Archive of Our Own ^beta

Two days after Rachel awkwardly informs him she’s seeing someone new, Mike decides to sell his apartment.

He’s not angry at her. He’s not heartbroken, either, not the way he would’ve been a month ago, when he first decided their break should become a breakup. He misses her, of course; her smile, their easy banter around the office, even the wild foods she forced him to try. But if the last few weeks have taught him anything, it’s that life’s a lot nicer without ever-present guilt—and ever-present fights—over not leaving his secret behind.

Maybe they could’ve made it work if he’d stayed away from Pearson Specter, but he can’t bring himself to regret returning. The only regret he’ll ever have in that department is leaving in the first place.

But, still. The apartment was originally supposed to be for Grammy, until its abrupt transformation into a symbol of all the ways Mike failed her as a grandson. Living there with Rachel gave it a new life, but now that’s failed, too. He hasn’t felt at home since the breakup; this final nail in that already buried coffin seems like a sign.

So he calls a realtor, sets a price, packs a bag, and shows up at Harvey’s apartment without calling.  

“About time,” Harvey says when he opens the door. “I expected you two days ago.”

“You…what?”

“Rachel told Donna, Donna told me, I put aside a bottle of Macallan and a blow-up mattress in the study.” Harvey steps back, gesturing for Mike to enter. “Honestly, I’m a little hurt it took so long for you to show up.”

Before Mike can process that, Harvey turns away, striding down the hall to the bar cart.  

Okay, then. Apparently he’s welcome.

“Our office really needs to learn about appropriate professional boundaries,” he muses, trailing after Harvey.   

Harvey, already busy with the whiskey, shakes his head. “That ship sailed the first time Louis told us about mudding in the nude.”  

“Thanks for that visual image.” Mike’s nose crinkles; unwelcome memories of Louis in the locker room play in high definition behind his eyes. “Anyway, the booze I get, but how’d you know I’d want to stay over?”

“I read people for a living, and I’ve worked with you for years. If I couldn’t predict that, I wouldn’t be very good at my job.” Harvey holds up a full glass in Mike’s direction. “The fact that I have to spell that out makes me a little concerned you aren’t very good at yours.”

Mike rolls his eyes as he takes the whiskey. “Yeah, you really think I suck. That’s why you were thrilled I quit. Oh wait, no, now I remember—you were desperate to hire me back.”

Harvey throws up the hand not occupied with his own drink in mock defense. “Hey, I was just trying to do a buddy a favor.”

“Speaking of favors, what’s with the upgrade to blow-up mattress? Not that I’m complaining, but last time you made me stay on the couch.”

“I hated seeing your rumpled sheets in the morning.”

“Makes sense.” Mike grins so hard he can feel it in his toes. After too long at odds during the Sidwell fiasco, it’s good to be back to easy banter with Harvey. Like riding a bike: always familiar, and one of his favorite things in the world. “Did you ever up the thread count on those, by the way?”

“Of course, only the best for the whiney princess.” Harvey’s eyes soften a little. “But seriously, Mike, I tried to make it comfortable in there. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”

Mike takes a deep gulp of his scotch. It goes down smooth. He hates to admit it, but Harvey’s right about the good stuff being worth the price. “Be careful with a promise like that. I’m selling my place, and then looking for a new one. It could be a while.”

The truth is, he doesn’t need to stay away from his apartment while it’s on the market, but now that he’s out he already can’t imagine going back. The piercing stare Harvey gives him says he understands that. It should be disquieting, but instead it’s a relief, especially when Harvey insists, “I don’t say things I don’t mean. As long as you like.”

Mike smiles, comfort settling warm in his gut. Maybe Rachel was right when she accused him of always putting Harvey first. This is why: when push comes to shove, Harvey will do the same.

***

Mike moves in on a Sunday night, and things are surprisingly easy for exactly six days. Their schedules line up enough that sometimes Mike can ride into work with Harvey. The rest of the time he takes his bike—an old habit he’s happy to renew. Every day, he feels more like himself. Work’s crazy, but work’s always crazy, and it’s nice to be working hard at what he really loves. The realtor puts his listing up and gets interest right away. It’s all good, great even, and perfectly normal.

And then Harvey kisses him.

It happens Saturday night, after a client dinner that turns into client post-dinner drinks, which turn into Harvey and Mike debriefing over more drinks, which turns into playful sniping about who’s responsible for the paperwork (“I’m not your associate anymore, Harvey!” “Yes, but you are an associate. I outrank you.” “You outrank poo.” “You’re an actual child.”), which turns into banter over movies for the entire cab ride home, which turns into banter over books in Harvey’s private elevator, which turns into Harvey’s mouth on Mike’s mouth, what the fuck.

Harvey draws back when the elevator opens, adjusting his jacket and stepping into his apartment, relaxed as can be. Mike flounders after him, so disoriented he can hardly string together enough syllables to say something roughly resembling, “What was that?”

Harvey, the asshole, looks completely unphased, as if making out in an elevator is a normal part of their relationship.

“Come on,” he says, pitching his voice low and curling a finger through Mike’s beltloop, “you can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

“I…”

The truth is, he has thought about it. He used to think about it a lot, actually. When he first started working for Harvey every scrap of praise was fodder for a night of fantasies. But that was a hopeless, pointless crush; he pushed it aside in favor of focusing on people who aren’t his boss and who, you know, like men.

(Well, apparently Harvey likes men after all, but Mike and his crush didn’t know that at the time.)

“Not in a while,” he finally settles on. It’s the truth, give or take a stray thought and the occasional wet dream he always refuses to acknowledge in the morning.

Harvey’s smirk flickers. “Is that your way of saying no?”

Um. Interesting question. Good question. Question he should probably think about carefully and logically.

Except here’s the thing: Mike may have pushed the crush aside, buried it deep enough to mostly ignore, but he didn’t succeed in wiping it out entirely, and currently his entire body is thrumming with very real, very active, very present need. The kind of need that means he’s not going to do the cost-benefit analysis on how many ways this could go wrong, because that calculation would inevitably end in no sex, and right now he really, really, really wants sex. With Harvey specifically.

“No,” he concludes. “It’s not a no.”

