[HARVEY SPECTER – 8:19 AM]
Be ready in 15. We’re leaving to meet a new client. Bring your coat.
Mike stared at the message, frowning.
No explanation.
Just simple, formal instruction.
He slumped back into the chair and let his head tip toward the ceiling.
“Wow,” he muttered. “Romance is dead.”
But fifteen minutes later, he had his coat in hand and followed Harvey out the building anyway.
Because it was Harvey, who also happened to be his boss and he had no other option than to obey him.
And though Mike won’t admit, he was a total simp for that man.
The ride was suspiciously silent.
Mike sat in the passenger seat of Harvey’s sleek black Lexus, arms folded, mouth firmly set in what he liked to think was “quiet dignity,” but which probably looked a lot more like a pout. He watched the city go by, pressed up against the window like a kid who’d just been told Christmas was canceled.
Harvey didn’t look at him. Not once.
He just drove.
Smoothly. Calmly. Like it was just another Monday and not, say, their first anniversary, which Mike had lowkey been looking forward to for weeks. He hadn’t even made big plans! Just, like, starting the with a kiss and ending with a dinner. Maybe some light reminiscing. Possibly some very naked slow dancing to Marvin Gaye in the living room. Something.
But instead, here he was. Sitting in a car. On the way to another dumb client. Probably someone boring. Some rich fuck who wouldn’t be able to finish his money even if he literally ate it daily.
Mike huffed.
Harvey glanced at him. “Are you upset?”
“I don’t know,” Mike said with a shrug. “Am I?”
“You are pouting.”
“This is just my face. You got a problem with it now?”
Harvey didn’t answer. Just smirked faintly and kept driving.
Mike stared at him. At the crisp line of his jaw, the way his hands rested so easily on the wheel, the faint little smile tugging at his mouth like he was enjoying this. And that was the final straw.
“You really forgot, didn’t you?” Mike blurted, voice cracking just a little.
Harvey blinked. “Forgot what?”
Mike whipped his head toward the window, utterly betrayed. “Wow. Okay. It’s not like it’s important anyways.”
Harvey was silent for a beat.
Then—
“You look good when you pout.”
Mike’s head snapped around. “Excuse me?”
Harvey just smirked.
“Oh my God,” Mike muttered. “You are enjoying this.”
“I’m simply driving,” Harvey said smoothly.
The rest of the drive was silent. Until—
Mike stared out the windshield.
And blinked.
And then blinked again.
“…Is that… the Central Park Zoo?”
Harvey parked the car.
Then turned to Mike with a smile so gentle, it made Mike’s heart stutter.
“Let’s go meet our client,” he said.
They walked through the zoo, Harvey leading the way like this was just another ordinary day, like they do this all the time.
Mike was trying to keep up, both with Harvey’s pace and his brain.
“So,” Mike said, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets, “our client is in the zoo?”
“Yes,” Harvey replied without looking back.
Mike quickened his step. “What, like… an animal?”
Harvey glanced at him with a little smirk. “You’ll see.”
Mike groaned. “Harvey, seriously. First Donna won’t let me into your office, now this? What’s up with all the secrecy?”
“What’s up with all the impatience?” Harvey cut in, smooth as ever.
Mike frowned.
Harvey opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by a woman approaching them, wearing a dark green zoo staff fleece and carrying a clipboard.
“You must be Harvey?” she asked with a kind smile.
Harvey held out a hand. “That’s me.”
She shook it, then turned to Mike. “And you must be Mike.”
“Uh, yeah,” Mike said, still suspicious. “Me. Definitely Mike.”
“I’m Dr. Kendra Lin,” she said, professional and warm. “Are you ready to meet him?”
Mike opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He glanced at Harvey, who just lifted an eyebrow like what are you waiting for?
“I—yeah,” Mike said. “Sure. I guess.”
Dr. Lin just smiled, gesturing for them to follow her.
Mike was still blinking in confusion as they stepped into the small lab space behind the viewing area. It was quiet, cool, and smells faintly of saltwater and disinfectant. A few incubators lined the back wall, and some medical equipment.
The woman — Dr. Lin, gave him a gentle smile. “Wait here.”
She stepped out for a moment and returned holding something wrapped in a soft towel. She knelt carefully, and with delicate hands, unwrapped the bundle.
And there he was. A tiny penguin chick, fluffy and gray, blinking up at Mike with inky, curious eyes.
“No way,” he whispered. “Is that—that’s—Harvey, is that a baby penguin?!”
Harvey, standing just behind him, gave a smug little shrug. “That’s the client.”
Mike’s breath catches. “Oh my God,” he whispers. “He’s so… small.”
Dr. Lin chuckled. “He’s just under a month old. We’re hand-rearing him because he was abandoned by his parents, so he’s a bit spoiled.”
Mike drops into a crouch beside the table, heart thudding.
