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Uugggghhh.
He lifts his head from the pillow, and squints open one eye to check his surroundings. There’s cream sheets and sun shining through blinds making the room a tranquil orange. The bed’s far too comfy to be his own and the pillows too soft—Rachel hates duck feather—so he’s definitely not at home.
Another shooting pain crashes through his skull and he groans loudly, shoving his face back into the Egyptian-Cotton-clad cloud.
What the hell happened last night?
There was alcohol. A lot of it. That much he’s certain of, if this hangover is anything to go by. And… Harvey was there. Louis, too. Harold. Faces. He remembers their faces, at least.
Mike didn’t want a fuss. Nothing big or flashy. Just a quiet celebration that, in no time at all, he’d be marrying the woman of his dreams. A happy ending to an otherwise rocky story. They’ve overcome every obstacle thrown their way and they’ve come out of it stronger. Together.
He sits upright in a bed he now recognizes as Harvey’s—he’s in Harvey’s room, still in the clothes from last night, wrinkled and uncomfortable.
The world’s smallest bachelor party happened last night.
~~
“A bachelor party with no strippers?” Harold had asked, or otherwise moaned. Actually pouting at him. “Then, what’s the point?”
“The point is to celebrate my last night of freedom, or… whatever. Look, you’re my friend, Harold. And if I have to have this stupid party, I want you there.”
“Obviously I will be,” Harold said. “But just so you know, I think it’s selfish. You’re getting married to the hottest woman in the world, and some of us still need to meet someone.”
“So you’re saying strippers at my bachelor party would be helpful to you?”
Harold nodded, eyes wide like a puppy-dog.
Mike patted him twice on the shoulder, “Sorry buddy,” He said. “You’ll have to meet the future Mrs. Cinnamon Gunderson some other way.”
Harold sighed like a petulant child, and Mike couldn’t help but laugh. He tossed the empty bagel wrapper in the trash, and said bye to his friend, heading back to work.
He didn’t even want the bachelor party in the first place. He’d only agreed to it because Donna insisted Rachel needed something to celebrate her last weekend, before he made an honest woman of her.
They’d decided on some spa weekend, with Rachel’s mom. The Greek Goddess package was mentioned in their conversation last night on the phone. Mike in between listening to his fiancée—trying to be interested, and working on something for Harvey.
Story of his life.
The point was, Rachel wasn’t Magic Mike-ing it up, so Mike wasn’t neither. Not that he wanted to, anyway. Harold wasn’t wrong—he was marrying the hottest woman in the world. He didn’t need to look at any other woman, even for one last night.
He pressed the button for the elevator and waited.
Ever since he started back at Pearson Specter Litt, everything felt different. Not in a bad way. He had better hours—set hours, that should’ve meant no more nights of running on caffeine and greasy takeout.
It didn’t.
The money was the same. He got to see Rachel more, and got to hang out with Harvey. It was like prison never happened, he had his life back.
But prison did happen. Danbury, Kevin, Gallo—it all happened, and Mike couldn’t shake the memories. So maybe it was him that had changed. Three months isn’t a lifetime but given the company he had to keep, nobody could blame him if it’d altered him even a little. Mike was only human.
Whatever it was, something felt different, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was.
“Are you free tonight?” was the first thing he asked, the second he stepped into Harvey’s office.
Harvey looked up from his computer with a raised eyebrow, a slight smirk appearing. “Why? Are you asking me out?”
“I’m not into older guys,” Mike shot back, with a sly smirk of his own when Harvey’s expression fell. “No, seeing as Rachel and Donna are away for a bachelorette weekend, I thought I should do the same.”
Harvey sighed.
“What?”
“Am I not your best man? You don’t think I already planned something?”
Mike shouldn’t have been surprised. Harvey was his best friend, and his best man. It was, by default, the best man’s job to plan the bachelor party. He just never saw Harvey as the traditional type. “You planned something?”
Harvey shrugged casually. “It’s no weekend in Vegas but, I didn’t think you’d want that.” He explained, “So, I booked us in for some dinner, maybe a few drinks. Thought we could toast to your impending nuptials in style.”
In Harvey Specter-style. That meant something sophisticated and, no doubt, expensive. And it sounded perfect to Mike, like music to his ears. In fact he was kind of touched by how well Harvey knew him. Not that he’d ever admit it to the man’s face, though, for fear of never living it down. His ego big enough.
So, he settled on a response suitable. Sarcasm. “It sounds to me like you’re the one asking me out.”
