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Mike blinked his heavy eyes, slowly waking up from the kind of deep, dreamless sleep that left him warm and anchored beneath the blankets. For a few blissful seconds, he just lay there, letting his mind slowly come back to life. And then he heard it.
Rrrrrrr…snort…rrrrrr…snort.
Mike smiled, thankful that Harvey was sleeping deeply enough to snore. It had been a long weekend of all work and no play due to an insurance fraud case, and they had both been up late last night working on their defense.
He rolled over to find Harvey sprawled across the bed, one arm thrown over his head, mouth wide open as he continued to loudly snore. And then Mike noticed something that made him tense with anxiety. Harvey snoring while in a deep sleep was acceptable, but those two actions happening in combination with a particular third item meant something that would control Mike’s life for the next few days.
Harvey Specter did not usually snore. He slept, in Mike’s opinion, in an annoyingly perfect manner. Harvey always slept on his back with his hands neatly resting on his chest. He didn’t take up too much space or hog the blankets, nor did he ever kick Mike or even move while asleep. Harvey was the perfect person to share a bed with, except for one unfortunate thing.
Harvey was an incredibly light sleeper. If Mike moved too much, tried to get up to use the bathroom, or even lay in bed wide awake for more than a few minutes, Harvey would wake up. He said he didn’t mind and, in his defense, Harvey was usually able to go back to sleep quickly. But Mike felt guilty every time he was the reason that Harvey woke up.
Harvey snoring while in a deep sleep only meant one thing: they had engaged in some fairly intense and incredibly satisfying sex the previous night. Seeing Harvey sleep like this usually made Mike pretty proud of his performance, but in conjunction with the third thing, well, Mike was fucked.
Mike noticed a large damp spot on Harvey’s pillow. If Harvey was snoring, sleeping like a log, and drooling in his sleep, that could only mean one thing: Harvey Specter was sick. And when Harvey was sick, he didn’t just take some Dayquil and go to work until he got over it. No, Harvey was the king of having a man cold, of overexaggerating every last symptom until he felt healthy again. And Mike would have to baby his boyfriend while getting yelled at every time he tried to do something nice just because Harvey was pissed that he was human enough to fall ill.
Mike sighed, slowly crept out from under the sheets, and sneakily escaped to the kitchen. It was time to take care of his sick boyfriend, no matter the consequences.
Mike set a pot on the stove and turned the heat to medium-low. He knew that Harvey’s calendar had a few meetings on it today, so he grabbed his phone to shoot Donna a text asking for help.
MIKE: Bad news, we have a man cold situation.
Mike had just finished tapping send on his second text when a reply from Donna came through.
MIKE: Could you cancel his meetings for today?
DONNA: I’ll cancel all his meetings today. And I can have miso from Kappo Sono there in 20 minutes.
MIKE: You’re the best. But no need for the miso, I just got the notification that the delivery guy is entering our building now.
DONNA: Oh look at you, someone is learning! Good luck Mike. I’ll see you both soon!
Mike smiled as he walked toward their elevator to meet the delivery guy. While he waited for them to arrive, he texted Rachel.
MIKE: Hey Rach, hope that date went well on Saturday. Any chance you could help me with Harvey’s document review today?
RACHEL: It was SO good, I can’t wait to tell you about him! And of course, I’m actually in the office already, so I’ll get started on them now.
MIKE: Must’ve been a damn good date if you’re that chipper about work on a Monday morning
RACHEL: ;)
Mike smiled, happy for his best friend, and grateful for her help. He tipped the delivery driver about three times what he should have and took the soup to the stove.
Harvey was incredibly particular about what he would and would not eat when sick. Mike had learned the hard way that chicken noodle soup was offensive, toast without butter AND elderberry jam would be thrown away, and the bananas needed to be mashed and mixed into oatmeal, not just sliced and placed on top. In addition, the last time Harvey had been sick, Mike ordered his favorite recovery food – miso soup from Kappo Sono – but made the fatal mistake of serving it straight from the delivery container. By the time it arrived, the soup had cooled just enough that Harvey declared it “lukewarm garbage” and refused to touch it until properly reheated.