The smirk comes back in full force. “That’s what I thought.”

That much smugness shouldn’t be hot, but it makes Mike’s cock strain against his pants. He barely has time to mutter, “Arrogant jerk,” before they’re kissing again.

***

He has to admit—Harvey may be arrogant, but damn. When it comes to kissing, he’s earned it.

***

In what feels like no time at all they’re both shirtless and stumbling towards Harvey’s bedroom. Crossing that threshold feels like a point of no return, and Mike somehow has the presence of mind to tilt his mouth away from Harvey’s long enough to ask, “Is this a bad idea?”

Harvey stops kissing Mike’s jaw, stepping back to look him in the eyes. “It’s a better idea than hiring a fraud and look how well that’s turned out.”

That comparison is flawed, to say the least, but it’s not Harvey’s words that silence the nattering worry in Mike’s mind, it’s his expression: eyes bright, amused, completely confident. It’s like the expression he gets when an opponent slips up, but with none of the malice. It says he’s Harvey Specter, there’s nothing to worry about; this is his world, everyone else is just living in it.

Mike would follow that look into battle. It sounds a hell of a lot more fun to follow it into bed.

“Okay then, come on, old man.” He grabs Harvey’s hand, dragging him the rest of the way to the bedroom. “Prove how good an idea it is.”

***

Answer: a very good idea. A very, very, very good idea.

***

They collapse next to each other, after, shoulders brushing, heavy gasps and the scent of sweat and sex filling the room.

“Wow,” Mike declares with what little breath he has left. He didn’t know his body could make some of those positions—or that he could come that hard. “I mean, seriously, Harvey. Not to stroke your already massive ego, but I really hope you don’t expect me to get up early tomorrow to do that paperwork. Because I’m telling you right now, there’s no way.”

Harvey laughs and rolls onto his side, wrapping an arm around Mike’s chest and pressing his nose to his cheek.

It’s the most surprising move he’s made all night.

“You’re off the hook,” he murmurs, unabashedly sweet. “We can both sleep in.”

“Both? As in…together?” Mike hasn’t exactly had time to think about post-sex logistics between their unexpected first kiss and now, but if he had thought about it, he would’ve guessed the night would end with him banished back to the guest room.

Harvey chuckles, breath warm, and pulls him closer. “How much of an asshole do you think I am? Yes, together. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Mike echoes, heartrate ticking up—which is impressive, given how hard it was already going from all the exercise. “Got it.”  

They slip into silence. It’s nice, a comfortable kind of silence reminiscent of working side by side in the office. The kind of silence Mike would happily drift away in, if it weren’t for the decidedly uncomfortable itch of fluids drying on his stomach.

“We should probably get cleaned up before that whole sleeping thing,” he stage whispers after another minute. “Just a thought.”

Harvey groans and sits up, shooting Mike an affronted glare, the effect of which is somewhat dampened by his hair sticking up at odd angles.

“Fine, but you really are a princess.” Despite the complaint, his eyes are gentle, and his lips do that amazing thing where they somehow gesture at a smile without moving at all. “Next time, consider letting the moment linger a little longer. Just a thought.”

Mike blinks at him. “We were having a moment?”

Harvey rolls his eyes as he slips to standing. “It is astonishing you ever convinced any woman to date you.”

It’s only when he’s out of the room that Harvey’s words hit Mike: next time.

There’s going to be a next time?

***

Technically, “next time” is the next morning, when they wake tangled together and quickly slip into lazy kissing and not-so-lazy rutting. But Mike figures that’s grandfathered into round one and doesn’t count, even if it is the best Sunday wakeup he can remember, so he’s left with the question: Next time?

He wants to ask, but the idea of being shot down is too humiliating to contemplate. And this is Harvey I have a picture of Dorian Gray hanging in my closet Specter himself. He told Mike he doesn’t talk about this stuff. Business over here, personal over there, right? Best bet is sit tight, see what happens, and hang on for the ride.

It turns out Harvey needs to leave early for a client meeting in Jersey on Monday; without talking about it they retreat into separate rooms Sunday night for real sleep. (See? Mike knew it! No talking it is.) Then they’re slammed at work, because that’s life. And then Harvey has drinks with some basketball client Mike’s not cool enough to meet. And then Mike goes out with a few of the other associates, because he’s trying to make more friends at the firm this time around. And then, and then, and just like that—wham! Three days have gone by and it’s like nothing ever happened.

Not much of a ride after all.

It should be a relief. At least they didn’t mess up their relationship in a single misguided night. On the scale of disasters that could’ve come from sleeping with his boss, roommate, and—dare he say it?—best friend, only getting to do it once is so low it shouldn’t register as a disaster at all.

Someone needs to give the pit in Mike’s stomach the message, because it sure feels like a disaster. The worst part is, he’s pretty positive the disappointment stinging the back of his throat all week has nothing to do with missing out on more great sex.

(Okay, not nothing. But it’s not the main thing.)

But then—then. Then Thursday rolls around and they both manage to make it home by eight. They share a beer and turn on a movie. Twenty minutes in Harvey gives Mike a look, the kind that comes with a bit of question and a lot of grin. Mike returns it with a raised eyebrow, and suddenly they’re stretched out on the couch, fumbling for their zippers, movie forgotten.

***

They don’t even make it off the couch.

***

This time Mike remembers to let the moment linger, slumping on top of Harvey after they’ve both come, basking in sated exhaustion.

“You’re right,” he admits, burying his face in the crook of Harvey’s neck, “this is nice.”

Harvey pats his ass. “When are you going to learn, Rookie? I’m always right.”

“I hate you,” Mike mutters.

Even to his own ears, it sounds like just the opposite.

***

And like that, they’re fucking. Not every night—even living in the same apartment, their schedules don’t allow for that—but as many of them as they can manage. Always the same pattern: a glance or a smirk, a nod in return, and then they’re heading for Harvey’s bedroom or exploring the possibilities provided by the many other surfaces around the apartment.

(One memorable night, they do it up against the windows, staring out at the glittering lights of Manhattan. Mike spends the following day trying to figure out if the rush it gave him was an exhibitionist thing, a power thing, or both.