Harvey scoffed, a reply rolling off his tongue like water off a duck’s back. “Sorry rookie. You’re not exactly my type.”
Mike couldn’t lie—he was offended. “I’m everyone’s type!” He argued, voice travelling a little too high-pitched. He coughed to compose it. “I’ve been told I’m a total Boy Next Door, I’ll have you know.”
“By who? Your grandmother?” Harvey effortlessly retorted. “Did she also tell you all the boys were mean to you because they liked you, too?” His expression grew more and more amused. “Because I think she’d want me to tell you: they didn’t.”
“Okay, this conversation is over.” Mike concluded, already standing up from the seat opposite him. “Oh, by the way, I invited Harold.”
Harvey frowned, “That dorky blonde kid Louis fired?”
“The very same. So, I know it’s an alien concept to you, but please at least try to be nice,” Mike warned. “And be ready for eight.”
Harvey rolled his eyes, but nodded regardless.
On the way back to his office—yes, he even had his old office back—a familiar body caught up with him in the corridor, and blocked his entrance. “Ready for what?”
Mike jumped out of his skin, almost damn-near had a heart attack. His shoulder hit the pane of glass attacked to the door, made the whole thing shudder from force. “Jesus Christ!” He hissed, rubbing the pain away. “Damn it, Louis. What the hell was that?”
Louis waggled a finger in Mike’s face, far too close to Mike’s face, and shook his head. “I’ll be asking the questions. What are you and Harvey ready for? Because let me tell you, Cash, this is my firm too. And over my dead body will anyone take it from me.”
“What are you talking a—wait, Cash?”
“You know, Tango and Cash. You and Harvey, breaking you out of—stop changing the subject. The point is, whatever you two are planning—”
“Whoa, Louis, hold on. We’re not planning anything, alright? There’s no conspiracy. I was telling Harvey to be ready for eight, because it’s my bachelor party tonight.”
Louis’s entire face lit up. “Boys night out?”
Oh, fuck.
Mike couldn’t just stand there, motionless. Didn’t think the action would grant him instant invisibility, save him from having the rest of this conversation. So he nodded reluctantly.
“Oh my God, why didn’t you say?” A wide grin split across Louis’s face, and a shudder of dread ran down Mike’s spine, “Count me in! Where are we meeting?”
“Uh, actually, Louis—”
“Actually, you know what? Hold that thought—I need an outfit. I’m thinking smart casual. Maybe the suit I wore for Norma’s funeral. Really highlights my assets, if you know what I’m saying.”
Mike tried to ignore the visual. “Please don’t,” He muttered, shaking his head to cleanse his mind. “Fine. We’ll meet you back here for eight if you please stop talking.”
Louis nodded, zipping an invisible zip over his mouth. “Awesome,” He said. “I will see you boys tonight. At eight. Boys night out. You know, it’s gonna be great. I can feel it. Feel it deep.”
Mike let out a nervous laugh, slowly edging himself between Louis and the doorframe, trying to escape back into the haven that was his office.
It’s gonna be great, Mike thought. Just... great.
~~
After staring at the wall for ten more minutes, Mike gets up and emerges from the bedroom.
Harvey’s sitting by the island with a coffee and a newspaper, gives Mike the briefest look. “Coffee’s over there, Tylenol’s in the drawer. Help yourself.”
“Thanks,” Mike mutters, even the whispers of his own voice sending striking pangs of pain through his head.
Quietly—very, very quietly—he takes a mug from one of the cabinets and pours himself a coffee, then retrieves the bottle of painkillers and tips out two into his palm. Careful not to throw his head back as he downs the pills, he takes a gulp of coffee and sighs.
Harvey’s sat watching him—showered, dressed, looks like his usual million-dollar self. “How?” is all Mike can think of saying. He puts the mug down and leans his elbows on the counter, “How aren’t you dying right now?”
Harvey chuckles lightly. “Stamina. Experience. And the ability to say no when Louis offers me shots of Tequila.”
Right. Those probably didn’t help.
Mike rubs his temples. Death would be kinder, he swears it.
Harvey goes back to his paper, sipping his coffee. His eyes flicker between the Sports section, and Mike. “You remember anything?”
“No.” He says. “Do you?”
“Well, you didn’t miss much.” Harvey states. “Other than Louis passing out in my shower. And it accidentally turning on.”
Mike raises an eyebrow—Harvey’s shower is worth more than his entire apartment. There’s no room for malfunction. “Accidentally?”
