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Mike rushes in, hair plastered to his forehead, shirt clinging to him. He’s dripping water onto the carpet, and Harvey doesn’t even look up from his desk at first.
“You’re late,” Harvey says flatly.
“I’m sorry, it’s just--”
“Don’t care. Did you bring the papers I need or not?”
Mike slaps the file down--pages a little wrinkled but impressively intact. Harvey’s about to skim the top page when he actually looks at his associate.
“Why are these damp--why the hell are you soaking wet?”
Mike blinks like it’s obvious. “Because I rode my bike and it rained?”
Harvey gestures toward the window, where sunshine is pouring over midtown. “But it’s sunny.”
“Okay, well it wasn’t. There was a cloudburst or something.”
Before Harvey can push further, Donna sweeps in, a perfectly pressed suit draped over her arm. “Your emergency dry-cleaning order, Mr. Ross,” she says sweetly, handing it to him.
And then Mike--without hesitation, without even waiting for Donna to leave--starts stripping out of his wet clothes right there in Harvey’s office. Shoes kicked off, belt unbuckled, shirt sticking to his chest as he peels it away.
“Are you seriously--?” Harvey starts, but the words snag halfway out. He should tell him to change in the bathroom like a normal human being. But instead he’s watching droplets trace down Mike’s chest, watching pale skin catch the light, watching muscles he’s definitely never let himself imagine actually seeing.
“Jesus, kid,” Harvey mutters, snapping his attention back to the file with a little too much force. He tells himself it’s irritation. He tells himself it’s not because if he keeps staring, he won’t stop.
Donna lingers in the doorway with a little smirk. “You know, some people pay extra for this kind of scene.”
“Donna,” Harvey warns, though it comes out lower than he meant.
She shrugs innocently. “What? He’s practically sparkling. I’m just saying, if a slow-motion soundtrack kicks in, don’t blame me.”
Mike glances up from shoving himself into the dry shirt. “Are you two seriously making this weird?”
“We’re making it weird?” Harvey shoots back, but when he looks up again Mike’s halfway into his pants, and he has to snap his eyes back down to the papers fast before Donna catches him staring.
Spoiler: She already has.
“Unbelievable,” Harvey mutters.
Mike grins, tugging the shirt into place. “Yeah, but at least I’m punctual with the paperwork.”
“You were late.”
“Not for the important stuff.”
Donna tilts her head, smug. “This is better than cable.”
“Don’t you have a desk to get back to?” Harvey asks without looking up.
She smirks. “You’re welcome for the dry suit. Not my fault he decided to turn your office into a changing room.”
Harvey waves her off, muttering something about circus acts, then buries himself in the file. Mike being Mike. That’s all this is.
Still, when Mike settles into the chair across from him, hair damp and shirt clinging just enough at the collar, Harvey has to force himself not to look up again.
-----
By late afternoon, Harvey’s got Mike double-checking case notes while he clears out emails. It’s routine, at least until Mike drops a confirmation packet onto his desk with a smug little flourish.
“Flight’s booked, hotel’s booked, car’s waiting at the airport. Just like you asked. We’ll be in and out with optimal efficiency.”
Harvey skims the itinerary--everything exactly how he would have done it himself--and before he can stop himself, the words are already out of his mouth.
“Good boy.”
The silence that follows is deafening.
Mike blinks. “...What?”
Harvey’s eyes flick up, just as startled. “I said good job.”
“No, you most certainly didn’t.” Mike leans against the desk, arms crossing. “You definitely said good boy.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
“I didn’t.”
Mike tilts his head, studying him with that insufferable half-grin. “Wow. I mean, I knew you liked being in charge, but I didn’t think it was like that.”
Harvey feels heat creep up his neck and immediately buries himself in the papers. “Slip of the tongue. Drop it.”
“Oh, I’m dropping nothing,” Mike shoots back, grinning wider now that he’s found a crack in Harvey’s armor. “Good boy? Really? That’s like--I don’t even know, Harvey, do I get a treat now? Want to see me beg?”
