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Harvey had been halfway through a glass of Macallan when his phone rang.
It wasn’t late enough to be unreasonable, but it was late enough that anyone calling him should know better. He stared at the screen for a beat, irritation already lining up behind his eyes, then answered without looking away from the city lights beyond his windows.
"What," he said.
There was noise on the other end. A hum, voices layered over each other, the scrape of something metal dragged along concrete. A pause. Then a familiar voice, thin and strained.
"Hey, Harvey. So. This is gonna sound worse than it is."
Harvey closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Mike," he said, flat. "Where are you."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"Technically? Sitting on a curb."
Harvey exhaled through his nose. "Try again."
"Outside O’Malley’s. Midtown. There’s a cop here who says I need someone to come get me or I’m spending the night in a cell, and I figured—"
"I’m on my way," Harvey said, already reaching for his keys.
He hung up before Mike could say anything else. It was easier that way. If he stayed on the line, he’d ask questions, and the answers would only make him angrier before he even got there.
The drive was short and unpleasant. Every red light felt personal. By the time he pulled up to the bar, jaw tight and shoulders wound, he was ready to tear into Mike for being an idiot, for picking a fight, for whatever stupid thing he’d done this time.
Then he saw him.
Mike was sitting on the curb with his back against the brick wall, knees bent, one arm wrapped loosely around his middle. His suit jacket was gone. His tie hung crooked and half undone, shirt rumpled and stained dark at the shoulder. His face was a mess. One eye already swelling shut, lip split, a blooming bruise darkening along his jaw.
Harvey’s anger stalled out, hitting something sharp and unexpected in his chest.
The cop said something. Harvey barely heard it. He signed whatever needed signing, said whatever smooth, practiced words got them dismissed. Then he crouched in front of Mike.
"Jesus Christ," he said quietly. "What the hell happened to you."
Mike tried to smile. It went badly. "You should see the other guy."
Harvey snorted despite himself. "Get up."
Mike pushed to his feet, wobbling. Harvey caught his elbow without thinking, steadying him. Mike leaned into the touch for half a second longer than necessary before straightening.
"I’m fine," Mike said.
Harvey looked at him. "You look like hell."
"Yeah," Mike said. "I’ve been told."
They walked to the car in silence. Mike moved stiffly, favoring his left side. Harvey opened the passenger door and waited until Mike was seated before closing it. He went around to the driver’s side, got in, and started the engine.
They didn’t speak until they were on the road.
Harvey kept his eyes forward. "Talk."
Mike sighed. The sound was heavy, tired. "I went to a bar."
"That’s not an explanation."
"I know. I know." Mike shifted in his seat, winced. "It was fine at first. I just wanted a drink. Maybe meet someone. Normal stuff."
Something unpleasant twisted low in Harvey’s gut. He ignored it.
"And then?" he said.
"And then Travis Tanner walked in."
Harvey’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. "You’re kidding."
"I wish I was." Mike blew out a breath. "He saw me. I saw him. We both pretended not to care for about thirty seconds, which is a personal best for him."
Harvey huffed. "What did he say."
Mike was quiet for a moment. "Stuff. About you. About me. About how I didn’t deserve to be where I am. About how I was just your charity case."
Harvey’s jaw clenched. "And you let that get to you."
"I did," Mike said, simply.
The car was quiet except for the hum of the engine.
Mike continued, voice lower now. "He said you only hired me because you wanted to fuck me."
Harvey’s foot hit the brake harder than necessary at the next red light. He turned to look at Mike, fury hot and immediate. "He said what."
Mike shrugged, the motion small and careful. "More or less. He implied I was your little project. That I’d do anything you asked to keep the job."
Harvey felt something snap. "That son of a bitch."
"I know," Mike said. "I tried to ignore it. I really did. But he wouldn’t shut up, and people were watching, and he kept smiling like he’d already won, and I just—"
"You threw a punch," Harvey said.
Mike nodded. "Yeah."
"Against Travis Tanner."
"Yeah."
"Who outweighs you by thirty pounds."
"Probably more," Mike said.
Harvey laughed once, sharp and humorless. "You are an idiot."
"I know."
They sat with that. The light turned green. Harvey drove.
The anger had nowhere to go, and that made it worse. He couldn’t get to Tanner. Couldn’t punch him. Couldn’t wipe that smug look off his face. So it landed where it always did when Harvey was helpless.
"You don’t get to do this," he said, voice tight. "You don’t get to throw your life away because some asshole knows how to push your buttons."
"I wasn’t throwing my life away."
"You could have been arrested."