His friend shrugs, fights a smile from appearing on his face. “What can I say? It happens.”
No it doesn’t. “So that’s it?” Mike asks, allowing his eyes to open enough so he can gauge Harvey’s reaction, battling the brightness of the kitchen. “That’s all I missed. Your—shower’s prank on Louis.”
And Harvey nods, doesn’t lift his gaze from the paper. “That’s it.”
~~
The second he saw him, he placed a hand on Mike’s chest to stop them walking any further. Harvey moved to stand in front of him, looking less than impressed. “Louis?” He asked, “You invited Louis?”
It sounded more like a rhetorical question, but Mike answered anyway. “He heard us talking, and thought we were planning to take over the firm,” Mike explained. “And when I told him what we were talking about, I—he thought he was already invited. I couldn’t just uninvite him.”
“Yeah, you could’ve.” Harvey insisted. “You say: you’re not invited. See? I just said it. Now? I’m gonna go say it to Louis.”
“Harvey, wait—hold on a second,” Mike pulled the man back, keeping a hand on his arm to prevent him from going anywhere. He glanced over his shoulder.
Louis was standing by Donna’s desk, dressed to the nines, every few minutes checking his watch.
“We can’t uninvite him,” He said. “He’s here now, and he hasn’t been the biggest asshole in the world lately—you’ve worked with the guy for years. I’m sure you can handle one night.”
“But it’s Louis,”
“One night,” Mike repeated. “Four hours, tops. Come on, Harvey. Please.”
Harvey hated it. Mike could see it in the man’s eyes that he hated it, but he grumbled a childish, “Fine,” and they began walking towards him.
“And who knows? Maybe by the end of it, you’ll—”
“Don’t push it.” Harvey shot him a glare, and within the same instant, painted the falsest smile Mike had ever seen onto his face. It was almost scary.
“Louis,” Mike called out in greeting, pretending not to notice the relief that shone in his eyes when he turned to the two of them. The poor guy must’ve thought they weren’t coming. “Sorry we’re late.” Even though they weren’t—Louis was fashionably early. Speaking of fashionably. “You look great,”
Louis glanced down at his outfit, and let out a breathy laugh, “You think so?” He asked, straightening out his blazer jacket, “It’s just something I threw on, you know how it is.”
“Well, you can’t tell,” Mike smiled. But he couldn’t help note a stiff-as-a-board Harvey standing next to him, suddenly mute. He nudged his arm, “Can you, Harvey?”
Harvey’s glare was fiery and in any other circumstance, would’ve made Mike nervous. “No,” He said through gritted teeth, “You look…" Another nudge. Sharper this time. "Great,”
That seemed to be the icing on the cake for Louis. Mike was afraid he might actually start crying if he looked any more touched at the compliment, “Thank you, Harvey.”
“Anyway,” Time to consume lots of alcohol, and get out of this uncomfortable situation. “We’re meeting Harold at the bar, so we should get going.”
~~
Rachel wasn’t back until tomorrow.
Mike read the messages he had from her, sent last night, when he got back to his place five minutes ago. She’s having a good time, she misses him, and she can’t wait to become Mrs. Mike Ross.
The drunk voicemail she left made his chest ache.
He heads into the bathroom, and turns the shower on to its hottest setting. The room begins to fill with steam and Mike wipes the condensation already forming from the mirror, stares at his reflection. His eyes are bleary and red, there’s purple shaded underneath.
In short, he looks like shit.
But he feels even worse, and it’s nothing to do with the hangover.
Mrs. Mike Ross, he thinks. In three days, she’ll be Mrs. Mike Ross.
Mike drops by the toilet and hunches over, spilling the contents of his stomach into the bowl.
He’s hoping it’s purely coincidence.
~~
What do you call two managing partners, a convicted fraud, and Harold?
The strangest social circle known to man.
Seriously. Mike kept thinking about it, and how it sounded like the beginning to a bad joke.
But, surprisingly, he wasn’t having the worst time. They were already a man down—Harold. He didn’t stand a chance.
Two too many cocktails, and when Mike got invited by a group of girls to play Beer Pong in one place, it was most definitely game over for him. Or Mike decided it had to be, before Harold started dancing on the tables. The signs that it could’ve happened any second were too much of a risk for him to take.
After Louis’s two rounds of tequila shots and Mike’s acceptance that he might’ve been a little bit more than drunk, Harvey suggested they stop making shows of themselves and offered his condo for a night cap.
