Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Go get 'em, Michael," Grammy kissed Mike's forehead goodbye. "I love you."

"Love you too, Grammy. See you later."

Mike left the apartment building, hopped on his bike and rode toward Lincoln Preparatory Academy for his first day of freshman year.

His backpack bounced against his spine with each pump of the pedals, stuffed with fresh notebooks and the kind of optimism that only comes on the first day of high school.

He had never doubted his ability to succeed.

Academically, he was more than proficient—he had a photographic memory that made studying feel almost redundant. But he'd learned early on that being smart wasn't enough; you had to be likeable too.

Fortunately, he'd managed to secure a spot on the wrestling team, which gave him just enough athletic credibility to avoid the "nerd" label that could make high school hell.

He didn't get into anyone's business, never bragged about the fact that he barely had to crack open a textbook, and most importantly, he had friends.

Trevor and Jenny had been constants since elementary school. They'd been through everything together—scraped knees, terrible haircuts, that phase where Trevor thought he could skateboard.

All he had to do was keep being an excellent student and avoid unnecessary trouble. Simple enough.

~

"Harvey, please," Lily, Harvey's mom, pleaded from the doorway of his bedroom.

She reached for his shoulder, but he shrugged her off before she could make contact, the movement sharp and instinctive.

He grabbed his backpack without looking at her, his jaw tight. "No, Mom, you don't get to do this to me. I know what I saw. How could you—"

"I can explain, Harvey, I swear—"

"Save it. I'm already late for school."

He pushed past her and took the stairs two at a time, his vision blurring at the edges with anger. By the time he reached the street, the school bus was already pulling away from the corner, its brake lights mocking him in the distance.

Perfect. Just perfect.

His parking pass had expired over the summer—he'd completely forgotten to renew it. First day back and he couldn't even drive to school.

Harvey had to walk a whole mile to the nearest metro station, his shirt sticking to his back in the humidity.

He didn't make it in time for his first class—AP Government with Professor Hardman, who was notoriously ruthless about punctuality. One could say he was having a terrible first day of junior year.

At least he'd spent all summer on tour with his dad, following him from jazz club to jazz club across the northeast. He had good stories to tell Donna, his best friend, who would undoubtedly want every detail.

What he was going to do about the mess his mom had created—the image of her with him burned into Harvey's brain—that he didn't have an answer for yet.

Harvey avoided thinking about it and waited until his next class. He decided to kill some time checking in with Coach Martinez about baseball tryouts, so he headed toward the athletics wing, his sneakers squeaking against the polished linoleum.

He turned the corner near the gym and—

Thud.

"Sorry—"

"Shit, I'm sorry—"

Harvey looked up and found himself face-to-face with a kid who couldn't be older than fifteen. Pale skin, hair that stuck up a little in the back like he'd just rolled out of bed, and the most striking blue eyes Harvey had ever seen on another human being. He'd heard about this kid—some kind of genius who always took first place in Spelling Bees and could recite every textbook by heart after the first week of school.

"Don't worry about it," Harvey said, adjusting his backpack. "I've had a rough morning and wasn't looking where I was going."

"Sorry to hear that." The kid shifted his weight, glancing past Harvey like he was looking for an escape route. "So, uh, I was just heading out—"

"Wait, is Coach Martinez in his office?"

"The baseball coach?" The kid blinked. "I couldn't really tell you. I was just checking the board for wrestling practice schedules."

"Oh. Okay, thanks anyway." Harvey studied him for a second longer. "Are you skipping class?"

"Not really. I finished an assignment early and the teacher let me go."

"Right." Harvey smirked. "Forgot you were some kind of prodigy."

The kid's eyebrows shot up. "Wait, do people actually say that about me?"

"People talk, yeah. Don't know how much of it is true, but so far the math is mathing."

The kid let out a surprised laugh, and Harvey found himself grinning despite the weight of the morning.

Behind them, a door creaked open. Coach Martinez stepped out of his office, clipboard in hand, whistle around his neck.

The kid glanced over his shoulder. "Looks like he's there after all." He took a step back, giving Harvey space. "I'll leave you to it."

"Wait—what was your name again?" Harvey knew it was something like… Matt? Mark?

"Mike. Ross."