"I wasn’t."
"You could have been seriously hurt."
Mike gestured to his face. "Little late for that."
Harvey glanced at him, then back to the road. "You could have lost your job."
Mike went still. "You wouldn’t fire me."
Harvey swallowed. "Don’t test that."
Mike’s mouth tightened. "You’re not actually mad at me."
Harvey scoffed. "I’m furious at you."
"No," Mike said. "You’re furious at him. You’re just aiming it at me because I’m here."
Harvey didn’t answer. He pulled into his building’s garage and parked. The engine cut, leaving them in the dim quiet.
"Come on," Harvey said. "You’re staying with me tonight."
"I’m fine to go home."
"You’re not going anywhere alone," Harvey said. "Get out."
Mike hesitated, then did as he was told. Harvey walked him to the elevator, pressed the button. The ride up was silent, the tension thick enough to lean on.
Inside the apartment, Harvey kicked off his shoes and shrugged out of his jacket. "Sit," he said, pointing to the couch.
Mike obeyed, lowering himself gingerly. Harvey disappeared into the bathroom, came back with a first aid kit and a glass of water.
"Drink," he said.
Mike took it. "You’re really good at bossing people around."
Harvey snorted. "You’re really bad at listening."
He knelt in front of Mike, close enough to see the way his hands trembled, the way he flinched when Harvey reached for his face.
"Easy," Harvey said, quieter now. "I’m not going to hurt you."
"I know," Mike said.
Harvey took a slow breath and let it out through his nose, forcing his hands to steady. He dipped a cotton pad into the antiseptic and lifted it toward Mike’s cheek, moving carefully, deliberately, as if sudden motion might shatter something fragile between them. He had been close to Mike before. Too close, Donna would say, with that knowing look. Close in the way of long nights and shared secrets and arguments that burned hot and fast. But this was different.
Mike’s face was tilted slightly up toward him, trusting in a way that made Harvey’s chest tighten. He could see every detail now. The faint crease between Mike’s brows that never quite went away, even when he smiled. The dark lashes casting shadows against skin that looked impossibly soft despite the bruises blooming across it. And his eyes. Harvey had always known Mike’s eyes were blue, but he had never really noticed how blue. Not just one shade, but several, layered and shifting, darker at the edges, lighter toward the center. They were fixed on Harvey now, unguarded.
Harvey dabbed gently at the split skin along Mike’s cheekbone. Mike hissed again, softer this time, but didn’t pull away.
"Sorry," Harvey murmured, though his touch didn’t falter.
"It’s fine," Mike said. "I’ve had worse."
"That’s not comforting."
Mike’s mouth twitched, then stilled as Harvey’s fingers brushed closer to his lips. The cut there was shallow but angry, and Harvey found himself slowing even more, as if time itself had thickened around them. His thumb hovered for half a second before making contact, and when it did, Mike’s breath stuttered, a sharp intake that Harvey felt more than heard.
The air shifted. Harvey was acutely aware of his own breathing now, of the heat of Mike’s skin beneath his fingertips, of the way his name sat unspoken between them. He dragged his thumb lightly across the edge of Mike’s lower lip, just enough to smooth the antiseptic over it, just enough to feel the shape of it. Mike didn’t move, didn’t look away, but his eyes darkened, something flickering there that made Harvey’s pulse kick.
Harvey swallowed and pulled his hand back, licking his own lips without thinking. The motion felt loud in the quiet room.
"I need to check the rest of you," he said, voice rougher than he intended. "Your ribs. Your torso. Just to make sure there’s nothing serious. If you’re… okay with that."
Mike blinked once, then nodded. "Yeah. Okay."
Harvey shifted his weight, standing slowly, giving Mike space even as he stayed close. He hesitated only a moment before reaching for the first button on Mike’s shirt. His fingers brushed the fabric, then the warm skin beneath as he worked it free. He kept his eyes on the task, on the bruises already visible through the open collar, on the faint yellowing marks that told a longer story than tonight alone.
"Tell me if anything hurts," Harvey said.
"Everything hurts," Mike said. "But I’ll narrow it down."
Harvey huffed a breath that might have been a laugh. He continued unbuttoning the shirt, one button at a time, his knuckles grazing Mike’s chest with each movement. The shirt fell open, revealing a scattering of dark bruises across Mike’s ribs, some fresh, some older. Harvey’s jaw tightened.
"Son of a bitch," he muttered, and this time he wasn’t talking about Mike.