“He’s perfect,” he murmurs.
Mike slowly crouched down, eyes wide, practically glowing. The penguin chick blinked at him with impossibly round eyes and gave a soft squeaky peep.
Mike gasped. “He talks. Oh my god. He said hi.”
The baby made another sound. “Yes. Hello to you too, baby.” Mike said in baby-talk. “Harvey, he imprinted on me!”
Harvey snorted. “Yeah, that’s how it works.”
Mike turned, eyes wet and shining. “Harvey. Did you—did you plan this? Because of what I said a year ago?”
Harvey gave him a little shrug and a too-casual, “You wanted to raise a penguin with me.”
Mike looked back at the chick, overwhelmed. “You remembered.”
“Of course,” Harvey said softly.
Mike turned, fully beaming now.
“If you want,” she said to Mike, holding a bowl toward him, “you can try feeding him. Just gently offer the fish and let him come to you. He’s used to human hands.”
Mike’s eyes widened like he’d been offered the Holy Grail.
“I can feed him?”
Dr. Lin smiled. “Yeah...”
Mike looked back at Harvey as if needing confirmation that this was real. Harvey, arms in his pockets and lips twitching with amusement, just tilted his head. “Go on, Rookie. He’s waiting.”
Mike picked up a fish with shaky fingers and held it out carefully. “Hey there, buddy,” he said softly, crouching down again.
The baby penguin peeped once, then waddled forward with impressive commitment for something shaped like a fuzzy bowling pin. He leaned forward, opened his beak—
—and gently nibbled the fish from Mike’s hand.
Mike’s jaw dropped.
And then, as if that wasn’t enough, the chick reached out with a tiny, rounded wing and rested it lightly—gently—on Mike’s forearm for balance.
Mike made a noise that might’ve been a squeak or the beginning of a full emotional collapse.
“He’s touching me,” he whispered, eyes enormous. “He trusts me with his flappy little wing!”
Harvey, behind him, was already holding up his phone, snapping pictures with the kind of quiet focus Mike had only seen during work.
“Are you taking pictures?!” Mike gasped, turning his head slightly, careful not to jostle the baby penguin.
Harvey shrugged. “You didn’t look this happy when I asked you to be my boyfriend.”
Mike turned back to the penguin chick, now contentedly settled against his wrist. He looked over his shoulder with wide, pleading eyes.
“Harvey, you have to take a video. I need to remember this moment forever. I need to show this to our future children.”
“I’ve been filming and taking pics since you picked up the fish.”
Mike gasped again. “You do love me.”
Harvey just smirked and kept recording as Mike fed the penguin a second fish, whispering things like “Who’s my wittle baby? You are. Yes you are.”
And the baby penguin? He just peeped again and blinked up at Mike like he understood.
After feeding, Mike asked the good doctor if he could pet the baby. Who approved with a smile.
“There’s actually something else,” she said, after they said goodbye to the chick. “Your partner—Harvey—he reached out a few weeks ago. He arranged to sponsor this little guy’s care. Which means…” She holds out a certificate in a clear sleeve, embossed with the zoo’s logo and a small penguin illustration.
“…he’s yours. Symbolically, of course.”
Mike stares at it.
“Wait. What?”
Harvey walked over then, still holding the phone but looking smug in that way he always does when he’s planned something that works too well. He tapped the paper gently.
“Official co-parents. I already signed us up. They needed a name for the certificate, but I figured you’d want to do that part.”
Mike’s brain was malfunctioning. “You adopted him?”
“We. And it’s only symbolic.”
“You adopted a penguin chick for our anniversary.”
“Well, you were the one who cried about raising one together,” Harvey shrugged, grinning. “I just followed through.”
“Okay,” Mike breathed. “Okay, um. A name. He needs a name.”
He thought for a second, tilting his head. Then his face lights up.
“Pebbles,” he said.
“Good one.” Harvey grinned, it was fitting, considering how their proposal went.
Dr. Lin nodded. “Pebbles it is. We’ll update his profile. You will get monthly pictures on your registered email. And you can come see him whenever you like.”
Mike, glowing now, hugged the certificate to his chest. “Thank you! I’m gonna frame this. And then I’m gonna cry about it.”
“You already are crying.”
“Shut up, this is—this is parenthood, Harvey.”
Harvey just leaned in and brushed a kiss to Mike’s cheek, “Happy anniversary, penguin man.”
Mike chuckled wetly. “You too. I love you, Harvey!”
[They went on to see the other penguins in the zoo, where Mike rambled the facts about different kinds of penguins and Harvey did his best to keep up with him, enjoying with his nerd boyfriend nonetheless.]
And when they returned to Harvey’s car, their was a little surprise waiting for Mike.
“—How?! You were with me the whole time!” Mike hugged the penguin plushie which looked just like Pebbles.
“What can I say, I am the best boyfriend ever.”