Harvey glares at him over the file, which only makes Mike laugh harder.
“Don’t you have something useful to do?”
“I did. And apparently I did it so well you forgot how words work.”
The corner of Harvey’s mouth betrays him with the ghost of a smirk. He snaps the file shut a little harder than necessary. “Get packed. We’ve got an early flight.”
“Sure thing, boss,” Mike says, still grinning. Then, just to twist the knife: “Whatever you say.”
-----
By the time they stumble into the hotel lobby, it’s close to midnight. The flight had been delayed twice, the car service crawled through traffic, and Harvey’s patience is already hanging by a thread.
He sets his card on the counter. “Specter. Reservation for two.”
The desk clerk brightens. “Yes, Mr. Specter. One deluxe king, city view. A favorite amongst lovebirds such as yourselves. Lovely choice.”
Harvey frowns. “Wait, what? One bed?”
“Yes, that's correct.” She smiles. “Is that okay?"
Before Harvey can argue that it's not, Mike slips his hand into Harvey’s, fingers lacing easily like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Then, just to really kill him, he tips his head onto Harvey’s shoulder with a dreamy sigh.
“That’s perfect,” Mike says warmly. “Isn’t it, sweetheart?”
Harvey goes rigid. “What the hell are you-” he says under his breath, but the clerk is already melting.
“Oh, you two are adorable,” she says.
Mike beams. “Thanks. Funny story, actually, we met in a hotel. Total chance encounter. Pretty much love at first sight. Haven’t spent a day apart since.”
The clerk clasps her hands together, enchanted. “That’s so romantic.”
Harvey, meanwhile, is estimating how long it would take him to get from here to the top floor so he can swan dive off the building. And even worse maybe, is that some tiny traitorous part of him doesn’t hate the way Mike’s hand fits in his.
The clerk slides their keys across the counter. “Enjoy your stay.”
Mike plucks them up with a grin. “We will.”
-
The elevator doors slide shut and Harvey immediately rounds on him.
“What the hell was that?”
Mike blinks innocently. “What was what about?”
“You just made it so we only have one bed.”
Mike shrugs, leaning casually against the wall. “So what? It’s a big bed. There’ll be plenty of room.”
“Did you ever think that maybe I just want a bed to myself?” Harvey snaps.
Mike tilts his head, watching him with way too much amusement. “But Harvey…” He lowers his voice, mock-serious. “I thought I was your good boy.”
Harvey’s face goes hot. “Shut-up.”
Mike smiles from ear-to-ear, about to say more, when the elevator lurches hard and screeches to a stop. The lights flicker.
“No,” Harvey says, immediately gripping the railing. “No fucking way. This cannot be happening right now.”
Mike bites back a laugh, steadying himself. “Relax. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
As if on cue, the elevator shudders, then groans back to life, crawling upward again.
Harvey stares at the glowing floor numbers, silently bargaining with the universe. If this thing breaks down, I swear to god...
Beside him, Mike whistles tunelessly, far too pleased with himself.
-
The door clicks open and Mike steps inside first. “Wow. This is niiiice, dude.”
It is nice. Floor-to-ceiling windows, the city spread out like a glittering postcard. Polished floors, sleek furniture, a bottle of champagne waiting on the table with two glasses beside it.
But Harvey barely sees any of it. His eyes zero in on the bed.
One bed. Big, plush, practically glowing under the warm light. But still. One. Bed.
“All this,” Harvey starts, setting his briefcase down, “negated by the fact there’s only one damn bed.”
Mike flops down on it immediately, bouncing once like a kid testing a trampoline. “It’s huge, Harvey. Look at this thing. You could land a 747 on it.”
“Get off,” Harvey says automatically.
Mike stretches out even wider. “What’s the problem? You sleep on your side, I’ll sleep on mine. Plenty of room.”
Harvey glares. “I don’t share beds with associates.”