He doesn’t bother asking Harvey. It’s definitely a power thing for him. Probably the whole reason he bought the damn condo. There must be something seriously wrong with Mike, because that thought makes him smile.)

Despite getting adventurous in the apartment surfaces department, they always make it to Harvey’s bed for wind down and sleep. Mike’s surprised by how much Harvey seems to enjoy that part; for someone who goes fast and hard in all other areas of life—including most of the actual sex—he’s tender in the afterglow. He likes to curl around Mike, holding him close and pressing kisses into his shoulders as he drifts off, and, man, Harvey Specter being a cuddler would make great blackmail material.

“The problem with that,” Harvey murmurs into the back of Mike’s neck when he voices the joke out loud sometime in the second week, “is you’d have to admit how much you like it.”

“Nah, that’s not a problem. You’re the one with the reputation for not caring.” Mike grabs Harvey’s hand, tangling their fingers and bringing it to his chest. “No one would be surprised I like to cuddle.”

Harvey squeezes his hand. “So, what you’re saying is everyone already knows you’re a sentimental fool. Interesting argument, counselor.”

“You’re the one sleeping with the sentimental fool. So, if you think about it, that’s double blackmail material.”

Mike can feel Harvey shake his head, nose tickling his neck, breath warm as he laughs. “Not really. I’d show them a picture of your ass and they’d understand.”

“Oh, I see, all I am is a hot piece of ass to you. Nice.”

“Don’t blame me.” Harvey’s free hand sneaks down, squeezing Mike’s butt. “It’s a very hot ass.”

And just like that, they’re off on round two, Mike biting back laughter, happier than he’s been in a very long time.

***

He thinks about that conversation a lot in the following weeks. Harvey was obviously joking about Mike just being a piece of ass, but maybe a little he wasn’t. Because as sweet as he is after sex, the rest of the time he’s totally normal, everything forgotten as soon as they roll out of bed.  

Almost, anyway.  

Occasionally, as they banter over bagels and coffee in the morning or take-out in the evening, Harvey will pause and give Mike a considering look. It’s not the same one he gets right before bending Mike over the nearest surface, but it’s in the ballpark, as if he’s on the edge of saying something about what’s going on between them, or maybe leaning in for a kiss. But he never does, and the expression is always gone almost as soon as Mike spots it and honestly, maybe he’s making the whole thing up.

Even if he’s not, what’s the use of worrying about it? Not talking has been going fine, and what would he say, anyway? Hey, I really like what we’re doing, but have you ever considered like, going on a real date, first?

Just thinking that sentence makes him flush; he can almost hear Harvey calling him a teenaged girl. So he smiles, sucks it up, and does what any red blooded American man should: accepts the easy sex and doesn’t ask questions about what it all means.

***

He’s at work on a Wednesday when he gets the call: his realtor found a buyer. Not only that, but she has another client looking to sublease a place for six months, which is enough time for Mike to do the search for a new permanent place right. The sublease is close to work, and if he wants it, he can move in as early as next week.

“Great,” he tells her. The word comes out strangled. He clears his throat, sinking into his desk chair, lightheaded. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll take it. Thank you.”

***

He plans to tell Harvey that evening, he really does, but as soon as he gets home Harvey greets him with the look, beckoning, and, what, is he going to kill the mood?

He can always tell him tomorrow.

***

Two days later, he hasn’t said a word. He just—can’t. It’s pathetic. What’s he afraid of, exactly? That Harvey will be mad? This isn’t a surprise; Mike staying over has always been a temporary situation.

No, if he’s honest with himself, it’s the opposite. He’s afraid Harvey won’t be mad, or disappointed, or sad, or anything else. He’s afraid he’ll shrug and say great and that will be that; Mike will move out and this will all become a weird, unspoken chapter in their history.

Like he said: pathetic.

***

He test drives getting the words out on Friday afternoon, when he runs into Rachel at the coffee cart.

“I’m selling the apartment,” he blurts out in the middle of strained small talk about the sunny weekend forecast. Chatting about the weather with someone who used to know him better than anyone—other than maybe Harvey—is too depressing to contemplate. 

Rachel stares at him, frowning. “Oh…?”

“I’m moving out next week,” he adds, as if he needs an excuse to be telling her. “So, if there’s anything else you want, you should let me know. I mean, I’m definitely not keeping the cabinet thing you put in the bathroom. You know I don’t get why it exists.”

She huffs, lips curling the way they always do when she’s amused by him and trying to hide it. “Well, I’m not going to let you send that to a dump. I’ll arrange something.”

The coffee cart guy interrupts what has to be their longest conversation in weeks, handing over their drinks and barking to get out of the way. They turn back to the building, falling into awkward silence as they walk. When they’re halfway back, Rachel pulls up short and places a hand on Mike’s arm.

“Why are you selling it?” she asks softly.

Mike shrugs. “I need a fresh start.”

She tilts her head, eyes filling with something that’s a little too close to pity.

“I meant it when I said I wanted to fix things with you,” she finally says. “I would’ve stayed.”

“Rachel…”

“I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. I…I’m really good.” She looks down, bashful in a way that makes him think she’s better than just good. Guess things are going well with whoever she’s seeing. “But I’d like to be your friend again, one day, so I need you to know I wasn’t lying when I said that.”

“I know.” He wishes he could tell her the very specific reason he’s not holding a grudge. He’s not sure if she’d slap him or burst out laughing. Either way, it would be a memorable reaction. “But I bet you’re a hell of a lot more relaxed without my secret hanging over your life.”  

“Well…yes.” She frowns, unnecessary guilt shadowing her face. He doesn’t blame her for wanting him to get away and stay away from the firm, not anymore. It was a shitty position to put her in; with distance, it’s obvious her reaction to his desire to stay was the only rational one. 

On the other hand—Harvey wanted him to stay, Harvey fought for him to come back. Harvey’s not afraid of his secret, and he’s the one person who would never, ever hold it against him. Not because he’s part of it, but because he gets it, the thing that drives Mike to cling to this career even when all logic says go. The burning need to play in the big leagues for as long as he can, and then a little longer still.

No one else gets it. No one else gets him. Not like that.

