Chapter Text
Okay. So here’s the thing about Mike Ross and Harvey Specter getting married.
It was never a question of if.
If you’ve spent even five consecutive minutes in a room with them—and I have spent several years, which frankly deserves a medal—you understand that those two idiots have been orbiting that outcome like stubborn satellites for a very long time. Mike fell first, obviously. Harvey spent a respectable amount of time pretending he hadn’t noticed before emotionally tripping over his own feelings like a very expensive brick wall.
Eventually they got there.
The problem was never the love.
The problem was logistics.
Because Mike Ross approaches life decisions like a man who believes the universe rewards emotional momentum. If something feels right, he runs with it. Which is lovely in theory and deeply alarming in practice.
Harvey, on the other hand, believes in inevitability. If something is clearly going to happen eventually, discussing it in advance is unnecessary. In his mind the future arranges itself through sheer force of personality.
You see the issue.
Mike believes decisions should happen quickly.
Harvey believes they don’t require planning.
Put those two philosophies together and you get a situation where marriage absolutely will occur, but the actual wedding remains a theoretical concept.
Which is why the first step—the very first step—in this entire process is verification.
Verify that the idiots are actually getting married.
Now you might think this is obvious.
You might think two grown men capable of arguing constitutional law for six hours straight would be able to communicate a clear statement about their relationship status.
But if you’ve ever listened to Mike Ross and Harvey Specter talk to each other, you know clarity is rarely their goal.
Take the bar.
That night Rachel and I met them for drinks at one of Harvey’s usual places. The kind of dim, expensive Manhattan bar that smells like oak barrels and quiet judgment. The lighting was low, the whiskey was excellent, and the bartender poured drinks with the solemn focus of a man who understood the power dynamics of high-functioning lawyers.
Harvey was already there when we arrived, leaning against the bar with a glass of scotch and that relaxed posture he gets when he’s winning something.
Mike arrived a few minutes later, carrying the particular brand of energy that usually means he’s had an idea.
"Okay," he said, sliding into the seat next to Harvey. "Hypothetically."
Rachel immediately sighed.
"Oh no."
"What?" Mike said defensively.
"You started with hypothetically," she said. "That never ends well."
Harvey took a slow sip of scotch and didn’t say anything, which should have been the second warning sign.
Mike leaned his elbows on the table.
"Hypothetically," he repeated, "if two people had already been living together for years…"
Rachel stared at him.
"…and hypothetically those two people were already basically married…"
I leaned back in my chair.
"…and hypothetically they already shared groceries, furniture, and emotional support systems…"
Harvey’s mouth twitched.
"…would there be any real reason to do the whole wedding thing?"
Rachel blinked.
"Mike."
"What?"
"That was not hypothetical."
"It was structurally hypothetical."
Harvey set his glass down.
"You’re doing that thing where you talk in circles."
"I am not."
"You are."
Mike pointed at him.
"Okay first of all, you started it."
Rachel and I both turned.
Harvey raised an eyebrow.
"I did not."
"You absolutely did," Mike said. "You’re the one who said this morning that we’re basically already married."
Harvey shrugged.
"That’s not inaccurate."
Rachel slowly set her drink down.
"You two are having a pre-marriage argument about whether you’re already married."
"No," Mike said.
"Yes," Harvey said.
They looked at each other.
Then Mike frowned.
"Wait," he said. "Are we arguing about whether we’re engaged?"
Rachel choked on her drink.
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
Harvey tilted his head.
"That depends."
"On what?" Mike said.
"On whether you’re going to keep stealing my shampoo."
Mike stared at him.
"That has nothing to do with the question."
"It has everything to do with the question."
Rachel turned to me.
"…do they know they’re proposing right now?"
"I don’t think they do," I said.
Mike leaned forward again.
"Okay but hypothetically," he continued, "if someone already bought a ring—"
Rachel froze.
Harvey looked at Mike.
Mike stopped talking.
The table went very quiet.
Rachel blinked once.
Twice.
Then she leaned forward very slowly.
"Mike," she said carefully.
"Yes."
"Did you just say someone bought a ring."
Mike glanced at Harvey.
Harvey looked back at him.
Neither of them spoke.
I closed my eyes briefly.
Because that was the moment I understood something very important.
They hadn’t actually announced anything yet.
They hadn’t planned anything.
They hadn’t even clarified whether the proposal had technically occurred.
They were, apparently, in the middle of accidentally negotiating their engagement in a bar.
Which meant Rachel and I had discovered the problem just in time.
Before they did something catastrophic.
Like elope during lunch break.