He dipped his fingers into the ointment and brought them back to Mike’s side, hesitating just long enough to give him the chance to pull away. Mike didn’t. Harvey pressed his fingers gently into the skin, rubbing in small, careful circles. The ointment was cool, and Mike shivered, a barely perceptible movement that Harvey felt under his hands.
He focused on the bruises, on the way the skin warmed under his touch, on the steady rhythm of his breathing. This was practical. This was necessary. This was just first aid.
Except it wasn’t. Not anymore.
His fingers lingered. The circles slowed, widened, drifting just a little from where they needed to be. He became acutely aware of the slide of skin under skin, of the way Mike leaned into the touch without realizing it, his shoulders relaxing, his head tilting slightly forward. Harvey’s own breath had gone shallow, his thoughts scattering in directions he refused to follow.
"Mike," he said quietly. "You need to tell me to stop."
Mike’s eyes met his again. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Mike shook his head, slow and deliberate.
"No," he said.
The word landed heavy between them. Harvey searched Mike’s face, looking for doubt, for hesitation, for anything that would give him an out. He found none. Instead, Mike leaned in, closing the already narrow distance between them, his forehead brushing Harvey’s.
Harvey met him halfway.
The kiss was soft, almost tentative, as if they were both bracing for impact. Harvey felt it everywhere at once, a spark that caught and spread, lighting something he’d kept carefully banked for far too long. Mike’s lips were warm despite the cut, fitting against his with surprising ease. Harvey lifted one hand to Mike’s jaw, his thumb resting lightly against his cheek, anchoring them both.
It didn’t last long. Harvey broke away first, pulling back just enough to breathe, to think. His heart was pounding, loud in his ears.
"We shouldn’t," he said, though his hand didn’t immediately fall away.
Mike nodded, swallowing. "Yeah. I know."
They stayed like that for a moment longer, foreheads still close, the weight of what almost happened pressing in on them from all sides. Then Harvey stepped back, creating space whether either of them wanted it or not.
"I’m going to get you something to change into," he said, turning away before Mike could see his face. "And a towel. You should shower. Get cleaned up."
"Bossy," Mike said faintly.
Harvey didn’t respond. He disappeared into the bedroom and returned a minute later with a pair of sweats, a soft t-shirt, and a fresh towel draped over his arm. He handed them to Mike and nodded toward the bathroom attached to the bedroom.
"Shower’s through there," he said. "Take your time."
Mike took the clothes, their fingers brushing briefly. "You know," he said, managing a crooked smile, "for a terrifying corporate shark, you’re a pretty good human."
Harvey snorted despite himself. "Don’t spread that around. Ruins my reputation."
"Thanks," Mike said, more quietly.
Harvey met his eyes. "Yeah."
Mike turned and walked toward the bathroom, his movements still careful but steadier now. Harvey watched him go, watched the way his shoulders squared as he reached the doorway, watched until the door closed behind him with a soft click.
The sound of the shower starting filled the apartment a moment later, a steady rush of water that did nothing to quiet the noise in Harvey’s head. He stood there for longer than he meant to, staring at the closed door, replaying the feel of Mike’s skin under his hands, the way his breath had caught, the way he had leaned in without hesitation.
Eventually, the stillness began to feel accusatory.
Harvey scrubbed a hand through his hair and turned away, heading back to the living room with more purpose than he felt. He gathered the first aid kit from the coffee table, snapping it shut a little harder than necessary, then carried it into the kitchen. He threw out the used cotton pads, tossed the wrappers, wiped down the counter like it had personally wronged him. It was busywork, and he knew it, but it gave his hands something to do that wasn’t replaying the memory of Mike’s mouth against his.
He leaned against the counter when he was done, staring at nothing, and tried to get a grip.
This was a bad idea. Not just unprofessional, but messy in a way Harvey usually avoided with surgical precision. He didn’t sleep with associates. He didn’t blur lines he couldn’t redraw. He definitely didn’t do whatever this was, whatever it had almost been, with someone who looked at him like that. Like Harvey was solid ground. Like he was safe.
The water shut off.
Harvey straightened immediately, irritation flaring at himself for noticing. He went back to the living room, pacing once, then stopping as the bathroom door opened.
Mike stepped out a minute later, towel-dried hair damp and curling slightly at the ends, skin still pink from the heat. He was wearing Harvey’s clothes, and the sight hit Harvey low and hard. The t-shirt hung a little loose on Mike’s frame, the collar dipping lower than it ever did on Harvey. The sweats sat low on his hips, bunching at the ankles, clearly a size too big. He looked smaller somehow. Younger. And impossibly right.
Harvey’s brain stalled.