(Shit. He really doesn’t want whatever’s going on between them to end.)

Rachel is giving him a strange look, confused and knowing at the same time. “Do you want to talk about her?”

Mike, still caught up in fear of what’s going to happen when he gives Harvey his news, stumbles over the question. “…Who?”

“Whoever put that look on your face.”

Oh. Ha. He gets the misunderstanding—even when they were together, he didn’t exactly advertise his occasional foray into attraction to men. He’d correct her, but she’s not dumb; the right gender would send her down the path to the right person. As amusing as it would be to see her reaction, that information is currently on a need-to-know basis, and the only people who need to know are he and Harvey.

“I don’t think we’re there yet, Rach. I mean, you haven’t exactly told me anything about your new guy.”

Rachel’s lips flicker into an inexplicable amused smirk that she quickly tamps down.

“Fair,” she agrees, bumping his shoulder. “But my advice? Talk to her.”

“Wow. Real original there, Dr. Phil.”

For a second, he worries it’s too soon for that much sarcasm between them, but then Rachel breaks into a wide smile.

“It may be obvious advice, but that doesn’t mean you’re good at following it.”

Startled and relieved, Mike laughs, deep and long.

“What?” Rachel asks, slapping his arm. “I’m right!”

“No, no, I know. I just realized, you’re going to be a nightmare as a friend now,” Mike explains. “You know me too well.”

Rachel’s eyes soften at the word friend, smile settling into something quieter. “The best friends do.”

“Thanks, Rachel. Seriously.” Mike sighs. He’s not ready to go back inside and risk seeing Harvey yet. “You go ahead. I’m going to walk around the block.”

She squeezes his arm. “Of course. I’ll see you later.”

As he watches her stride off, he thinks for the first time maybe they really will get back there—friends. Which is good, because she’s right, even if some of her assumptions are wrong: he does need to talk to Harvey. And he’s really going to need a friend if it goes sideways.

***

He gets home before Harvey that evening and considers using the time to do something gesture-like. But what kind of gesture would make an impact on a guy like Harvey? Candles and roses are laughable. He could make Grammy’s spaghetti, but what if Harvey walks in before he’s done?   

He gives up on the gesture plan and spends the next forty-five minutes pacing the apartment restlessly while the news plays in the background, which does absolutely nothing to distract him from the hammering of his heart and the vague sense of dread climbing up his spine. By the time Harvey finally walks in with a joking “Honey, I’m home,” he feels like he’s going to throw up.

“My realtor found a buyer,” he declares as soon as Harvey rounds the hall into view.

Harvey frowns, clearly disoriented by the unusual greeting.

“That’s great,” he says after a few beats, a hint of a question under the words. He unbuttons the top button of his jacket. “Isn’t it? Are you having second thoughts about selling?”

“No.” Whatever else is going on, Mike’s positive about that. “Definitely not.”

“Then why do you look like Jessica somehow discovered your secret a second time?” Harvey crosses the room, heading for the kitchen and ducking into the fridge. “Is the offer low? If they’re underbidding, you should hold out. There’s no reason to rush it.”

He emerges with two beers, holding one up and shaking it, a familiar invitation for Mike to come closer. It normally ends with Mike pressed up against the kitchen island, marble digging into his back.

Mike sighs as he walks over. It would be great to take Harvey up on the implicit offer, put this conversation off for another night. But it’s time to pull on his big boy pants. He grabs the bottle and quickly steps back, out of easy kissing range.

“Nothing’s wrong with the offer,” he admits, accepting the bottle opener Harvey holds out but purposefully not allowing their fingers to brush. “It’s over asking.”

Harvey looks down at their hands, then up at Mike. “I’m confused. In that case, shouldn’t we be celebrating?”

“Yeah…” Mike cracks his beer open, resisting the urge to pick at the label. Harvey would correctly read that as a nervous tick. “Um, she also has some clients looking to sublease their condo for six months. So, rather than rushing into buying a new place, I’m thinking I can move in there, really put some thought into it.”

Harvey, annoyingly, doesn’t react to this news beyond the slightest twitch at his forehead, eyebrows drawing together so minutely Mike wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t searching for a reaction. “Smart. You shouldn’t rush something like that. It’s a big commitment.”

Is there hidden subtext in that sentiment? No, probably not; he’s overthinking everything. He takes a swig of the beer. It does nothing to calm his nerves. “Speaking of rushing, I can move into the new place next week.”

Finally, finally, a flicker of surprise escapes Harvey’s iron control. “Oh.”

Helpful, Harvey. Very helpful. “Yeah, so…I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

Harvey shakes his head, frowning, eyes scanning Mike’s face. “You’re not in my hair, Mike, and I think you know that. What are you really trying to say?”

Mike closes his eyes and draws a deep breath. Push until it hurts. Harvey won’t let this go until he gets an answer, and that was the whole point of saying something in the first place, right? He opens his eyes. Now or never.

“After I move out, I’m not going to be around as much.”

“Yes,” Harvey agrees slowly. “That’s generally how that works.” He puts his beer on the counter and steps forward, into Mike’s personal space. “I’m sensing a but here.”

It’s that step forward, the inclination to closeness, that gives Mike the nerve to say, “But I kind of like what we’ve got going on.”

“Kind of?” Harvey gives an exaggerated wince, playful and teasing. “Ouch.”

And, wow, okay. Okay. That’s a good reaction. A very Harvey reaction, but a good one.

Mike matches his playful tone, swatting his arm. “Fine, egomaniac, I really like what we’ve got going on, and I don’t want it to stop because I’m moving out. So can we…not stop?”

Harvey’s wince turns into a grin. He takes another step forward, hand brushing Mike’s stomach. The touch feels like a promise. “I think that can be arranged.”

A very, very good reaction.

“Awesome.” Mike fights not to sag against the counter in relief. “Maybe we could even, I don’t know, go to dinner first, sometimes?”

Harvey leans in, not close enough for their lips to brush, but heading in that direction. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Yeah, as if Mike’s the one controlling this situation. “Is that a yes?”

Harvey’s eyes crinkle around the edges as he bumps their noses together. “That’s a yes. I’d really like it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too.”