Harvey extended his hand. "Harvey Specter."

Mike shook it confidently. "Cool. See you around, Harvey."

Harvey watched him walk away, hands shoved in his pockets, moving through the hallway with an ease that didn't quite match the awkwardness from a minute ago.

Hm. Interesting kid.

Chapter Text

If Mike squinted hard enough, he could say Harvey was on his list of friends.

They didn't interact much—different grades, different sports schedules—but once or twice a week they'd cross paths in the hallway and wave, or catch each other's eye in the cafeteria and nod in acknowledgment. 

Okay, maybe calling Harvey a friend was optimistic. But it wasn't like Trevor and Jenny were setting the bar particularly high these days. Ever since they'd started dating over the summer, they were constantly sneaking off to make out behind the bleachers or in empty classrooms, leaving Mike to fend for himself like the world's most awkward third wheel.

It was weird watching them together. Mike had known Jenny since second grade—back when she wore her hair in two braids and always shared her fruit snacks at lunch. He'd had a crush on her in fourth grade, the innocent kind where you got nervous when she smiled at you and tried to sit next to her during assemblies. She'd always been kind to him, patient when he'd ramble about whatever book he was reading or some random fact he'd learned.

When she and Trevor started dating last summer, Mike had felt a strange mix of relief and loss. Relief because he'd long since gotten over that childhood crush, and loss because it marked the end of something—the easy trio they'd been since elementary school. Now when he looked at them, he saw Trevor's hand on her waist, her laugh at his jokes, and Mike couldn't help feeling like he was watching through a window at something he used to be part of.

Mike didn't realize how much their dynamic had shifted until lunch on Wednesday—the third day in a row he'd found himself sitting alone at their usual table, picking at his sandwich while Trevor and Jenny were God knows where doing God knows what.

"I'm just going to assume these seats aren't taken."

Mike looked up to find Harvey sliding into the chair across from him, setting down his tray with practiced ease. A girl with striking red hair followed, sitting next to Harvey with a knowing smile.

"They're not," Mike said.

"Mike, this is Donna, my best friend," Harvey said, then turned to her. "Donna, this is Mike, the guy I told you about."

"The nerd on the wrestling team?" Donna asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Donna!"

"I'm kidding," she said, grinning. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mike."

"Likewise."

Harvey opened his water bottle. "So what've you been up to? What happened to those two specimens you usually hang around with—the ones who act like they're personally responsible for repopulating the Earth?"

Mike laughed. "Didn't know you paid that much attention."

"Didn't know you cared."

"Touché,” Mike said. “They're my friends. They're just, you know, young and in love. Like that Molly Ringwald movie—Sixteen Candles."

"Except they actually remember you exist," Harvey said.

Donna nodded. "And hopefully with less racism."

Mike grinned. "Fair points, both of you."

Harvey leaned back in his chair, studying Mike for a moment. "Well, we'll have to keep you company more often, Ross. Can't have you eating lunch alone every day—I'm sure that's not what your folks had in mind when they sent you off to high school." He took a sip of his water.

Mike felt the familiar tightness in his chest. "Oh. Uh, both my parents actually passed away. Almost four years ago now."

Harvey choked mid-swallow, water going down the wrong pipe. He coughed hard, eyes watering, trying to catch his breath. "I'm so sorry—I didn't—" Another cough. "Shit, Mike, I'm really sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Mike said quickly, feeling heat creep up his neck. "I didn't mean to make you feel bad. You didn't know."

Donna's expression softened. "I'm really sorry, Mike."

"Thank you. I guess it does get easier with time." Mike offered a small smile. "Or at least, you learn how to talk about it without making people choke."

Harvey let out a rough laugh, still recovering. "Great. Now I'm the asshole."

"You're not an asshole," Mike said. "Just a guy who needs to work on his water-drinking skills."

The awkward tension broke just slightly. Donna smiled, and Harvey shook his head, looking somewhere between mortified and amused.

The conversation moved on and Mike found himself genuinely grateful for the company. Even if they were still learning the basics about each other, it felt like a beginning.

Chapter Text

The gymnasium smelled like sweat and floor cleaner, the kind of combination that should've been disgusting but somehow just smelled like effort. Mike stood at the edge of the circular mat, bouncing on his toes, trying to shake out the nerves before his match.