"Well," Mike said, breaking the silence. "If you ever wondered what you’d look like with better hair, here you go."
Harvey snorted before he could stop himself, relief threading through the reaction. "Don’t get used to it."
Mike smiled, softer than before. "Thanks," he said. "For… all of this."
Harvey nodded, suddenly very aware of the space between them again. "You should take the bedroom," he said. "Get some rest."
Mike hesitated. "You don’t have to—"
"I want to," Harvey cut in. "Just go."
Mike searched his face for a moment, then nodded. "Okay."
He headed down the hall, pausing at the bedroom door to glance back. "Seriously," he said. "Thank you."
"Go to sleep," Harvey said, but there was no heat in it.
The door closed, and Harvey let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
He made himself comfortable on the couch in the most literal sense possible, stretching out, throwing an arm over his eyes. The city hummed outside, distant and constant. His mind, on the other hand, refused to shut up.
He thought about the weight of Mike leaning into him earlier. About the way his name had sounded in Mike’s voice. About how easily everything had shifted, like this had been waiting for the right moment to tip over.
An hour passed. Maybe more. Harvey checked his watch, then ignored it. Sleep didn’t come. Instead, the quiet pressed in, heavy and full of things unsaid.
Eventually, he sat up.
This was stupid, he told himself as he stood. This was a bad idea. This was exactly how he got himself into trouble he didn’t need.
He walked down the hall anyway.
Harvey opened the bedroom door quietly, peering in like he expected to get caught. The room was dim, lit only by the city glow through the windows. Mike was lying on his side, facing the door, eyes open.
"Couldn’t sleep either?" Mike asked softly.
Harvey exhaled. "Apparently not."
Mike lifted the covers with a nod of his head. "Get into the damn bed."
Harvey snorted. "You don’t get to order me around in my own apartment."
"And yet," Mike said. "Here we are."
Harvey hesitated only a second before toeing off his shoes and slipping under the covers, careful to keep a respectful distance. The mattress dipped slightly with his weight. The sheets were cool where he hadn’t been lying, warm where Mike had.
There was a moment of awkward silence, thick and oddly intimate.
Mike shifted, inhaled, then said, "Your bed smells like you."
Harvey huffed a laugh. "Shocking."
"I mean," Mike continued, clearly committing now, "I know it’s your bed. But still. It’s weird."
"It’s probably the cologne," Harvey said. "And sweat. I should’ve changed the sheets."
Mike nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah. Probably."
Another beat passed.
"Also," Mike added, "can’t believe I’m lying in the same sheets my boss jerks off in."
Harvey let out a deep, long sigh and covered his face with his hand. "Why," he said into his palm, "would you even think about that? Jesus Christ, what is wrong with you?"
Mike grinned in the dark. "Occupational hazard."
"You’re impossible."
"You love it."
Harvey dropped his hand and turned onto his side, facing Mike. Their faces were close again, closer than they had been since earlier. "I’m about to do something stupid," he said.
Mike didn’t look surprised. "Okay."
Harvey leaned in slowly this time, giving Mike every chance to pull away. Mike didn’t. He closed the distance instead, their lips meeting in a kiss that was deeper, slower, more deliberate. Harvey’s hand came up to cradle Mike’s cheek, thumb brushing along his jaw. He ran his tongue gently over Mike’s lips, asking without words.
Mike answered immediately, opening to him, deepening the kiss with a quiet sound that Harvey felt in his bones. The world narrowed to the feel of Mike’s mouth, the warmth of him under the covers, the steady rhythm of their breathing falling into sync. Harvey kissed him like he’d been holding back for too long, careful but hungry, pouring everything unsaid into the press of his lips.
He rolled over Mike without breaking the kiss, the movement smooth and instinctive, his weight braced on one arm as the other slid down Mike’s side. Mike shifted beneath him with a soft sound, knees parting without conscious thought, the heat between them unmistakable now. Harvey’s hand traced the line of Mike’s hip, thumb hooking lightly at the waistband of the sweats, slipping just inside.
Mike caught his wrist.
It wasn’t abrupt or panicked. Just firm enough to stop him.
Harvey froze, heart thudding hard against his ribs. He broke the kiss, hovering there, their foreheads almost touching, breath mingling. "Hey," he murmured, already pulling his hand back. "I’m sorry. I thought—"
"I want you," Mike said quietly.
That stopped Harvey more effectively than the grip on his wrist ever could have.
Mike swallowed, eyes steady despite the flush creeping up his neck. "I really do. That’s kind of the problem."
Harvey shifted his weight back slightly, giving Mike space without fully pulling away.