And then they’re kissing, long and deep and unlike any of the kisses they’ve shared before. It’s the kind of kiss that goes on and on, not building to anything; a perfect moment by itself, vibrating with relief and joy. Harvey’s hands wrap around Mike’s waist, reeling him in, plastering them together as if he can’t get enough.

Mike definitely can’t get enough. He sinks his hands into Harvey’s hair until he feels natural softness underneath slick product. When he tugs, Harvey moans into his mouth and, god, he could do this forever. In some ways, he does, losing himself in Harvey until he’s almost dizzy with it.

“So,” he finally says after coming up for air for about the tenth time. It feels wrong for their lips to be apart; he gives up on finishing the sentence and goes back to kissing.

“So?” Harvey follows up at least a minute later.

Mike almost forgot he said anything. What did he want? Oh, right. To confirm what he thinks he can feel in Harvey’s touch: that he wants Mike the way Mike wants him. Completely, exclusively—permanently, maybe.  

“So…how are we defining this? Are we, uh, boyfriend and boyfriend?”

Harvey makes a disapproving noise in his throat. “Are we twelve?” he mocks, before plunging into another kiss.

Mike would’ve seen that coming if he could think straight, which is a little hard to do with Harvey’s tongue in his mouth and his hands on his ass. He’s never understood the whole thing about “boyfriend” and “girlfriend” being too immature for adults, but it’s no surprise Harvey isn’t a fan. Unfortunately, that doesn’t tell him much about the deeper question.

Or maybe that’s the point. Wouldn’t be the first time Harvey dodged talking about emotions with a joke.

“Partners?” Mike offers when Harvey moves from kissing his lips to licking along his jaw.

“Eh.” Harvey stops licking, resting his forehead against Mike’s instead. “Or we could skip all that and go straight to husbands.”

Talk about dodging emotions with a joke.

“Harvey, I’m trying to be serious right now.”

“So am I.” Harvey grins, lopsided. “You, me, rings, suits, doves, family and friends weeping in joy…”

Mike pulls back to get a better look at Harvey’s face. His eyes are twinkling with repressed amusement, like he’s laughing at something mere mortals could never understand. Normally Mike loves that expression, but normally he’s the only other person in on the joke. Not this time.

Because here, in this situation, with those words? There’s only one joke Harvey could possibly mean: the entire concept of commitment. As if the idea of a label is too stupid to be entertained.

Of course. It’s Harvey. Commitment is a joke to him, something for other people to worry about while he’s out there being The Best Closer This City Has Ever Seen. Just because he likes a nice dinner before a fuck now and then—just because he likes Mike—doesn’t mean he wants to be anything, not the way Mike does. Yeah, sure, he’s given up the pretense of not caring about anything or anyone, but it took him over a decade to even consider getting serious with Scottie, and here Mike was, thinking he could lock him down in a month.

Dumb. Really dumb.

And—oh god. He said the word partners to him. He asked if Harvey wanted to be his boyfriend. What was he thinking?

He tries to breathe but it comes out shallow, barely caught.

“Earth to Mike,” Harvey teases, voice still light. Fuck. Yeah, Mike should’ve seen this coming, but does Harvey have to be a total asshole about it? Like it doesn’t matter at all?

Mike at least thought he meant more to him than that. He pushes out of Harvey’s arms, stumbling backwards.

“Fuck you.”

The confusion on Harvey’s face would be funny if it were another situation. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Mike…” Harvey’s hand hovers in the air, as if he doesn’t know what to do with it. “I—I don’t—”

“No, seriously, fuck you.”

Maybe that’s unfair, too harsh, but Mike can feel tears burning behind his eyes. If he stays, he’s going to do something really embarrassing, like burst into sobs because he was stupid enough to forget that Harvey Specter once told him, word for word, that love is not his area.

He spins, storming away from Harvey, from this conversation. He needs to get out of here before he has a breakdown. He won’t survive seeing Harvey’s face after he shows how much this hurts.

He speeds into a sprint, heading for the door. Just get out, get away, regroup later.

“Mike, wait!” Harvey calls after him.

But Mike’s already out the door, running down the hall, stabbing at the elevator button. It opens immediately and he sighs with relief as he stumbles in, Harvey’s shouts cutting off as it closes behind him.

***

His phone starts buzzing in his pocket almost immediately. He ignores it and keeps ignoring it when it instantly goes off again. Keeps on ignoring it all the way to the basement, where he unlocks the bike he hasn’t ridden for at least a week. The longer they lived together, the more he and Harvey’s morning schedules synched up.

He swallows against the sting of salt and bitterness. It’s not like Harvey’s completely blameless, here. He may have kept their sex life strictly to the bedroom—metaphorically, anyway—but he did invite Mike into his home indefinitely. He wrapped himself around him at night. He welcomed the idea of a date, he kissed him like it meant something…

Shit. It was the label thing, wasn’t it? If Mike had kept his stupid mouth shut, he’d be having incredible sex right now, instead of fighting with his bike lock. But no, he had to push his luck. He knew, he knew Harvey would scare easily and he let himself get swept up anyway.

Idiot.

His phone goes off for the millionth time as he’s about to get on his bike. He stumbles, startled, tripping over his own feet and almost dragging the bike to the ground. Frustrated, he whips out the phone and hits answer.

“What?” he snaps into the receiver.

“Mike, what the hell just happened?”

Harvey sounds angry, hurt—as if he’s the one who’s been wronged.

It’s so absurd Mike’s not sure if he should laugh or throw his phone across the parking lot. He settles on glaring as if Harvey can see him. “You could’ve just said you weren’t interested in a label, Harvey. You didn’t have to make fun of me.”

“What? Mike, I—”

“Just leave me alone.”

He ends the call, viscerally wishing he had a flip phone to slam shut. It starts ringing again, because Harvey’s terrible at following instructions, so Mike switches to silent before mounting his bike, without falling this time. Let Harvey call all he wants. He’s not getting an answer.

***

It’s already dark out when Mike hits the streets, but the cool evening air is refreshing and he’s in no rush to get home. Home. If he can even call his old apartment that anymore. It certainly doesn’t feel like it. He’s been more comfortable in Harvey’s condo over the last few weeks than he’s been in that apartment for a long time.