It was the first home tournament of the season, mid-November, and the bleachers were more packed than usual. Parents, friends, a few students who had nothing better to do on a Saturday afternoon. Mike tried not to look at the crowd—it only made him more anxious—but his eyes caught on a familiar figure sitting in the third row.

Harvey.

Mike blinked, then looked again to make sure. Yep, definitely Harvey, sitting there in jeans and a Lincoln Prep hoodie, watching the current match with what looked like genuine interest. Donna was next to him, of course, the two of them talking about something between rounds.

Mike had explicitly invited Trevor and Jenny earlier that week. They'd apologized, said they couldn't make it—something about a family reunion at Jenny's place. Mike had stopped listening after "We can't make it," the disappointment settling heavy in his stomach even though he'd tried to tell himself it didn't matter.

But Harvey and Donna? He hadn't even mentioned the tournament to them. Wrestling had barely come up beyond that first conversation when they'd bumped into each other outside the gym. The fact that Harvey had shown up—that he'd cared enough to look up the schedule and actually come, without being asked—made something warm settle in Mike's chest.

"Ross! You're up next," Coach Davis called from the bench.

Mike nodded, rolling his shoulders back. His opponent was a kid from Jefferson High, stocky and confident, the kind who'd probably been wrestling since elementary school. Mike had only started last year, partially because Grammy thought he needed more structure in his life, and partially because he'd figured out early that being smart wasn't enough. 

The whistle blew.

Mike moved on instinct more than strategy, the way Coach had drilled into them during practice. Stay low, watch the hips, don't give up your back. His opponent was stronger, but Mike was faster, and he managed to slip out of a hold that would've pinned him in the first period.

By the second period, Mike's lungs were burning and his muscles were screaming, but he'd managed to score a takedown. The crowd was louder now, a dull roar that he couldn't quite process over the sound of his own breathing.

He didn't win—the Jefferson kid got him with a reversal in the third period—but he didn't get pinned either. When the ref raised his opponent's hand, Mike shook it, nodded at Coach Davis, and walked off the mat feeling like he'd at least proven he belonged there.

Mike looked up to find Harvey and Donna making their way down from the bleachers. "Not bad, Ross!" Harvey said, grinning, hands shoved in his pockets, looking completely at ease in a way that Mike envied.

"You came," Mike said, still catching his breath.

"Of course we came," Donna said. "Harvey mentioned you had a match and I wasn't about to miss the chance to see you throw someone around."

"I didn't exactly throw anyone around."

"You held your own," Harvey said. "That kid was built like a tank. You almost had him in the second period."

Mike grabbed his water bottle from the bench, taking a long drink. "Almost doesn't count."

"Still counts for something." Harvey glanced at the mat where the next match was starting. "How long have you been doing this?"

"Since last year. I'm not great at it, but it's... I don't know. It helps."

"Helps with what?" Harvey asked, curious.

Mike shrugged, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "Proving I'm not just the smart kid, I guess. People respect you more if you're on a team."

Harvey studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Dude, you got nothing to prove."

"Easy for you to say. You're a junior on the baseball team. People already respect you."

"People respect me because I don't let them push me around. Not because I can hit a curveball." Harvey paused. "You're on the wrestling team because you want to be, not because you have to prove something to idiots who wouldn't respect you anyway."

Mike looked down at his shoes, processing that. It was the kind of thing that sounded simple when Harvey said it, but felt harder to believe when you were the one living it.

"Maybe," Mike said finally.

"Definitely." Donna touched his shoulder. "For what it's worth, I think you're pretty cool. Smart, athletic, good taste in movies—what more could anyone want?"

Mike smiled despite himself. "Thanks, Donna."

"Come on," Harvey said. "Want a ride home?"

"You don't have to—"

"I know. I'm offering anyway."

They walked out to the parking lot together, the afternoon sun low in the sky, the air crisp with the promise of winter. Harvey's car was a beat-up Honda that had seen better days, but it was clean inside, the kind of car that belonged to someone who actually took care of their things.

Mike climbed into the back seat while Donna took shotgun, and as Harvey pulled out of the parking lot, Mike found himself relaxing.