Mike props his head up on his hand, grinning. “Oh, so it’s not the bed-sharing you object to. Just the associate part. Maybe you could promote me. You know, make it less awkward for both of us.”
Before Harvey can shoot back, his eyes scan the room again and it clicks.
The champagne.
Rose petals, not many, but enough, are scattered on the pillows.
The thermostat clicks on with a soft hum, blowing warm air that makes the whole place feel suspiciously cozy.
"Did you book us a honeymoon suite?”
Mike bolts upright, offended. “What? No!” He digs his phone out of his pocket, scrolling fast until he shoves the screen toward Harvey. “See? Standard double. Two beds. That’s what I booked.”
Harvey looks at the email confirmation, then at the champagne bottle with its neat little card--For our special guests--then at the faint scattering of rose petals on the pillows.
“This is so ridiculous,” he huffs.
Mike’s grin widens. “Told you. Guess they really rolled out the red carpet for us, sweetheart.”
Harvey heaves a sigh. This isn’t real. This cannot be real.
Mike takes a sip from the champagne he’s already poured. “Relax. Worst case scenario, you get to wake up next to me. Which, honestly? You’re welcome.”
-----
Mike kicks off his shoes, peels off his socks, then, without hesitation, kicks off his pants. He drops his shirt next, leaving nothing but boxers as he climbs onto the bed and sprawls out.
Harvey freezes mid-step. “Woah. You can’t sleep naked.”
Mike looks at him, amused. “I’m not naked. I’m leaving the boxers on.”
“Put some damn clothes on,” Harvey orders, tugging at the hem of his own t-shirt like he suddenly feels overdressed. He’s in long pajama pants and a cotton t-shirt, as dressed as anyone could be for bed, and somehow that makes it worse.
“I do have clothes on,” Mike says, propping himself up on an elbow. “I sleep hot, Harvey.”
Harvey glares, trying very hard not to look at all the bare skin Mike has on display. “I can't take you anywhere.”
Mike grins, rolling onto his side. “Dibs on the left side.”
“You don’t get to call dibs,” Harvey snaps, pulling back the covers.
“Too late. Already called it.” Mike stretches out across the pillows with a satisfied sigh.
“Unreal,” Harvey huffs, climbing stiffly into the opposite side. He yanks the blanket with him like he can stake out territory by sheer force. “I don’t share beds with associates.”
“You keep saying that like it means something,” Mike says, muffled into the pillow. “You’re all talk, Harvey."
“Covers are mine,” Harvey shoots back automatically.
Mike lifts his head, grinning. “Guess we’ll see.”
-
Hours later, the thermostat clicks louder than before and sputters out a blast of frigid air. The room drops colder and colder until Harvey stirs awake, teeth clenched. He tugs the covers tighter, but the blanket is already half stolen, wrenched toward the other side of the bed.
“Mike,” he growls in the dark, trying to tug them back.
No answer. Just a low sigh, and then, suddenly, Mike’s weight pressing against him, seeking heat. An arm draped over his chest. A knee sliding against his leg. His face tucked in close, breath warm against Harvey’s collarbone.
Harvey stares at the ceiling, frozen in place. No. Absolutely not. This isn’t happening. This cannot be happening.
Mike mumbles something incoherent and burrows closer, stealing the last of the blanket.
Harvey exhales, long and tight. He tells himself he’ll shove Mike off any second. He tells himself it’s just easier to let him sleep.
But he doesn’t move.
-----
The next thing Harvey knows, pale morning light is fighting its way through the curtains. His back aches from lying too stiff all night, and there’s a heavy weight across his chest.
He looks down.
Mike.
Still half-asleep, hair mussed, breathing slow and even. One arm slung across Harvey’s ribs, one leg tangled with his, body pressed flush like they’ve been sleeping this way for years.
Harvey closes his eyes, whispering under his breath, “Just keeps getting better."
Mike stirs then, blinking blearily. His face lifts just enough to meet Harvey’s horrified expression. And then he smiles.