Except that comfort wasn’t real either, was it?  

He wipes a hand across his face, brushing away tears. He is not, as Harvey put it, twelve. He’s not going to lose his shit over something he could’ve seen coming from ten thousand miles away.

My mindset is, I don’t talk about it. I don’t want to talk about it. I keep my personal here and my business over there. That’s what Harvey told him, the day Mike came crashing into his apartment freaking out about Rachel and the pressures of his secret. You want to know how to be a lawyer, I'm your man. You want to know how to deal with love? That’s not my area.

Never say he didn’t have fair warning. He knew enough to be worried this would happen; the problem is he was also naive enough to hope it wouldn’t, based on nothing more than a few stray looks and a tendency towards post-coital affection.

“Idiot,” he mutters to himself, lowering his head into the wind.

When he reaches the intersection where he should turn right to go home, he swerves left instead, heading towards Central Park, picking up speed. He’s not ready to stop and contemplate what this means when he goes into the office on Monday.

He peddles harder, leg muscles throbbing, trying not to think at all.

***

An hour and a half later he pulls up to his building, dripping with sweat and exhausted enough that he maybe, just maybe, might be able to fall asleep. Maybe.

That plan goes out the window the second the elevator opens onto his hall. Harvey is standing outside his door, wearing the same suit he had on earlier, face grim, eyes red, Mike’s briefcase in his hand.

Talk about terrible at following instructions. Only Harvey would take Just leave me alone to mean Please, come over, bother me in my own home.

And how long as he been standing there, anyway?

“What’re you doing here, Harvey?” Mike asks as he strides down the hall, slipping into the mask of indifference that—oh the irony—Harvey taught him. It’s good in court, and it works here, too.

Harvey holds out the briefcase. “You left this.”

Mike crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow, pointed. They both know that’s not the real answer.

“And…” Harvey sighs. “And I want to talk to you.”

“I thought I made it pretty clear I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Mike.” Harvey closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. When he opens them again, they’re shining, obvious even in the hall’s dim lighting. “Please. Let me explain.”

Mike’s teeth grind together. The last shred of his dignity wants to tell Harvey to get lost, but that instinct is overshadowed by the part of him that can’t stand to see the man in pain. And he does look like he’s in pain.

More than that, he said please. Harvey Specter said please in a tone like Mike has the power to make or break his very existence. That’s got to count for something. The naive, stupid part of Mike that got him here in the first place thinks it could even count for a lot.

“Fine,” he says, pulling his keys from his pocket and pushing past Harvey to open the door. “You have five minutes.”

***

Coming back into the apartment after so many weeks away is strange. It’s clean; cleaner than Mike kept it when left to his own devices, thanks to the realtor. He hangs his jacket in the hall closet, pointedly ignoring Harvey hovering behind him, before beelining to the bathroom to splash water on his face. His reflection in the mirror stares back at him, deep shadows under the eyes and grim determination in the set of the jaw.

He’s not going to let Harvey see how much he’s hurting.

All possible forms of procrastination exhausted, Mike turns back to the living room. Harvey is standing by the couch, hands in his pockets, eyes trained at the floor. He looks smaller and less confident than Mike can remember ever seeing him, except maybe when he found out about Clifford Danner.

Mike shuffles in, stopping when he’s half a room away from Harvey. He needs some space for this conversation.

“Okay,” he announces. Harvey’s head jerks up, eyes finding Mike’s in an instant. “Let’s hear it.”

“I wasn’t making fun of you,” Harvey says. His voice is low, firm, sure. Not a hint of sarcasm.

But that doesn’t make any sense because he obviously was. Mike saw it. He heard it.

“How do you figure that?” Mike tries to keep his tone casual, as if this whole situation isn’t making him ache. “Because from where I’m standing, I asked you for some kind of definition of what we’re doing here, just a tiny bit of commitment, and you threw it back in my face.”

“No.” Harvey shakes his head. “I see how you got there, but you’re wrong.”

Mike scoffs. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about this.” Harvey draws his right hand from his pocket and holds it out, uncurling his fingers to reveal what is unmistakably a ring box.

What the actual fuck.

There’s no way that can be what Mike thinks it is, but there’s also no other logical explanation.

Mike stares at the box, tongue working, failing to form words. Eventually he gives up, raising his eyes, hoping his question is clear. In answer, Harvey cracks the box open. There it is: a silver ring. Simple, elegant, and unmistakably expensive.

“I bought it the week after we started seeing each other,” Harvey explains. Not confident anymore, but soft, like he’s worried about scaring Mike away.

Mike looks at the ring, he looks at Harvey. He considers pinching himself.

“Harvey,” he finally manages, voice trembling.

Harvey closes the box and slips it back into his pocket. “I just thought you should know.”

He thought Mike should know. That he bought a ring. That he bought a ring after they started sleeping together. That he bought a ring the week after they started sleeping together.

“You were serious?” Mike asks. “About husbands and rings and suits and friends crying and doves?”

“Well, maybe not the doves. But otherwise…” Harvey shrugs a defeated sort of shrug. “Yeah. I was serious.”

Maybe Mike got hit by a car on his bike ride and this is a morphine induced fever dream. That would make more sense than it being real. “That was an actual proposal?”

“Call it more of a proposition. Or a statement of intent.” Harvey scratches the back of his head. “But…fundamentally, yes. That was a proposal.”

“Harvey…” There’s just no way. “What?”

Harvey smiles wryly. “What’s the problem? Did you want me to get down on one knee? I didn’t take you for a traditionalist.”

Mike laughs, not because the joke is funny but because it’s absurd that there’s a joke at all. It kind of makes him want to kiss Harvey, but also maybe punch him. “What’s the problem? A day ago, I wasn’t even sure you’d want to keep this up after I moved out! Now you’re proposing?”

Harvey frowns and tilts his head, eyes narrowing; the expression he gets when he’s processing information he didn’t expect. He shoves his hands back into his pockets. “You didn’t know I’d want to keep it up?”

“Of course not. I had no idea what you wanted, Harvey.”

“You…didn’t?”

Mike raises a hand and then drops it, frustrated. How the hell is Harvey confused about this?