And so, Mike stood at the stove slowly stirring the soup, watching the reading on the thermometer slowly rise. Once it finally hit 165°F, he pulled the pot off the heat and poured the steaming soup into a thermos. He tightly sealed the lid, then walked to the bedroom.
Knowing that Harvey hated being the second one to wake up, Mike slipped back into bed to soften the blow, any noises he made covered by the loud snores. He leaned over and slowly began rubbing his hand up and down the sleeping man’s arm.
“Harvey,” Mike whispered. “Harvey, it’s time to wake up.”
Harvey closed his mouth a made a soft humming noise, but didn’t move a muscle.
“Harvey,” Mike said, leaning forward to pepper Harvey’s face with soft, gentle kisses. “Wake up, sweetie.”
Harvey slowly fluttered his eyes open, looking confused as he realized what was happening.
“Good morning,” Mike whispered, smiling as he began massaging Harvey’s scalp.
Harvey closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, until he tried to take a deep breath and realized his nose was too clogged to inhale. His eyes snapped open and he looked nervously over at Mike.
“Why can’t I–” Harvey started but cut himself off when he realized his voice sounded incredibly congested. He sunk his head deeper into the pillow while Mike continued to massage his boyfriend.
“I’m sorry you’re sick.”
“I’m not sick.” Harvey said in a laughably congested voice.
“Harvey, it’s ok to be sick.”
“I’m not sick.”
“Harvey.” Harvey looked at Mike with pleading eyes. “Come on, let’s get up. I ordered you miso.”
“From Kappo Sono?”
“Of course.”
Harvey smiled and started to slip out of bed, but Mike pulled him back, helping Harvey sit against the headboard despite him staring confused at Mike.
“Look behind you.”
Harvey turned to find the thermos sitting on his nightstand, along with two pills. He turned back to Mike and smiled.
“Couldn’t have a ‘lukewarm garbage’ incident again, now could we?”
Harvey sniffled and unscrewed the lid, letting the steam escape and hit his face. He closed his eyes and smiled, but quickly opened his mouth once he realized he couldn’t breathe through his nose.
“Thank you, Mike,” Harvey said in his congested tone.
“Drink up, and take those meds. I’m going to get the shower started so it’s at an ungodly temperature when you’re ready to hop in.”
“The steam helps.”
“I know. But I’m going to be here to help you, too.”
Harvey watched Mike walk to the bathroom, listening to the fan turn on and the water begin to run.
Harvey drank his soup, letting the scalding liquid soothe his throat. He leaned back against the plush headboard, feeling weak and tired.
As he turned to look at his nightstand, he found that Mike had also set out a fresh box of tissues and brought a small garbage can over. Harvey smiled, thankful for a caring boyfriend that he didn’t deserve.
Harvey knew he was an ass when he was sick, but he couldn’t help it. His mom had always been the one to take care of him when he fell ill, and now, getting sick was just a reminder that she would never take care of him again. It was a reminder of her betrayal, and that infuriated Harvey on top of his anger that his immune system had failed him.
Mike was the first person who had been stubborn enough to keep trying everything until Harvey had finally broken down his walls and let Mike take care of him. He really didn’t deserve Mike.
Sniffling, Harvey drank the last of his soup and set the thermos down. He stripped, putting his pajama pants and shirt into the hamper, and then walked to the bathroom.
He found Mike in the shower rinsing off body wash, a touch sad that they wouldn’t be showering together. The two men often showered together, but it wasn’t always sexual. They simply enjoyed each other’s company, and the shower was the one place where both sharp-tongued lawyers were silent. Harvey’s shower was massive enough that they each had plenty of space, but one would often walk over to kiss the other’s cheek or gently massage tense shoulders. For these two New York City-hardened men, the shower was a soft and sacred place.
Harvey stepped under the water, the heat causing him to tense for a moment before relaxing all of his muscles and sighing. He closed his eyes, letting the water run down his face.