“Well,” Mike says, voice rough from sleep. “Good morning to you too.”
Harvey tries to shift out from under him, but Mike tightens his arm playfully. “Aw, c’mon. Don’t be like that. You were warm.”
“Get off me.”
Mike props his chin on Harvey’s shoulder, smirk widening. “Yes, sir,” he says, drawing the words out just enough to make Harvey’s pulse spike.
Harvey goes rigid. “Don’t.”
“What? You don’t like being called sir?”
“Not by you.”
“Pretty sure that’s what you said last night too,” Mike teases, finally rolling away and stretching across the bed like he owns it. “But your face says otherwise.”
Harvey drags a hand over his eyes. Something’s off. It has been since Mike started stripping in his office like it was the most normal thing in the world. And now this. The rain, the bed, the way nothing adds up. Maybe it isn’t bad luck. Maybe it’s karma finally catching up to him for every line he’s crossed, every person he’s screwed over.
-----
The client is older than Harvey expected. He has white hair, a cane propped against the chair, and sharp blue eyes that still manage to cut right through a room.
Harvey makes introductions, but the man barely acknowledges him, his focus landing squarely on Mike.
“And this handsome young man?” he asks, turning his attention to Mike with a smile plastered on his face.
Mike straightens. “I'm Mike Ross, Harvey’s associate. Pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“Ah, Mike.” The client’s smile deepens, and to Harvey’s horror, his hand lingers just a second too long when he pats Mike’s arm. “Bright-eyed. Reminds me of myself when I was your age. Sharp suit, sharper mind. You’re going places.”
He winks at Mike.
Mike flushes, ducking his head with a sheepish grin. “Thank you. That's kind of you to say.”
Harvey clenches his jaw. “He’s already going places. With me. That’s why he’s here.”
Mike glances over, baffled. With you? his eyes seem to ask, but Harvey bulldozes right on.
The client chuckles, undeterred. “Well, I hope your boss knows what a catch he’s got.”
Mike’s cheeks go even pinker, and Harvey nearly chokes on his own irritation. A catch? He’s eighty years old, for god’s sake. What the hell is wrong with me.
“Trust me,” Harvey says smoothly, though his voice is a little too tight, “I know exactly what I’ve got.”
The words hang there. Too heavy. Too personal.
Mike blinks, caught between amusement and confusion. He forces himself back to the papers in front of him, but he doesn’t miss the way Harvey is completely flustered.
-
They step out of the client’s office, case files tucked under Harvey’s arm. Mike waits until they’re halfway down the hall before he says, “So… you wanna explain why you were jealous of an eighty-year-old man?”
Harvey doesn’t break stride. “I wasn’t jealous.”
“Harvey, he called me a catch and you practically growled at him. I thought he was going to need to use his cane to get you to back off.”
“I didn’t growl,” Harvey says, a little too sharp.
Mike tilts his head, grin widening. “Wrong. It was definitely a growl. Like one of those territorial wolves on an Animal Planet show. All over a man who probably keeps his teeth on a nightstand when he sleeps."
Harvey rolls his eyes. “Maybe it's because I'm sleep deprived because somebody clung to me like a damn koala last night"
Mike raises an eyebrow. “Okay, yeah, only because the room reached subzero temperatures. It felt like if your heart was a room temperature.”
Harvey glares at him. “Right. And that’s funny because--”
“You’re cold-hearted,” Mike cuts in smoothly.
“Yeah, I got it,” Harvey replies, unamused.
Mike just smiles, hands shoved in his pockets, smug as hell.
Harvey rubs at his temples.Karma. It's definitely karma.
-----
The plane hums steadily as they settle into their seats, Harvey pulling out a file while Mike buckles in beside him.
“You could at least pretend to relax,” Mike says, elbow nudging him lightly. “Normal people watch movies on flights.”
“Normal people don’t work for me,” Harvey replies without looking up.
The seatbelt sign dings off, and for a while it’s quiet, until the turbulence hits. The plane jolts, sudden and rough, rattling the overhead bins.