And it would’ve been rude to say no. Mike always liked Harvey’s condo. It’s lavish furniture and spacious design. He’d live there if he could, with or without Harvey. He wasn’t particularly opposed to the man’s company so he didn’t care.
“Do not touch anything,” Harvey warned Louis, the second they stepped foot inside. Or more stumbled inside.
Louis crossed his heart, solemn expression cracked up into a fit of giggles. He flopped down onto the couch and stared at the cushions in confusion, “This isn’t the bathroom,” He concluded.
“Third door on the right,” Mike informed him, watching his friend stroll around the kitchen. Noting how he only grabbed two glasses from the cupboards for the bottle of scotch he was holding.
Louis didn’t seem to be listening.
Harvey passed Mike the bottle and glasses, and lightly slapped Louis’s semi-comatose face. “Hey, hey. If you piss on my couch, I’ll throw you off the balcony.”
Louis held up a Scout’s honour and slowly but surely stood back up, arms shooting out into the air to hold some form of balance.
But instead of staggering to the bathroom, Louis suddenly threw his arms around Harvey.
“You’re my best friend,” He slurred, partially slobbering on Harvey’s navy shirt. “And I know you love me, too.”
Harvey looked to Mike for help—but given how much alcohol Mike had consumed, to think he could move smoothly without falling over was poor judgement. And besides, Mike was too busy peeing himself laughing to even want to help.
Harvey awkwardly patted Louis’s back, “Okay, Louis,” He said, “Go to the bathroom,”
“We’re like The Three Musketeers,” Louis mumbled, squeezing Harvey tightly and then letting go. Harvey stepped back at least a foot, away from the danger-zone of another hug. “Me, you and Mike. Three Muskespherepeers—whatever. You guys dig.”
Still chuckling, Mike watched Louis disappear and the door close, and opened the door to the balcony, Harvey following him out. “Why the hell didn’t you help me?”
Mike took a moment to focus on putting the glass items down. Not smashing them all over the floor seemed more important.
When he’d managed it, he turned to Harvey. “And interrupt an intimate moment between a man and his best friend?” Mike questioned, unable to hold back another snort. “Never.”
Harvey scowled. He reached inside of his pocket and pulled out a small leather case. He pulled the drawstring to open it, Mike watched every move. Eagerly awaiting whatever was inside. In the dark, he could hardly make it out but Harvey surprised him by handing it over.
“Here,” He said, holding the cigar between his finger and thumb. “Call it an early wedding present.”
Mike cautiously took it from him, and inspected it closer. He’d never been a cigar man, or a cigarette man. Anything other than a joint you could smoke, Mike wasn’t all that interested. But in the movies, he’d seen guys run them under their noses, inhale their smoky scent.
Harvey held out a lighter, allowing Mike to take the first drag.
“In four days—” Mike paused to exhale, blowing the smoke out into the night. “I’ll be a married man.”
Harvey merely hummed a reply, pouring them both a drink. He handed a glass over to Mike.
“D’you ever think about it?” Mike asked.
“The fact that, in four days, you’ll be a married man?”
“No,” He huffed a light laugh, shaking his head. “No, I mean the whole marriage thing. Married. Sharing a lifelong commitment with the one you love.”
Mike was aware of Harvey’s relationships in the past. He’d seen women come and go, none ever stuck. A week, a month tops, and it was over. Mike never asked why. It was never his business but he always wondered if Harvey was the type. If he wanted the whole wife and two kids, the house and the white picket fences, barbecues on a Saturday afternoon and late breakfasts on a Sunday morning.
Harvey looked down into his glass, and shook his head. “No,” He said. “I don’t think about it.”
“Ever?”
“Never.”
“Oh come on,” Mike put the glass down on the railing and passed the cigar over to Harvey. Sharing is caring and Mike was using it partially as a form of bribery, to get Harvey to open up. “There must’ve been someone. Scottie? Zoe? Donna?”
He pulled a face, wrinkling his nose. “Donna?”
Mike nodded. They’d always had the weirdest relationship. Donna’s unbreakable loyalty, Harvey’s fondness of her, he found it hard to believe they’d never—would never.
“No.” Harvey simply replied, and puffed on the end of the cigar. His cheeks hollowed as he slowly inhaled, and leisurely he blew a string of smoke out of his mouth. “Once, maybe. But not with Donna.”
“So, with Scottie.”