He'd lost today, but somehow it didn't feel like losing. Not with Harvey and Donna there, not with the knowledge that people showed up for him even when he didn't ask them to.

Maybe Harvey was right. Maybe he didn't have to prove anything.

Maybe being himself was enough.

Chapter Text

Harvey had a difficult first semester of junior year. The guilt of keeping his mom's secret—the image of her with another man still fresh in his mind—drained him of whatever energy he needed to focus on SATs and college applications. Christmas break only made it worse, a constant reminder of what a terrible son he was to his dad for covering for her.

He'd tried to compensate for his underperforming grades, approaching professors one by one to negotiate extra assignments. Even Hardman, who was an ass on the best of days, had agreed to let him make up failed tests and missed work. Harvey had explained that things at home weren't great, carefully avoiding any details they could weaponize in a parent-teacher conference.

At least they'd all given him a second chance to salvage his GPA. That didn't mean he felt any less sorry for himself on Friday evening when, instead of hanging out with friends, he was stuck in the library writing essays about topics he couldn't bring himself to care about.

He finished his last assignment as the sun was setting outside the windows. Finally. He packed up his things and headed toward the exit, cutting through the main locker hall to save time.

That's when he saw them—two guys cornering someone about his height, but skinnier, against the lockers.

Was that… fuck.

"Hey!" Harvey shouted, his voice echoing off the metal doors. He closed the distance in seconds and shoved Douchebag 1 hard in the chest, sending him stumbling backward. "What's wrong with you?"

Mike looked startled but unharmed—no visible injuries, at least.

"With us?" Douchebag 2 said, sneering. "What's wrong with him. Dude said he'd get us the answers to the Chem test and didn't deliver."

Mike straightened. "Dude didn't say shit, alright? It's not my problem Trevor told you I could do that. I can't, and even if I could, why the hell would I risk getting expelled for you two?"

Douchebag 1 stepped toward Mike again, but Harvey moved between them, using his full body to block the path.

"Listen, you idiots. I don't give a fuck about any of you, and I'm reporting this assault to the Principal."

"And get Trevor in trouble?" Douchebag 2 said, almost mocking.

"As far as I'm concerned, he can go to hell," Harvey said flatly.

Douchebag 1 grabbed his friend's backpack. "Dude, leave it. It's not worth it."

They backed off, shuffling down the hallway with the defeated energy of bullies who knew they'd lost.

Mike let out a breath and looked anywhere but at Harvey. "You didn't have to do that."

"You're welcome," Harvey said dryly. "But seriously—are you alright?"

"Yeah." Mike nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. "Only my ego was hurt. And my back. I'll probably feel that later."

"Your back?"

Mike started walking toward the exit, and Harvey fell into step beside him. "They pushed me into the locker. I think I hit the lock with my shoulder blade."

"Assholes."

"So, uh—what were you doing at school so late?"

"Extra assignments. English Lit. I can't focus at home."

"Oh."

"It's fine." Harvey paused. "What about you? Besides getting your ass kicked, I mean." Mike shot him a look. "Too soon?"

"Too soon." Mike shoved his hands in his pockets. "I was just working on some extra credit."

"You're a freshman, Mike. Live a little."

"Yeah, I guess." Mike hesitated, then seemed to make a decision. "Listen, my grandmother's making lasagna tonight. I think it's only fair to invite you over after what you just did. How does that sound?"

Harvey smiled. "Honestly? Like one hell of a plan."

~

The atmosphere at Mike's place was humbling in a way Harvey hadn't expected. It was small, modest, a little worn around the edges—but warm. The kind of warm that came from actual care and family intimacy, not Pinterest boards tagged 'cozy home.'

Edith, Mike's grandmother, was the most charming woman Harvey had ever met, and he would fight anyone who disagreed.

"Mike's told me about you," she said as she set a basket of garlic bread on the table.

"Oh, he has?"

"Grammy," Mike muttered, embarrassed.

"He has. And honestly, I already like you better than that Trevor boy. He's only ever caused Mike trouble since they were little."

Harvey glanced at Mike, thinking about what had brought them here tonight.

"How come?" Harvey asked.

"He's only ever taken advantage of Mike's talents. Since they were in elementary school." Edith shook her head. "He envies Mike, and Mike won't accept it."