Mike’s hand shoots out, clamping onto Harvey’s forearm. “Jesus--”
Harvey looks at him, one eyebrow arched despite the thrum in his own chest. “Relax. We’re fine.”
Mike doesn’t let go. Not even when the plane steadies.
By the time he finally does, it’s only because his head has lolled against Harvey’s shoulder, eyes shut, breathing evening out.
Harvey stiffens, staring straight ahead. He should move him. Wake him. Do something. But he doesn’t. He sits there, motionless, letting Mike sleep against him.
Across the aisle, an older woman leans toward her husband, smiling warmly. “How long have you two been together?”
Harvey’s eyes snap to her, jaw slack. “We’re not--”
Mike shifts in his sleep, nuzzling closer.
The woman just pats Harvey’s hand where it rests on the armrest. “You don’t have to be shy. It’s sweet.”
Harvey's jaw clenches so hard he thinks it might shatter.
-----
They push through the glass doors, travel-worn and carrying their files. Mike’s humming under his breath, still riding the high of having impressed the client, while Harvey just wants to get to his office and shut the door.
No such luck. Donna is leaning against her desk, arms folded, that trademark smirk already in place.
“Welcome back, newlyweds,” she says.
Harvey freezes. “What?”
“Oh, don’t act surprised. Word travels fast.” She raises a brow. “Clients talk. Assistants gossip. Flight attendants gossip louder. You two are practically a rom-com at this point.”
Mike laughs, delighted. “See? I told you people notice.”
Harvey shoots him a look that could melt steel. “Don’t encourage her.”
Donna tilts her head. “Oh, I don’t need encouragement. I’ve been watching this play out for years.” Her smile sharpens. “So… how was the hotel? One bed or two?”
Harvey opens his mouth, ready to deny everything, but Mike beats him to it. “One.”
Donna's laugh echoes off the walls of the office.
"Out," Harvey demands, finger pointed towards the door.
Donna throws her hands up in surrender, still laughing under her breath while walking back to her desk.
The second the door to Harvey’s office shuts behind them, he drops the files on his desk with more force than necessary. Mike’s still grinning, enjoying the aftershocks of Donna’s laughter.
“What’s got you so wound up?” Mike asks, perching on the edge of the couch like he owns the place.
Harvey hesitates, wonders if he should even bother with an answer. But he does. “Something’s going on.”
“Yeah, it's called we signed a major client today," Mike gleams.
“No. I’m serious.” Harvey’s tone sharpens. He paces once behind his desk, then stops, leaning against it. “Doesn’t anything feel… off to you?”
Mike tilts his head, confused. “Off how?”
Harvey gestures vaguely, frustrated. “The rain on a sunny day. The hotel mix-up. One bed. The champagne, the rose petals, the thermostat deciding to turn us into popsicles. Then the client. Then the plane. And Donna just--” He cuts himself off, shaking his head.
Mike just shrugs. “Sounds like a string of bad luck. You’re making it weird.”
“Bad luck doesn’t line up like this,” Harvey insists. His voice drops, almost to himself. “It’s like we’re being… pushed.”
“Pushed into what?”
Harvey looks at him, and for a second the answer teeters on the edge of his tongue. He swallows it down. “Forget it.”
Mike smirks, leaning back. “You really are sleep deprived.”
Harvey just shakes his head. "Yeah...maybe."
-----
Harvey’s in his office when he hears it. A panicked paralegal rushing past, voice carrying: “Mike Ross just got hit by a car!”
The words slam into him. He’s on his feet before his brain even catches up, heart hammering. The paralegal says something about "right outside" and Harvey sprints through the office, everything around him becoming a giant blur.
Outside, he spots Mike on the sidewalk, not mangled or lying dead in the street like the images his brain had conjured, but sitting against the building with his tie wrapped tight around one hand, blood seeping through the fabric.
“Jesus Christ, Mike,” Harvey mutters, crouching down fast. “What the hell happened?”