Harvey chuckled, another shake of his head. “No. Scottie was… we had our time,” He tapped on the end of the cigar. Mike watched the amber ash fall away. “But she was never the one.”
“Wait a second, you had a One?” Now he was interested. He knew the cigar would do the trick. That, and the small amount of alcohol Harvey had also consumed. He was a kinder drunk than you’d imagine. “Who was she? When? College? The firm?” Oh, he’d got it. “Was it Jessica?”
Harvey barked a laugh.
“What? Jessica’s hot.”
“I’ll be sure to tell her, the next time she calls.” Harvey stated. “It doesn’t matter who it is.”
“Well, do they know?”
Harvey shook his head. “But they’re happy, and that’s all that matters. Can we move on? Preferably before we start braiding each other’s hair.”
“No, we can’t." Mike declined. "You can’t possibly know they’re happy until you give them the choice. I’d want to know, if it was me.”
Once the words were out there, Harvey looked at him. He really looked at him. His eyes, dark and searching for something. Looking into his very soul for an answer, to a question Mike didn’t even know.
But he couldn’t look away, either.
The cigar burned in Harvey’s hand, the glass of untouched scotch tipped slightly in his own, nearly spilling onto the floor. Smoke and silence filled the air and Mike found it impossible to break it, suddenly some fucking enchantment had been cast upon them and they were stuck in this moment, surrounded by an unfamiliar buzz of tension.
Harvey opened his mouth to speak—but the noise that came wasn’t his voice, it was a thud from inside. It caught both of their attention, and Mike remembered Louis was supposed to be in the bathroom. He hadn’t come out yet.
“I’ll go check on him,” Harvey insisted, already dabbing the cigar out and moving to go inside.
He left the door open for Mike, and disappeared around a corner in the apartment, out of sight.
~~
Mike knew why things felt different.
He’s panting as he runs up the stairs and his hangover is screaming at him to stop, slow the hell down, you’ll keel over at this rate—but he keeps going. Sweat forms on his forehead and he uses whatever saliva is left in his mouth to hydrate himself enough to speak.
Not that he knows what he’ll say when he gets there. He hasn’t thought that far ahead.
All he knows is that one minute, he’s in the shower, and the next, he’s having a fucking epiphany to end all epiphanies.
It hit him like a goddamn train.
He stops outside the door and raises his fist to knock, stops himself before doing so.
What the hell am I doing?
And it’s a good question. What is he doing? What is he going to say, when the door opens, and he’s faced with the reality? If he hasn’t though this through, if he isn’t one-hundred percent sure, he could be ruining his entire fucking life. The next five minutes, fuck, the next five seconds could change everything.
I’m doing the right thing.
He knocks.
~~
Mike collapsed onto the bed, and sighed.
He had a good night.
Better than he could’ve imagined. No strippers or ridiculous traditions, just him and his friends, and his very best friend. The man who always seemed to be willing to give up everything for him in a heartbeat. His reservations, his plans for the night, his career, his entire reputation.
Even his happiness.
~~
When the door opens, he panics and pushes his way inside.
“Did you forget something?”
Mike shakes his head, a little too much because it fucking hurts so he stops. “No,” He breathes, needing to catch hold of his breath before he even tries to say anything else.
In through his nose, out through his mouth, a couple of times until his heart stops beating so fast and his lungs stop burning.
“What’s goi—”
“It is me.” Mike interrupts him, words falling out of his mouth like leaves from a tree and he can’t stop himself. He turns around to face Harvey, who’s still standing by the door, hand loosely holding onto the door handle. “Isn’t it?”
Harvey’s silent. If things in this moment were different, Mike would saviour it. Harvey Specter, speechless. It’s quite the sight and Mike hardly recognizes the man standing in front of him but there’s no time.
He slowly closes the door.
“You’d let me go through with it,” Mike continues, thankful his brain has remembered what oxygen is and how to use it. “You’d let me—when all this time, all this fucking—how long? How long have you…” So many thoughts rush through his mind that he’s dizzy. “Damn it, Harvey.”
“Mike—”
“You don’t think I deserved to know?”
“I—”
“All this time? You’ve known all this time. You’ve seen me with her. You—shit, you broke me out of prison to see her! And all that time, you’ve—I could’ve—damn it, Harvey!”
He’s angry. But he’s not sure why he’s angry. Angry because he didn’t know? Because he didn’t suspect a goddamn thing? Or angry because they’ve wasted so much time?
“You were happy.”