Mike stared down at his plate, clearly not in a position to argue. He decided to let the conversation die of natural causes, eventually giving way to lighter topics—school, baseball, Grammy's legendary lasagna recipe.

After dinner, Harvey helped clear the table despite Edith's protests.

"I should get going," he said finally, glancing at the clock. "They're probably wondering where I am."

"Sure. And hey—thanks for today." Mike followed him to the door. "I'm kind of embarrassed, honestly. I don't want you to feel like you have to protect me or anything."

"Mike, relax. It was nothing. I'd do it for any of my friends." Harvey adjusted his backpack. "I have a younger brother, and I know it's important to have someone watching your back."

"Oh, I didn't know you had a brother."

"He goes to a different school. Music scholarship."

"Nice."

"Next time, movies at my place," Harvey said. "I'm sure there are plenty of films we'll both like."

"Count me in."

Harvey opened the door, then turned back. "And by the way—I'm serious about reporting those guys."

"I know. It's fine. I don't care."

"Thought you were on the wrestling team?"

Mike rolled his eyes. "Goodbye, Harvey."

Harvey grinned and headed to the elevator, feeling lighter than he had in months.

Chapter Text

Although Mike and Harvey seemed to live in different worlds, those worlds slowly started merging, meeting somewhere in the middle.

They created their own ecosystem with bits of each. Mike started showing up to Harvey's baseball games when wrestling practice ended early, learning the difference between a slider and a curveball. Harvey discovered that studying at Mike's kitchen table, with Grammy bringing them snacks and the TV murmuring in the background, was infinitely better than the tense silence of his own house.

Movie nights became a recurring tradition, almost always taking place at Harvey's—bigger TV, comfortable couch, an apparently endless supply of popcorn. Sometimes, however, they liked to switch things up and take over Mike’s bedroom for the marathon.

They always invited Donna, though she showed up maybe one out of every three times—usually texting some excuse about family dinner or a date that Harvey would mercilessly tease her about later.

February meant midterms and the kind of cold that made you question why anyone lived in New York, which is why Harvey showed up at Mike's door in a ridiculously puffy jacket that made him look like a navy blue marshmallow.

He arrived at Mike's apartment around seven. Grammy let him in with her usual warm smile.

"Harvey! Mike's in his room setting up. You know the way."

"Thanks, Edith."

Harvey walked down the narrow hallway to Mike's room, which was small but lived-in—posters on the walls, books stacked on every available surface, a laptop open on the desk. Mike was connecting his laptop to a small TV on his dresser.

"Hey," Mike said, glancing over his shoulder. "Donna bailed again?"

"Yep. Said she had too much homework but that she'll definitely join us next time." Harvey noticed two bowls of popcorn already set out on the bed, one on each side. "Wow, separate bowls now? What happened to sharing?"

"You always accused me of eating it too fast," Mike said, grinning. "Figured I'd save us both the argument."

"Fair enough." Harvey unzipped his massive jacket and tossed it on Mike's desk chair. "So what've you been reading lately?"

Harvey's eyes landed on Mike's nightstand, where a book sat face-up: Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe. He recognized the title vaguely—something about two boys falling in love. He picked it up without thinking, reading the back cover, noticing next to it was a similar topic book—Red, White and Royal Blue. "Oh, didn't know the movie was based on a book."

Mike turned around and froze.

"Did you watch the movie?" Mike asked, surprised.

"Hell no."

Mike's stomach dropped. Was Harvey homophobic? 

"Yeah, whatever, I'm reading it for English class," Mike improvised.

"You're reading this for freshman English?"

"Extra credit," Mike said, reaching for the book. "You know me. Always doing extra work."

Harvey let go of the book in his hand, studying Mike's face.

"Hey, listen, I wouldn't judge you if you're reading it for fun."

"I know." Mike said. The laptop screen was already displaying on the TV. "So, uh, what are we watching?"

"Your pick tonight," Harvey said, settling onto Mike's bed. "But if you say The Breakfast Club again, I'm leaving."

Mike laughed, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "How about The Shawshank Redemption?"

"Now you're talking."

They started the movie, each with their own bowl of popcorn. About halfway through, Mike got up to refill their bowls from the bag Grammy had left on his desk, and they settled back in to watch Andy Dufresne's escape unfold on screen.