Mike looks up, startled. “Harvey? It’s not what it sounds like. A cab clipped me, that’s all. I fell, cut my hand. I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding all over the goddamn sidewalk, you’re not fine,” Harvey snaps. He takes Mike’s arm gently, carefully, and hauls him up. “Come on, come with me.”
Back in his office, Harvey steers him straight to the couch, grabbing the first aid kit Donna keeps stashed for emergencies. He kneels in front of Mike, tugging the makeshift tie-bandage away.
“Hold still.” His voice softens now, low and steady.
Mike winces as Harvey cleans the cut, but doesn’t pull away. Their faces are close, closer than they’ve ever been, Harvey’s focus so intent it makes Mike’s chest tighten.
“You scared the hell out of me,” Harvey admits quietly, dabbing antiseptic onto gauze.
Mike swallows, eyes flicking up to meet his. “I told you I was fine.”
“That’s not the point.” Harvey wraps the bandage snugly, his fingers brushing over Mike’s knuckles, lingering longer than necessary. He finally looks up, and their eyes lock.
The air shifts. The noise of the firm fades out. It’s just them, Harvey on his knees in front of him, Mike’s breath catching as Harvey’s gaze drops briefly to his mouth before snapping back up.
For one suspended second, it feels inevitable.
Mike leans in, just slightly--
And then the door swings open.
“Harvey, do you have--” Donna stops dead, eyes flicking from Harvey kneeling to Mike’s flushed face. Her smile is slow and merciless. “Oh. Am I interrupting? It looks like I'm interrupting.”
Harvey jerks back, standing too fast. “Get out.”
Donna just smirks, retreating. “Don’t mind me. Carry on, newlyweds.”
The door clicks shut. Silence floods in.
Mike flexes his bandaged hand, trying to hide his grin. “I told you. String of bad luck.”
Harvey stares at him for a moment, the echo of almost still buzzing like electricity in the air. “Bad luck doesn’t look like this.”
“Oh sorry, next time I'll make sure the car really hits me."
"That's not what I meant."
Mike’s grin softens. “Hey. Seriously. Thanks for swooping in like that"-- he holds up his bandaged hand.--"Saving my life and all.” His smile tilts then, almost shy. “You’re my hero.”
Something flickers across Harvey’s face before he can stop it. It's a twitch of his mouth, a warmth in his eyes that betrays him. For half a second, it’s there: pride, relief, something dangerously close to fond.
Mike sees it, and his breath catches.
Then Harvey blinks, straightens his shoulders, and mutters, “You’re welcome, rookie,” before turning away like the moment never happened.
Mike watches him, the word rookie hanging in the air. Harvey's never called him that, yet somehow, it feels right. Like something he's heard hundreds of times. Not as a jab or a tease but as something gentler, something that makes his chest ache.
-----
The day is starting to wind down, only a few more hours before Harvey can get out of here, go home, and forget all about how completely bizarre the last day and a half had been.
He’d tried to send Mike home after he was hit, no, almost hit by a car earlier, but of course Mike refused. Insisted on staying and finishing his work. At least nobody can say the kid isn’t dedicated.
He tried to have Donna call for Mike first, but she said she couldn’t get a hold of him. So Harvey called next, and when Mike didn’t answer, Harvey sighed, shoved his chair back, and decided he’d do it himself.
-
Mike’s not at his desk. Harvey asks a couple of associates nearby, and one of them says they heard something about him heading to the file room.
So that’s where Harvey goes.
-
The heavy door clicks shut behind him, louder than it should, but Mike doesn’t notice, he’s too busy rifling through the cabinet.
“Mike.”
Mike’s head snaps up. “Hey. What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you. Wanted to see if you had a chance to look through what I sent over earlier.”
“I did. I’ll have it on your desk as soon as I find--” Mike freezes, then grins. “Ah, found you, fucker.” He holds up a folder like it’s a prize.