As Harvey realized he was starting to be able to inhale, he felt Mike’s hands on his shoulders. But he didn’t massage Harvey like usual, because Harvey didn’t need pressure right now, and Mike knew that. Instead, he gently ran his hands up and down Harvey’s arms and back. After a few minutes, Mike pulled his hands away and Harvey’s head dropped at his now cold back, at the loss of touch.
He heard a cap opening and then felt Mike’s hands massaging his scalp. As he began to recognize the smell of citrus, Harvey realized that Mike was shampooing his hair for him.
“You don’t have to do that,” Harvey said, praying that Mike ignored him and kept this incredible head massage going for the rest of their lives.
“Let me take care of you,” Mike said softly. “Please.”
Harvey nodded slightly, and Mike continued to lather the shampoo into his boyfriend’s hair. He slowly tipped Harvey’s head back and gently nudged him toward the water, letting the steaming stream rinse out the soap.
Mike grabbed the conditioner and repeated the process, lathering it into Harvey’s hair with slow, gentle massages. Mike knew that Harvey was very particular about his hair, and that included allowing the conditioner to sit for a few minutes before rinsing.
As they waited, Mike pumped a dollop of shaving cream into his hand and began gently applying it to Harvey’s face. With Harvey’s eyes closed, Mike shaved away the stubble, being careful to avoid nicking his boyfriend in the process.
Harvey opened his eyes, watching a naked Mike cautiously position the razor while slightly sticking his tongue out to the side. Mike always let his tongue slip out a little when he was focused on a task, and Harvey found it adorable. He really was his puppy.
Harvey couldn’t help but begin to smile, causing Mike to pull the razor away and quickly look up into Harvey’s eyes.
“Hey, don’t move.”
“Sorry,” Harvey said through a closed mouth smile.
Mike smiled back as they stared into each other’s eyes for a second, and then slowly brought the razor back to finish the process.
Once he had rinsed the remaining shaving cream off, Mike guided him back under the water to rinse the conditioner out.
Finally, Mike squirted body wash onto a soft washcloth and rubbed it in. He began gently scrubbing Harvey’s shoulders, arms, chest, and back. He dropped to a squat and washed his legs, ensuring that he also washed both feet.
Mike then stood up, gave Harvey a soft, sweet kiss, and handed him the washcloth.
“I’ll let you finish up while I get some breakfast going.”
And then he disappeared from the shower, leaving Harvey to wonder how the hell the most notorious asshole of a closer in New York City deserved to be so delicately taken care of and loved by a man as incredible as Mike Ross.
Mike roughly dried his hair on the way to the kitchen before wrapping the towel around his waist and tucking it in tightly. He threw one of Harvey’s favorite slow jazz albums on over the speakers, and then got to work.
Mike grabbed all the ingredients he needed from the pantry, laying everything out on the counter. He enjoyed cooking for his boyfriend and quickly found himself lost in the process. While the oatmeal was cooking on the stove (because God forbid you feed Harvey microwaved oatmeal), he cracked two eggs into a pan and began scrambling them. While everything cooked, Mike carefully smashed one banana, split an orange into slices, and put two slices of bread into the toaster. He moved smoothly, humming to himself as he finished each part of the meal.
He has just finished plating everything – one bowl of oatmeal with mashed banana, two scrambled eggs with parmesan, an orange, two pieces of toast with butter and elderberry jam, and a mug of chamomile tea – when Harvey walked into the kitchen.
He was wearing his favorite slippers, a pair of black boxers, and a ribbed white tank. His hair was already styled perfectly, and Harvey looked much better than he had when he woke up.
Mike smiled, walked over to give him a kiss, and then made his way toward the bedroom to get himself ready, still humming.
He quickly brushed his teeth, picked out a suit and put it on, and chose a pair of shoes before walking back to the kitchen.
Mike found Harvey sitting at the kitchen table, his plate empty except for the tears running down his face, splashing onto the remaining crumbs.
“Harvey, what’s wrong?” Mike asked, his eyes looking up and down Harvey’s face and hands to find the problem.
“Nothing,” Harvey said through a choked sob.
“Harvey…what did I do? Wait. I made sure the banana was fully mashed, I swear there weren’t any clumps when I mixed it in. And I followed that scrambled egg recipe exactly.”