When the credits rolled, Mike stretched and yawned. "That ending gets me every time."

"The hope thing?"

"Yeah. The idea that hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things." Mike was quiet for a moment. "My dad used to say that. Not the quote—he probably never saw this movie. But he'd say that hope was important. That you had to hold onto it even when things were hard."

Harvey turned to look at him. Mike was staring at the TV screen, but his eyes were somewhere else entirely.

"You don't talk about your parents much," Harvey said carefully.

"No, I guess I don't." Mike picked at a loose thread on his bedspread. "It's weird. Sometimes I go whole days without thinking about them, and then something stupid will remind me and it's like... I can't breathe for a second."

"What reminds you?"

"Random stuff. Sometimes the kitchen will smell so similar to when my mom cooked. Or some song my dad loved will play on the radio and I'll have the most vivid flashback of him singing to it." Mike's voice cracked slightly. "And then I feel guilty for not thinking about them every single day."

Harvey didn't say anything. He just listened.

"I'd never talked to Trevor about any of this," Mike added quietly. "He was there at the funeral, but we never actually talked about it after. Not really.” Mike stared at the ceiling, silent for a second. “Grammy's great," he continued, “she really is. But sometimes I feel like I'm betraying them by being okay. By making new friends and having movie nights and just... living."

"That's not betrayal," Harvey said quietly. "That's what they would've wanted."

"How do you know?"

"Because they were your parents. And parents want their kids to be happy. To live full lives. You're not betraying them by doing that. You're honoring them."

Mike looked at him, eyes slightly wet. "You really think so?"

“Were they good parents?” Harvey asked back.

“Yes.”

"Then I know so." Harvey paused. "And for what it's worth, you're allowed to have both. To miss them and to be happy. Those things don't cancel each other out."

Mike nodded slowly, wiping at his watery eyes with the back of his hand. "Thanks, Harvey."

"Anytime." Harvey hesitated, then added, "And if you ever want to talk about your parents—tell stories about them, or whatever—I'm here for that too."

"I might take you up on that sometime." They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation settling between them. Then Mike asked, "Can I ask you something? No pressure to answer if you don't feel like it."

"Sure. Shoot."

"It's just, I, um. I've noticed there's some tension at your home. Between you and your mom, specifically. I was just wondering if maybe you wanted to talk about it too. Although you probably talk about it with Donna already. I don't mean to get into your personal life, it's just—"

"Mike. It's okay,” Harvey interrupted, noticing Mike’s anxiety. “I appreciate that you pay attention and that you care enough to dare to ask. I just haven't really wanted to talk about it. With anyone."

Mike nodded.

Harvey hesitated whether to tell Mike what was going on or not. Opening up about his family issues with people had always been so hard, like it’d make him lose the image he'd put so much effort into creating. But then he realized this was Mike, his friend. He trusted Mike. He could be real with him. He'd just seen Mike cry himself, for God's sake. He had to practice what he'd once preached and stop pretending, especially with the people that he cared about. Harvey gulped, preparing himself to talk.

"I saw my mom with someone," he finally said quietly. "Not my dad, obviously. Last summer, right before school started. I saw them in my parent’s bedroom—" He stopped, jaw tight. "I confronted her about it. She tried to explain, said it was complicated, but I told her to save it. And I haven't told my dad. Every day I don't tell him, I feel like I'm lying to him too."

"That's a lot to carry," Mike said.

"Yeah." Harvey laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Turns out keeping secrets is more exhausting than it seems."

Mike empathized with that, though it wasn’t the time to bring up why.

"I can't imagine being in your position. But that's not your secret to tell. It's hers. It's a shitty situation, yes, but you're not the one who created it and you definitely aren't the one to solve it."

Harvey sighed. "Yeah, well, nothing about this is fair. What am I supposed to do in the meantime? What if she never tells him?"

Mike thought about his answer. Harvey had a point—living in constant remorse wasn’t sustainable. “Honestly, I don’t know. Giving her a deadline to do it will probably only make things worse. Maybe I shouldn't be giving you advice. I’m school smart but maybe not so life smart.”

Harvey chuckled. “Don’t be like that. No one can be life smart at our age.”