He brushes past Harvey on his way to the door. “Let’s get out of here.”
But when he twists the handle, nothing happens.
“Uh… Harvey?”
“What now?” Harvey doesn’t look up from a file he’s skimming.
“The door’s stuck.”
“Pull harder.”
“I did.” Mike tugs again for emphasis. “Won’t open.”
That gets Harvey’s attention. He strides over, shoulder-checks the door. Nothing. He rattles the handle himself. Still nothing.
“Fantastic,” Harvey mutters. “We’re locked in.”
Mike smirks. “Wow. Rom-com setup of the century.”
But Harvey doesn’t answer. His chest is heaving, his jaw is clenched tight. Sweat beads at his temple. He tugs at his collar, like the walls are closing in.
Mike straightens, the smile fading. “Harvey?”
“I can’t--” Harvey presses a hand against the file cabinet, knuckles white. “There’s not enough--”
“Hey.” Mike steps forward, quick but careful. He lays both hands on either side of Harvey’s face, grounding him. “Look at me. Not the walls. Not the door. Me.”
Harvey’s eyes lock on his, wild, panicked.
“Good,” Mike says, voice steady. “Now breathe with me. In.” He exaggerates a breath, slow and deep. “And out.”
Harvey tries, stumbles. Mike tightens his hold, thumbs brushing lightly against his jaw. “Again. In--and out. That’s it.”
Gradually, Harvey’s chest evens out. The sweat cools. The room doesn’t feel as small, the air not so suffocating.
But Mike’s hands are still on him. Their foreheads nearly touch. Their eyes locked.
Mike’s tongue flicks across his bottom lip.
And before Harvey can stop himself--they’re kissing.
It’s quick, desperate, fire sparking in the smallest space imaginable--
And then the door flings open.
Donna stands there with a guy from maintenance, and half the associate pool gathered behind her.
Silence.
Then one brave associate starts clapping. Another joins. Within seconds, the building is echoing with a slow, ridiculous applause.
Harvey breaks the kiss, eyes wide, face pale for an entirely different reason now.
Mike, just as breathless but visibly flustered, blurts out, “It’s not what it looks like. I was, uh--administering rescue breaths.”
The clapping only gets louder.
Donna lets it go a moment longer, watching them both squirm, then finally claps her hands sharply. “All right, show’s over, folks. Everybody back to work. Now.”
The crowd disperses, talking and laughing under their breath, leaving Harvey and Mike standing there, both flushed and avoiding each other’s eyes.
Donna pauses in the doorway, smirk firmly in place. “For the record,” she says, voice dripping with amusement, “I think it was exactly what it looked like.”
With that, she turns on heel and disappears from their view.
Silence settles, thick and buzzing with everything they aren’t saying. Harvey’s still trying to remember how to breathe, and Mike’s still trying to forget the fact that his lips tingled.
Finally, Mike huffs out a laugh, half-nervous, half-giddy. "Okay, I get what you were saying earlier. Something about today is definitely...off. It’s almost…” He pauses, searching for the word. “Like we're in a fanfiction.”
Harvey looks at him, genuinely lost. “What the hell is a fanfiction?”
Mike hesitates, then smirks, trying to play it cool. “I’ll explain it to you. Over a drink. Tonight. God knows we both could use one.”
For a second, Harvey just stares at him, like the ground shifted under his feet again. Then he nods once, sharp but not nearly as steady as he wants it to be. “Fine. One drink.”
“Sure,” Mike says, grinning. “One.”
Neither of them believes that’s all it’ll be.
-----
The bar’s crowded but not unbearable, low lights and a jukebox humming in the corner. They grab a booth, Mike with a beer, Harvey with something neat and expensive, of course.
Mike leans back, smirking. “So… fanfiction.”
Harvey narrows his eyes. “Still waiting for you to explain what the hell that is.”
“It’s basically when people write made-up stories about other people. Like, say, two coworkers who keep ending up in… compromising scenarios. File rooms. One hotel bed. You get the idea.”