“No, Mike.” Harvey said, trying to take a deep breath. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then what happened? Whose ass do I have to kick? I swear to god if someone pissed you off already today I’ll kill them.”
“Mike,” Harvey said through a laugh. “Nobody pissed me off. Yet. I promise. I just…”
Mike stared at Harvey with a concerned expression.
“You didn’t have to do all this for me. You didn’t have to order my miso and heat it up and bring me meds and tissues and a trash can. You didn’t need to start the shower or wash my hair or bathe me. You–”
“Harvey I am so sorry,” Mike interrupted. “I didn’t mean to overstep. Fuck, I never get this sick thing right. Just tell me what to do different next time.”
“You’re not listening. You did everything right. You are perfect, and I’m just an old and cranky piece of shit that doesn’t deserve you.”
Harvey started to sob, dropping his head and letting the tears run down his face, onto his legs, and down to the floor.
Mike crossed the kitchen in two quick strides and knelt beside Harvey's chair.
"Hey." He rested a hand on Harvey's knee. "Look at me."
Harvey shook his head.
"Harvey."
"I can't."
Mike reached up and gently cupped Harvey's jaw, waiting until those watery hazel eyes finally met his.
"What’s going on? What is this really about?”
Harvey swallowed hard.
"When I was a kid..." His voice cracked. "Whenever I got sick, my mom used to take care of me like this."
Mike stayed silent.
"She'd make breakfast. She'd sit next to me until I fell asleep. She'd tell me everything was going to be okay." Harvey laughed bitterly through another tear. "Then one day she just..."
The room fell quiet except for the soft jazz drifting through the speakers.
"I've spent years convincing myself I don't need anybody," Harvey continued. "It's easier that way. If I don't let people take care of me, they can't leave."
Mike's heart broke.
"But you..." Harvey looked down at his empty plate. "You just keep showing up."
He laughed quietly, wiping another tear away.
"I was an asshole all morning."
"You were."
"I argued with you about being sick."
"You definitely did."
"And I made you doubt yourself and all you did for me."
"Perhaps."
"And somehow..." Harvey's voice softened. "...you still looked at me like I was worth taking care of."
Mike smiled.
"Harvey."
"No, let me finish."
Harvey took a shaky breath.
"I don't know what I did to deserve someone who gets up before dawn to make sure my soup is the perfect temperature because he remembered I called it 'lukewarm garbage' six months ago."
Mike couldn't help but laugh.
"That was a little dramatic."
"A little?"
"You called it a war crime."
Harvey smiled through his tears.
"That sounds like something I'd say."
"It absolutely does."
The laughter faded into a comfortable silence. Mike reached up and brushed the last tear from Harvey's cheek with his thumb.
"You know why I did all of this?"
Harvey shook his head.
"Because you would've done the exact same thing for me."
Harvey opened his mouth to argue, but Mike beat him to it.
"And don't even think about saying you wouldn't. You remember when I had the flu? You took two days off work, pretended it was because the office was slow, and then spent every second making sure I drank enough water and electrolytes while spoon feeding me broth.”
Harvey's expression softened.
“Or how about when you found me crying about missing my parents and grammy, so you canceled your meetings, ordered my favorite takeout, and sat on the floor with me for three hours while I told you every story I could remember, just so I wouldn’t be afraid of forgetting them? Should I keep going?”
Harvey smiled and shook his head.
“Please don’t.”
"Then don't sit there and tell me you don't deserve this."
Mike leaned forward and rested his forehead against Harvey's.
"My parents aren’t here to take care of me anymore, and I’m so sorry that yours aren’t either. But you take care of me, and Donna, and the firm, and everyone else. So let someone take care of you for once.”
Harvey closed his eyes, exhaling a long, shaky breath he'd apparently been holding in for years.
"Okay."
"Good,” Mike said smiling.
He stood, wrapped his arms around Harvey, and held him tightly.
Harvey buried his face against Mike's shoulder without another word, finally allowing himself to be cared for instead of pretending he didn't need it.