“I guess so,” Mike replied. They fell into comfortable silence for a moment, but Mike broke it. "Hey, wanna watch something else? Something lighter?"

"God, yes. Please."

Mike scrolled through options and landed on Ferris Bueller's Day Off. "This work?"

"Perfect."

Being seen and still accepted—that was the real gift of friendship.

Chapter Text

Despite his efforts to keep a low profile, people talked, and Mike wasn't unaware of it.

Just like there were rumors about his intelligence—the photographic memory, the perfect test scores, the classic, predictable venom of people calling him the teacher’s pet—one day in early March he started hearing whispers and comments about him liking boys.

Mike hadn't seen that coming so soon. He'd expected the rumors to spread maybe next year, when he was a sophomore and people cared less about monitoring freshmen. But here they were, two-thirds of the way through his first year, and apparently his private life was a matter of public interest.

He wasn't even sure how the rumors had started. He hadn’t dated anyone yet. He hadn’t told anyone yet.

Was he that obvious?

Mike figured Harvey and Donna probably knew about the rumors too, but they hadn't said anything. They probably thought they were fake. Or maybe they feared that asking would be perceived as rude.

Harvey had enough on his plate with his family situation and college prep, and even though their personal worlds were overlapping, the social ecosystem of freshmen was pretty distant from juniors'. Different priorities periods, different class buildings, different gossip networks. It was possible they hadn’t even heard of the rumors after all.

Still, Mike couldn't shake the feeling that he was keeping something from people who'd become important to him. People who'd made it clear they had his back.

He just wasn't ready to say it out loud yet.

~

Mike was at his locker after the seventh period when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

"We need to talk," Trevor said, his voice tight.

Mike glanced at him, surprised. They hadn't really spoken in months.

"About what?"

"About the fact that I got suspended because of you."

Mike closed his locker and turned to face him fully. "Because of me? How is that my fault?"

"Your friend Harvey reported me to the principal. Said I was involved in that thing with Craig and Josh harassing you."

"You were involved. You told them I'd get them test answers when you knew I couldn't—and wouldn't—do that."

"I didn't think they'd actually corner you like that. I just... I was trying to help them out."

"By throwing me under the bus?"

"It wasn't supposed to be a big deal!" Trevor's voice rose slightly, then he glanced around and lowered it. "But since that happened, my parents are losing it. They grounded me for the rest of the school year, and even Coach benched me until further notice. All because your friend decided to be a hero."

Mike felt anger flare in his chest. "Harvey didn't do anything wrong. He saw two guys intimidating me and he stepped in. That's just being a decent person. Maybe if you'd been a better friend, he wouldn't have had to."

"A better friend?" Trevor laughed sarcastically. "Right. Because I'm the problem here. Not you and your... situation."

"My situation?"

"Come on, Mike. Everyone's talking about it. The books you read. The not-at-all subtle way you stare at Harvey." Trevor's expression was a mix of discomfort and something uglier—disdain, maybe. "I didn't want to believe it, but..."

"But what?" Mike's voice was cold now, defensive.

"But maybe the rumors are true. Maybe that's why you've been so weird this year. Why you've been ditching me and Jenny for your new friends."

Mike frowned, actually perplexed by this guy’s audacity. "First of all, I didn't ditch you—you and Jenny ditched me the second you started dating. And second, you don't know anything about me, Trevor. You never did."

"So it's true?" Trevor pressed. "You're actually—"

"It's none of your business," Mike snapped. "And even if it were true, what does that have to do with you getting suspended? You screwed up. We called you out on it. That's on you, not on me."

Trevor took a step closer, his voice dropping to something meaner. "You know what? Maybe you deserve all the shit you're getting. Walking around like you're better than everyone because you're so smart, acting like the rules don't apply to you. At least when people talk about you now, it's about something real."

Mike stared at Trevor—this person he'd known since second grade, who'd been at his parents' funeral, who used to come over to play video games every weekend—and realized he was looking at a stranger.

"Get away from me," Mike said quietly.

"Gladly." Trevor stepped back. "Enjoy your new life with your surrogate mom and dad. I'm sure they'll stick around once they figure out what everyone else already knows."

He walked away, leaving Mike standing alone in the hallway, his hands shaking with rage.