Harvey scoffs. “Sounds ridiculous.”
“Yeah?” Mike tilts his head. “Because after today, I feel like we might be the blueprint.”
Before Harvey can respond, the jukebox flips tracks. The opening chords of some sappy love ballad drift across the bar. Mike nearly chokes on his drink.
“Oh my god,” he whispers, grinning. “You can’t make this up.”
Harvey glares at the ceiling. “Coincidence.”
“Uh-huh. Next thing you know, someone’s going to mistake us for a couple. Again.”
As if on cue, the waitress swings by with their drinks and says with a smile, “You two make a cute pair.”
Mike actually laughs out loud, clapping a hand over his mouth. Harvey stares at the waitress, deadpan. “We’re not--”
But she’s already gone, leaving Mike leaning across the table, eyes dancing. “I'm telling you...fanfiction."
Harvey rolls his eyes. “You're insane.”
"You know, they even mash names together. Like, yours and mine? We’d be… Marvey.”
Harvey almost chokes on his scotch. “Marvey? Seriously? That sounds like something people died of in the 1800's."
Mike grins. “Sorry, you don’t get a say. Once the internet decides, that’s it. It's canon.”
“Canon,” Harvey repeats, like the word itself is offensive.
“Means it’s official. Set in stone. Out of our hands.”
Harvey leans back, glaring like he can intimidate the very concept into submission. “Why do you know so much about this?”
Mike shrugs, all faux innocence. “I told you before. I like to read. And sometimes, it just happens to be E-rated fanfiction of my favorite ships at three in the morning on AO3.”
Harvey squints. “Nope. Not a single part of what you said was remotely English.”
-----
They linger at the bar longer than either of them means to. One drink becomes two, becomes three, becomes Mike laughing too loud at one of Harvey’s dry one-liners, Harvey leaning too close across the table, both of them caught in the kind of orbit they can’t break.
Somewhere between the noise of the crowd and the steady hum of scotch, the jukebox clicks over--Celine Dion swelling through the speakers, achingly romantic in a way that makes Mike’s eyebrows lift in disbelief.
Harvey just shakes his head, muttering, “Of fucking course.”
And then Mike kisses him. Quick at first, testing--but Harvey’s hand quickly finds his jaw, pulls him back in, deepening it. The music soars, and for a moment it feels like the whole ridiculous day has been building to this.
When they finally break apart, breath mingling in the narrow space between them, Harvey throws a few bills on the bar and nods toward the door.
“Let's take this back to my place--make it canon.”
Mike chuckles, eyes bright. “Yeah. Okay.”
Harvey leans close, voice pitched low on purpose this time. “Good boy.”
-----
Sunlight cuts across the room, too bright for how fuzzy Harvey’s head feels. He blinks awake slow, vision swimming, the taste of scotch and Mike still clinging to his mouth.
He rolls over.
Mike’s there. Hair sticking up in every direction, sprawled out like he owns the place, grinning the second Harvey opens his eyes.
“Morning,” Mike says, chipper. Way too chipper.
Harvey groans. “Kill me now.”
Mike stretches his arms over his head and fights back a yawn. “Wanted to let you know that I managed to get us that hotel room. Only one bed, though. Hope that’s not a problem.”
Harvey sits up a little too fast. It makes the edges of his vision blur momentarily. “Wait… what?”
He fumbles for his phone, squints at the screen. The date staring back at him makes his heart skip a beat. Yesterday's date.
“No,” he mutters. “No fucking way.”
Mike raises a brow. “What’s with you?”
Harvey doesn't even know where he would start. “It's...nothing. I-I just had the weirdest dream.”
Mike tilts his head. “The one with the killer pineapples?”
“No. Worse, actually,” Harvey rubs a hand over his face, still unsettled. “We were in a fanfiction.”
Mike pauses, utterly serious. “What the hell is a fanfiction?”
Harvey just stares at him. And for the first time in his life, Harvey Specter has absolutely nothing to say.