“No, Harvey, I didn’t. You kissed me out of nowhere, and then you never said anything, you never took it out of the bedroom. And I mean, you’re you.” He waves, trying to encompass Harvey’s entire existence. “You’re not exactly a relationship guy.”

Harvey’s eyes have been getting wider over the course of this rambling pronouncement; now he looks practically owlish. It’s unprecedented and silly and the small part of Mike’s brain that can never stay focused even in the middle of one of the most important conversations of his life really wishes he could take a photo.

“I thought you knew,” Harvey murmurs. “I—I thought it was obvious.”

“What?” Mike snaps. How the fuck did Harvey think any of this was obvious? “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Shit.” Harvey rubs a hand over his face. “I never said anything because you recently got out of a serious relationship. I wanted to let you set the pace. But I thought you knew, or I wouldn’t have…” His fingers pinch against his forehead. “I thought you knew.”

Mike’s hands are shaking. No, it’s his entire body. “Knew what, Harvey?”

“That I would never start something with you if I didn’t intend to see it through.” His jaw clenches, cheeks sucking in and out. “Not with you. Not after I just got you back.”

Silence settles over them. Harvey’s statement hangs in the air, as clear a declaration of intent as Mike could ask for; clearer than he ever expected Harvey to be.

He wasn’t being rejected at all. Harvey Specter actually, honestly, proposed marriage, and Mike didn’t even realize. Mike yelled at him and ran away. Mike rejected him, told him to fuck off, and Harvey followed him anyway. He practically begged to be allowed to explain himself.

He’s letting Mike see how much he cares, no holds barred. Bleeding heart on his living room floor. 

“You’re really serious,” Mike breathes.

Harvey nods, blinking a few times. His eyes are shining again. Mike has the urge to cross the distance between them, pull him into a hug. Pretend none of this happened, rewind to a few hours ago and go back to that really excellent kissing.

But he still has questions, so instead he pushes on. “Let me get something straight. The first time we have a conversation about the relationship, you propose. How is that letting me set the pace?”

Harvey has the decency to look bashful, which Mike didn’t know was a thing his face could do. “I may have gotten a little carried away.”

There’s an honesty to the way he says it that answers any doubt still niggling Mike’s mind. He meant it, as absolutely insane as it sounds.

Harvey Specter proposed to him in the middle of his kitchen, without even bothering to say I love you first.

“Wow.” Mike lets some humor slip into his voice. Not enough to be insulting, hopefully, but enough to break the tension before he collapses under it. “You’re really bad at this. Relationships, I mean. You suck at them.”

Harvey clocks the hint of amusement. A smile ghosts the edges of his lips as he concedes, “I may be a little out of practice.”

“Oh no, this isn’t just out of practice.” God, banter feels good. “This is monumentally terrible. Just absolutely abysmal.”

“Okay now, let’s not go overboard…”

Mike holds up his hand to cut off his defense and strides forward, stopping when he’s directly in front of Harvey. “I can’t believe I’m going to have to be the reasonable one in this relationship. Apprentice becomes the master.”

Harvey’s ghost of a smile breaks into a real one, expression blooming into naked hope. “This relationship. Does that mean we still have a relationship?”

Mike places a hand on Harvey’s hip. The contact snaps the world back onto its axes, calm settling over him. The whole night has been absurd, but this?

This is exactly right.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “We still have a relationship.”

Harvey sways forward, exhaling a relieved, “Good.”

“To be clear, you’re out of your mind,” Mike adds. “It’s important to me you understand that. Completely insane.”

Harvey cups the back of Mike’s neck, dragging him forward. “Insane like hiring a fraud is insane?”

Well, he’s got a point there.

“Yeah, exactly like that.” Mike slides his arm around Harvey’s waist. “I guess I like your insane.”

“You love my insane.”

“I do,” Mike agrees. Apparently that’s not something he needs to hide after all.

When Harvey kisses him, it feels like coming home.

***

“So,” Harvey says half an hour later, as they’re tangled lengthwise on the couch, enjoying each other’s touch just for the sake of it, “I do still have this ring…”

Mike laughs into his neck. This man. “Ask me again in six months.”

“Huh?”

Mike maneuvers to put them nose-to-nose. This conversation deserves eye contact.

“That’s when my new lease is up,” he explains. “Ask me again then.”

“You’re still taking the place?”

“I mean—yeah, I was planning on it.” By the look on Harvey’s face, that idea hadn’t crossed him mind. “Wait, do you want me to move in now?”

If Mike didn’t know better, he’d say there’s a faint blush on Harvey’s cheeks. He looks down, not quite meeting Mike’s eyes. “Well, you’re already there…”

Mike’s heart hammers against his chest. He wants to say yes, but… “As the reasonable one, I’m going to have to veto that idea.”

“Okay.” It’s quiet, hesitant. Hurt, even.

Man, having this kind of power over Harvey Specter’s emotions is going to take some getting used to.

Mike snuggles closer. He cups Harvey’s jaw, forcing him to look up so he can assure him, “Ask me again in six months.”

“To move in, or to marry me?”

“Either. Both.” Mike kisses his nose. “Whatever you want. I’ll say yes.”

“Fine.” Harvey runs his hand down Mike’s back, smirking when he shudders under his touch. There’s the confidence Mike knows and adores. “But this feels silly. If you already know the answer…”

Mike cuts him off with a finger on his lips. “Didn’t you hear me? I’m the Sensei now. Patience, Daniel-san.”

“I hate this already,” Harvey grumbles, then nips his finger. “It’s not right.”

“You should’ve thought about that before proposing without even having a first date.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Harvey wraps his arms around Mike’s back and rolls on top of him. “Come’re, Sensei. I’ll show you wax on, wax off.”

***

Mike runs into Rachel in the file room the following Monday afternoon. She glances him over appraisingly. “You look happy. Good news?”

Mike can’t help a wide grin. He nods. “Turns out your advice wasn’t half bad.”

“Oh yeah? That’s great.” The nice thing is, she sounds like she really means it. “So, am I ever going to meet her?”

