Chapter Text
“Mr. Specter.”
The entirety of the students turned to look at the one and only Harvey Specter, a junior at Harvard Law who had managed to amalgamate quite the reputation: wickedly smart and seldom liked by professors, yet remaining constantly unshakeable.
Until now.
Harvey Specter didn’t get distracted during class. He wasn’t a high schooler thinking about the lunch his mom had packed for him, or the note he was planning to pass to a classmate. He was a lawyering genius; the type law professors were warning firm moguls about, the type that already had an innumerable number of jobs lined up for him.
But in this moment, sitting in his Ethics class, there was nothing more important than Mike Ross.
Harvey had been watching him (Donna, one of his closest friends, had called it ‘stalking,’ but he quickly vetoed that wording) for months now: ever since he caught wind of the apparent bleeding-heart genius roaming around campus. Harvey liked what he had learned:
Mike Ross was smart, obviously, but that was the least interesting thing about him. He was kind, in a way 20-year-old intellectuals shouldn’t be. Harvey had seen him pick up litter on his daily walks (he always walked during the morning, and if he didn’t, he’d make up for it come night), watched him answer countless questions that hopeless peers rushed to him with, and stared in awe as he effortlessly calmed a sobbing, inconsolable intern who had just been fired. Harvey had never seen Mike talk to the guy before, and it took him a couple of seconds to realize Mike never had. He hugged and shushed a complete stranger. An actual anomaly, Harvey thought.
He also constantly kept busy, whether it was reading (at a remarkably fast rate), doodling (Harvey had watched his art skills grow from not too bad to shabby to pretty damn good in the span of a school year), writing papers for his own classes (or for ‘friends’ who needed a favor), listening to indecipherable music (that Harvey had dreams about discovering), and, Harvey’s personal favorite, taking pictures. Harvey had tried, hard as ever, to find the pattern. When? Where? Of who? But there was none, he had come to know. Mike took photos of whatever interested him, with a crappy old camera that made gurgling noises each time he snapped a shot. Harvey knew it must’ve been worth it every time he watched Mike pull back the machinery and smile like he’d received an award.
Mike was smart, ridiculously nice, and full of hobbies. Yet, he hardly had any friends. Harvey saw him with a girl in his year, Rachel Zane, at least 3 times a week. And this, he decided, was where it got fascinating. Because Harvey hadn’t realized nor seen the walls Mike had up until he witnessed Rachel breaking them down. The first time he saw Mike Ross smile, actually smile, and let out a raucous laugh, he could’ve sworn his heart was palpitating at an unhealthy rate. “Jesus, you really have a problem.” Donna had said, but he’d hardly heard her. Every single time Harvey had seen Mike, whether it be in class, in the library, or under a willow tree in the Quad, he had a sense of… quiet, to him. He moved through the world like he was constantly ensuring he was small enough to get by. Like if people weren’t bothered by him, he’d be perfectly fine. But he wasn’t perfectly fine; it was crystal clear to anyone paying as much attention to the kid as Harvey had.
He was far too skinny (Harvey rarely saw him eat), his undereyes were always perilously dark, and Harvey could’ve sworn he saw him jump and/or flinch when someone spoke a little too loudly or dropped a glass in the cafeteria. The air around Mike was consistently filled with fear, and that rubbed Harvey the wrong way.
Today was the day he decided Rachel Zane wouldn’t be the only person capable of freeing that fear from Mike’s orbit.
“Mr. Specter!”
God, was this class still happening? Harvey reluctantly tore his gaze from Mike.
“I already answered your question, Professor.”
“You haven’t answered the follow-up.”
“Do you really think I need to be answering follow-up questions?”
A sigh from Professor Lockwood told Harvey he’d won. His win was confirmed by Lockwood asking a sophomore Harvey’s delegated follow-up.
Sure, he was going to be given a stern non-academic lecture after class, but he didn’t really mind.
Not if Mike went where Harvey knew he’d go.
…
Harvey’s smile turned devilish as Mike was curled under the aforementioned willow tree with a law textbook cradled in his hands, like it was something precious.
Donna followed her friend’s gaze and let out a lengthy sigh.
“Harvey, tell me you’re gonna leave that poor guy alone.”
“Donna, I’m gonna leave that poor guy alone.”
“You mean it?”
“God, no.”
Harvey slyly approached the tree while Donna hung back, muttering something that sounded a lot like: “You’re impossible.”
Harvey felt his palms start to clam up, which was ludicrous, because he didn’t get nervous, and some lanky sophomore wasn’t going to elicit such a rare reaction out of him.