Mike’s stunned when Harvey finally speaks. He’s thrown for a moment. “What?”
“You were happy.” He repeats. “With Rachel. You were happy.”
He’s not wrong.
But ignorance is bliss, or so they say. And that wasn’t Harvey’s decision to make. Whether or not he was happy with Rachel is irrelevant, he had the right to know. Had the right to make that decision for himself. Not Harvey, or Rachel, or anyone else. His decision.
And he’s made his decision. Hell, he made the decision before he even left the apartment. “I can’t marry her.”
The words feel odd. Foreign. Never in a million years did he think he would be making that choice. He thought, if anything, it’d be Rachel making it. After all, he couldn’t blame her. He was nothing more than a convicted fraud these days—his very existence in her life caused more problems than it was worth. It probably should’ve happened sooner.
It probably should’ve never happened at all.
“Of course you can,” Harvey insists.
“No. No, I—I can’t. I won’t.”
“Why? Because of something that doesn’t even matter? Mike, listen to me,” Harvey advances him, is standing in front of him quicker than Mike has time to react, to move away, and he’s frozen. “Don’t throw what you have with Rachel away, not for this.”
And he can’t believe it. Can’t believe this man is standing in front of him fighting for him to marry someone else. Insisting that he should. Refusing his own happiness, ignoring his own feelings, sacrificing them for someone else’s benefit.
But Mike won’t let him. “I-I can’t marry her, Harvey.”
“Why?”
“Because, I—I just can’t.”
“Because isn’t an answer, damn it. Why? Give me one goddamn reason why--”
“Because she’s not you!” Mike practically explodes, pushes Harvey away from him with such force that he didn’t know he possessed. His chest heaves, eyes wide and locking with Harvey’s. And it’s out there now.
No going back.
He breathes a harsh sigh. They’re really having this conversation. “She’s… because Rachel isn’t you, Harvey. That’s why I can’t marry her.”
“What are you talking about?”
“All this time. And I’m talking years, Harvey. If you’d have just said something—anything—we wouldn’t be doing this, I wouldn’t be getting married in three days to someone else. Shit, who the hell knows? I could’ve been marrying you!” Mike laughs, partially disbelieving but mostly nervous. “But you didn’t say a damn thing.”
“I didn't exactly hear you making any declarations of your own, Mike.”
“Because you’re Harvey freaking Specter!” And that should explain everything. “You date Harvard graduates, and CEOs, and lawyers. You don’t—I’m a convicted fraud, Harvey. I shouldn’t even be on your radar.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Harvey dismisses. “You always were. From the day you walked into that goddamn interview. But then, you met Rachel, remember? You worshipped her, and I was your boss. I am your boss. Who the hell am I to get in the way of you being with someone you love?”
“Yet you did that anyway,” Mike mumbles. He leans against a counter, staring down at the floor. “You really would’ve let me marry Rachel?”
He doesn’t look at Harvey but he doesn’t need to. The sound of his voice tells him more than his expression ever could. “If it meant you’d be happy, Mike. What choice did I have?”
Mike supposes he’s right. It’s not as if Mike was ever vocal about his feelings—not as if he even understood his feelings, not until he got out of prison. Not until he realized the lengths Harvey would go to. That he was happier to see Harvey the day he left Danbury, than he was his own fiancée.
“So what now?” Harvey asks, sounding painfully hesitant.
“Now... I call off my wedding,” Mike states. “And we start again.”
“Well, in that case,” Harvey quietens and Mike hears movement, looks to his right to see Harvey walking towards him. He stops beside him, and holds out a hand. “Harvey Specter,”
Mike looks at him like the man has lost his mind, but he feels a little giddy. Like a schoolboy with his first crush. It’s ridiculous, he’s in his thirties.
But he takes Harvey’s hand anyway, and shakes it. “Mike Ross.”
“Mike Ross,” Harvey repeats. “You wanna grab dinner with me, sometime?”
Mike narrows his eyes at him, mouth twitching, desperate to put a smile on his face. “Are you actually asking me out this time?”
“I am,” Harvey nods, confident as ever. “Turns out, I’ve always had a thing for the Boy Next Door.”
Mike can’t help but laugh. This man—the man he’s known for five years, who knows him better than anyone ever has, better than anyone ever will. This man he’s gone to prison for. Who, in return, has given Mike everything, would give him anything still—is a massive dork.
“Well, then you’re in luck.” Mike says. “Because I’m definitely into older guys.”
~~