He and Harvey made it official by telling Jessica this morning, who insisted they inform HR—to cover their “god damn irresponsible asses,” though the insult was softened by the approving glint in her eye—which means the entire firm will know by tomorrow at the latest. Rachel deserves to hear it from him. He straightens his shoulders. “You already know him. Pretty well, actually.”

He can see the thoughts across her face: confusion, realization, astonishment. About ten seconds in total before she gasps, “Oh my god.”

“Yeah…” Mike waves his fingers, jazz hands style. “Surprise?”

She shakes her head, clearly still processing. “Does Donna know?”

“You think we were dumb enough to tell anyone before her? No thanks, we value our lives. Honestly, I was shocked she hadn’t already figured it out.”

Rachel smiles to herself. “She’s been busy.” Her eyes go distant. “You and Harvey, huh? That explains a few things.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” In his defense, he hadn’t realized how large a torch he was still carrying until Harvey relit the flame. “Are you mad?”

“I’d be a hypocrite if I was.”

“What’s that mean?”

Rachel blinks back into focus. Then she smirks a mischievous smirk that reminds him of their days pulling pranks on Katrina. “It’ll be more fun to let you figure that out on your own. But maybe we can do a double date someday.”

Mike has no idea what to make of that, so he resorts to a noncommittal nod. “If you don’t think it would be weird…”

“Oh, it’ll be weird. But fun. Probably. You’ll see.” Her expression turns serious and she reaches a hand out. It looks like she’s aiming to pat his cheek, before changing course and brushing his shoulder. “Seriously. I’m happy for you guys. It makes sense.”

“Thanks.” Mike smiles. It’s the most relaxed he’s felt around her since before the breakup. “Would it be too cheesy to say I think everything worked out the way it’s supposed to?”

“It really would be.” She leans in, conspiratorial. “But honestly? I think you’re right.”

Yeah, Mike does, too.

***

“I want a divorce,” Harvey tells Mike that night, after he recounts the conversation with Rachel. They’re cuddled on the couch, Harvey’s arm draped behind Mike. He tousles his hair affectionally as he adds, “That was too cheesy. I have a reputation to maintain.”

Mike settles against Harvey’s shoulder. “See, that’s funny because we have to be married to get divorced.”

“If you listened to me, we would be.”

“It’s been three days. Did you just up the ante from proposal to overnight elopement?”

“What can I say?” Harvey kisses the top of his head. “I know a sure bet when I see one.”

“Six months,” Mike reminds him.

“I know, I know.” The kissing moves to Mike’s neck. “I’ll pencil in the divorce for month seven.”

Mike laughs, tilting his head to give Harvey better neck access. “You sure know how to woo a guy.”

“You love it,” Harvey whispers into his ear.

(He does. He really does.)

Epilogue

Six months later they’re on a private jet, week-long vacation stretching in front of them, thanks to an incredible amount of string pulling, Louis wrangling, and Jessica cajoling on Harvey’s part.

Mike’s no dummy. He knows what this means, and he’s currently very cool, calm, and collected about it. Except for the part where he can’t stop his leg from jiggling as he waits for Harvey to get back from talking to the pilot about their mystery destination. He presses his nose to the glass, gazing at the runway as if the blank stretch of tarmac could possibly distract him.

Yeah. Totally chill, here.  

“Don’t worry.” Harvey’s voice comes from behind him, amused. He slips into the seat adjoining Mike’s and lays a warm hand on his knee. “The pilot promised that if we crash land on an island, he has a volleyball for each of us.”

Mike snorts and peels himself away from the riveting sights outside the window to look at the man he’s going to be engaged to any day now. It’s a much better view.

“Okay, but if we run into any polar bears, you’re on your own.”

Harvey pretends to consider that prospect, nodding seriously. “I can respect that.”

And just like that, Mike relaxes. He places his hand over Harvey’s and squeezes. “So, do I have to wear a blindfold all flight, or are you finally going to tell me where we’re headed?”

Harvey shrugs. “Where we’re headed is up to you.”

“Yeah? You book multiple vacations? I hope you gave Donna a raise for all that planning.”

“Hey, I didn’t have Donna…” Harvey trails off at the cut the bullshit look Mike gives him. “I came up with the itineraries,” he defends. “She may have made a few of the reservations. And I’m giving her and Rachel a week off at the end of the semester as a thank you, so you can stop looking at me like that.”

“Uh-huh. King of romance, here.” Mike leans in for a quick peck, to make it clear he’s not actually annoyed at Harvey being who Harvey is. He loves this man for a lot of reasons; willingness to do his own admin work is not one of them. “Okay, so what are my choices, Mystery Man?”

“Two options.” Harvey raises his free hand, ticking off. “One, we fly to Paris, and I propose at this amazing little bistro I know.”

Huh. Paris sounds nice, but there’s no way Harvey admits the exact place he plans to pop the question unless he’s hoping Mike chooses the other option.

“What’s behind door number two?”

Harvey grins, bright. “We fly this jet to Vegas and get married tonight.”

Mike laughs, shock and delight rolled together in one short sound. He should’ve seen this coming. If there’s anything Harvey’s proven in the last six months, it’s that he meant it when he said he intends to see this thing through to the end.

(And if there’s anything Mike’s learned, it’s that he really, really wants that, too.)

“I don’t know,” he hedges, attempting to keep a straight face and probably failing entirely, “that bistro sounds pretty good…”

“We have a full week off,” Harvey counters. He does a better job than Mike at putting on a serious negotiating face, but his eyes give him away: they never dance like this in the office. “Paris can be the honeymoon.”

“Ah, very practical. Did you come up with that on your own, or is it a Donna special?”

“Well, I was originally going to suggest we play poker for the whole week, but that didn’t seem romantic.” Harvey twists in his chair, holding Mike’s gaze dead on. “So, what’dya say, Sensei? Is this too soon?”

Mike tangles their fingers together.

“Oh, it’s definitely too soon. One hundred percent. Any reasonable person would tell you this is a terrible idea.” He smiles, hoping such a simple gesture can convey the depth of his joy. “Let’s do it anyway.”

Harvey smiles back, face lighting up to the tips of his immaculate hair and yeah, there’s no question: this terrible idea is going to work out perfectly.