And yet, as Harvey neared closer, he realized he’d never seen Mike up close.
And by God, was he beautiful.
His vibrant blue eyes flicked over words with lightning speed, and plush lips murmured what Harvey could only assume were notes inaudibly. His nose gorgeously sloped into a soft point, and his hair was mussed by the wind.
Harvey pushed the heat creeping up his neck down and cleared his throat as he stood inches away from this comely angel.
“Flip to page 259. It’s my favorite.”
Mike looked up at him curiously after he had gently slammed his back against the tree, startled by Harvey’s sudden arrival. Harvey looked him up and down inquisitively and jotted that down in a psychological dossier he kept tucked neatly away in the back of his mind.
Mike passed Harvey’s test with flying colors as he recited page 259 of the textbook, without flipping to it.
Mike trailed off as he saw Harvey’s smile light up his entire face.
“...You were just seeing if I could recall it from memory.”
“Attaboy. Harvey Specter.”
Harvey held out his hand, and Mike limply took it; with a note of hesitancy, Harvey noticed.
“I know who you are. Lockwood almost killed you today.”
“Oh, he loves me, just got an odd way of showing it.”
Harvey’s head cocked to the side as he watched Mike’s eyes land everywhere but him, his hand retreating back to the book.
“I’m Mike Ross, by the way. But I’m assuming you already know that, considering you’ve been watching me since September 18th.”
Their eyes met, and Harvey saw Mike smile (albeit minutely) for the first time in this conversation.
“You noticed.”
“You made it hard not to.”
Harvey was falling harder with each word Mike spoke to him.
“I wanna take you out, Mike Ross.”
Mike regarded Harvey with a look of apprehensiveness; he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but there wasn’t one. He certainly wouldn’t find one in Harvey’s smug expression. Way too smug, Mike decreed, for someone who’d just been revealed as a legitimate stalker. And yet, Harvey continued without any embarrassment, like he hadn’t done anything wrong.
Mike thought maybe he hadn’t.
“Really? Why’s that?”
It was a good question, and Harvey wanted to kiss him dizzy for it.
“Because I want to know you. A guy gets sick of watching from the sidelines.”
Mike recoiled slightly. Know him. No one wanted to know him.
“I’m not easy to get to know.”
Mike bit back the rest of the sentence: “I’m evasive, withholding, and not as interesting as you think I am.”
“I’ve never been one to turn down a challenge.”
Mike’s resolve was fading. To be completely frank, he hadn’t minded Harvey ‘stalking’ him (as Rachel so eloquently put it). It felt nice, after he realized he wasn’t an axe killer, to have someone genuinely intrigued by him. Not just because of his memory, but because of the weird way he liked his coffee. Because of his stupid, sentimental hobbies, which he never talked to anyone about. Because of his worn-down sneakers and ratty sweaters that hung too loose around the collar.
“It’ll take a while.”
Mike’s voice was haunted with knowingness that Harvey could feel, even if he was unaware of the roots. How deep Trevor’s influence went, how his parents weren’t what he wanted them to be, how Grammy was the only thing keeping him at this school.
“I’d spend decades if it meant I could map your mind from memory.”
The pick-up line was dumbly poetic. It was cheesy. But it felt sincere, and that’s what struck Mike.
Something weak and twisted and vulnerable inside of him wanted to trust Harvey. Trust the slicked-back, thick hair and the stunning, tailored suits that accentuated everything Harvey wanted them to. To tell him and his stupid, sly smiles and smooth voice all the terrible things that had happened to him and let Harvey love him anyway. He knew he’d only end up scratching him like a frightful, scorned cat, but something in the way he was looking at him, like he mattered, like someone exuding so much power wouldn’t think twice about caring for him, made Mike give up. He needed someone to love him, even if it was temporary, even if it was for the wrong reasons, even if they’d hurt him.
“Alright–”
Before Mike could even finish his sentence, Harvey was scribbling something down on a Post-it note and sticking it to the front of his textbook. Mike wondered why he didn’t just hand it to him and realized Harvey saw what he’d been trying to hide. Saw that if he had done that, Mike’s back would get yet another bruise from the tree trunk.
“My number. Call me. Anytime.”
Mike smiled at the bluntness of a direct order. He let his mouth twitch upwards as he saluted.
“Sir, yes, sir!”
Harvey just shook his head (fondly? Mike hoped so) as he swiftly turned around, walking towards a bench with a pretty redhead adorning it.
She got up, and he turned back to give Mike one last wave before he left with her in tow:
a smile on his face.
Mike felt his own lips mirroring the happiness of whatever had just transpired.