Mike let go of his wrist but didn’t move his hand far, fingers resting lightly against Harvey’s forearm like he still needed the contact. "I don’t want this to be a one time thing," he said. "I don’t want to wake up tomorrow and pretend it didn’t happen or act like it was just… stress relief."
Harvey’s chest tightened.
Mike took a breath, words coming faster now, like he was afraid if he stopped they’d vanish. "Because I know myself. And I know you. And if we keep going, no matter how much I want to—" he hesitated, then added with a faint, self-aware huff, "which is a lot, by the way, very evident situation happening here—"
Harvey snorted softly despite himself.
"—it’s going to get filed away as a mistake," Mike finished. "A lapse in judgment. Something we don’t talk about. And I want more than that. I can’t do this if that’s all it’s ever going to be."
The honesty of it hit Harvey square in the chest. He searched Mike’s face, saw the vulnerability there, the careful hope threaded through the fear. He nodded slowly, deliberately, and withdrew his hand completely, resting it on the mattress instead.
"Okay," he said. "Then we don’t do that."
Mike blinked. "That was… easier than I expected."
Harvey shifted down, settling beside him instead of above him, and reached for Mike’s hand, lacing their fingers together. "I don’t want one night regret either."
Mike snorted, tension easing a fraction. "Hold on. Are you insinuating that sex with me would be regretful?"
Harvey glanced at him sidelong. "I’m saying the circumstances would be."
"Uh huh," Mike said. "Because for the record, I’m very good at sex."
Harvey let out a quiet laugh, the sound warm and real. "High self-praise."
"I’m just stating facts."
"Sure you are."
Mike squeezed his hand. "Glad to see you didn’t knock all the confidence out of me earlier."
Harvey’s smile softened. "I’m glad you didn’t lose it."
There was a pause then, not awkward so much as full. Harvey could feel the thrum of everything unspoken between them, the want still there, steady and insistent, but tempered now by something gentler. He shifted onto his side, still facing Mike, their hands linked between them.
"This doesn’t make things simple," Harvey said.
Mike huffed. "You say that like things are ever simple with you."
"Fair."
They lay there, the city glow painting faint shadows across the ceiling, the distant sound of traffic filtering in through the windows. Harvey was acutely aware of every point where they touched, the brush of Mike’s knee against his thigh, the warmth of his hand, the way his breathing slowed as the adrenaline ebbed.
"You know," Mike said after a moment, "most people don’t respond to ‘we should stop’ with immediate respect and hand holding."
Harvey raised an eyebrow. "Most people aren’t me."
Mike smiled, small but sincere. "Yeah. That’s kind of the point."
The words settled between them, heavier than they sounded.
"I’m not going to mess this up," Harvey said quietly.
Mike studied him. "You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself."
"Maybe," Harvey admitted. "But I mean it."
Mike nodded. "Okay."
Another beat passed. Harvey shifted, carefully adjusting so they were both more comfortable, their bodies aligning in a way that felt natural without being charged. He draped an arm around Mike’s shoulders, tentative at first, then more certain when Mike relaxed into the touch.
"This okay?" Harvey asked.
"Yeah," Mike said. "It’s… nice."
Harvey exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing for the first time that night. He stared at the wall, thoughts drifting, then circling back. "You scared me tonight."
"I know," Mike said softly. "I’m sorry."
"I don’t need you picking fights with idiots to defend my honor."
Mike smirked faintly. "You’re welcome."
Harvey squeezed him gently. "Next time, use your words."
"I did," Mike said. "They were just… punch-shaped."
Harvey laughed, the sound low. "You’re unbelievable."
"You love it."
Harvey didn’t argue this time.
They fell quiet again, the kind of silence that felt earned.
"You still mad?" Mike asked, drowsiness creeping into his voice.
"At Tanner?" Harvey said. "Always."
"At me?"
Harvey considered it. "I was," he said honestly. "I’m not anymore."
Mike hummed, satisfied, and shifted closer, his head fitting more snugly under Harvey’s chin. Harvey adjusted automatically, his arm tightening around him, protective without thinking about it.
The want didn’t disappear. It lingered, a low burn beneath the surface, but it no longer felt urgent. There would be time.
Mike’s fingers traced idle patterns against the back of Harvey’s hand, a quiet, grounding touch. "You know," he murmured, "this is probably still a bad idea."
Harvey smiled into his hair. "Definitely."
Mike yawned. "Worth it though."
Harvey closed his eyes, letting the weight of the day finally settle. "Yeah," he said softly. "It is."