Mike didn’t know what was worse: that Trevor judged him because of the rumors, that he’d dared to mention his parents to hurt him, or the fact that Trevor couldn’t even see what a piece of trash he was.

Mike focused on taking some deep breaths, trying to ignore the imminent helplessness taking over him, when Harvey walked up to him with a goofy grin on his face.

“Grammy's cooking is clearly good luck,” Harvey said, holding up a test with a B+ on it. Mike knew it was Calculus—Harvey had been studying for a week and a half for that.

“That’s great, congrats!” Mike said, somewhat flat despite feeling genuine joy for Harvey.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Harvey asked, immediately picking up something was off.

“Nothing. At least nothing worth talking about right now.”

Before Harvey could push further, Donna spotted them and walked over, slinging her arm around Harvey's shoulder.

“Hello, sweet gentlemen,” she said. She noticed Harvey’s test in his hand. “Hey, is that your calculus test?”

“That’s right.”

 "This calls for a McDonald's run!" She said enthusiastically.

“You guys go,” Mike said, “I’m not really in the mood today.”

Donna frowned, worried. She was about to protest when the bell rang.

Before Mike walked away, Harvey made sure Mike got one message clearly. “Hey, Ross, we’re not done with this conversation yet.”

~

Harvey and Donna sat in a booth at McDonald's, each with a fries and ice cream combo that was definitely going to ruin their appetite for dinner.

Donna was in the middle of telling him about some scandal in her neighborhood—her elderly neighbor Mrs. Chen had apparently been caught having a secret romance with the mailman, and now the whole block was gossiping about whether her husband knew.

At least, Harvey thought that's what she was talking about. He was too busy wondering what could have made Mike act so off earlier.

Harvey had heard rumors about Mike floating around. They were hard to miss once you started paying attention—comments in the hallways, the way certain guys would snicker when Mike walked past. Harvey just hadn't thought they’d get to Mike like that. 

Maybe it was something else entirely. Maybe Trevor had gotten him into trouble again.

And what was even more concerning: why was Mike’s first reaction to pretend like nothing was wrong?

Maybe Harvey should go to his place later. Tell him he was there to talk-

"Earth to Harvey!"

Harvey blinked. Donna was waving a fry in front of his face.

"Sorry. I was... away."

"Yeah, I could tell." She popped the fry in her mouth. "Anything you want to share?"

“It’s just—I don’t know, maybe it’s nothing. Have you noticed Mike acting strange lately?”

“Is this about the rumors?”

“No. Well, I don’t know. Today when I ran into him he had this look on his face like…”

“Like what?”

“Like he could rip someone’s head off with his eyes. I just wonder what made him so upset.”

“You’re worried about him. It’s sweet. You never worry.”

“Donna. Focus.”

“Right. Mike with a death glare." She leaned back in the booth. “Listen, I’m his friend too, but you two have become closer. I’m sure he’ll tell you if something serious is bothering him. And if he doesn’t, he must have a good reason.”

“I guess you’re right. I don’t wanna put him in a spot where he feels like he owes me—or us—an explanation for anything he doesn't want to share.”

“He’ll come around,” Donna reassured him. “Today he needed space and he got it. Let’s see how he is tomorrow at lunch before assuming he’s in trouble.”  

Harvey nodded, grateful for Donna's never-ending wisdom. Maybe he’d been wrong when he said no one their age could be life smart.

He tried to quiet the part of him that wanted to step in, reminding himself that Mike could take care of himself too.

~

The next day at lunch, Mike looked back to normal. He laughed at Harvey’s questionable jokes, gave active feedback on Donna’s existential rants, and behaved pretty much like himself. Maybe he’d just had a bad day yesterday, Harvey thought.

Then the bubble popped.

Some junior—tall, broad-shouldered, the kind of guy who peaked in high school and would spend the rest of his life reliving it—walked past Mike and "accidentally" spilled his entire soda on Mike's lap.

Mike stood up fast, Coke dripping down his jeans. "Excuse me?"

"Whatever. Fag."

Harvey was on his feet before he'd consciously decided to move. "What did you just say to him?"

The guy turned, smirking. "You heard me. I called him a fag. So what, you're his boyfriend?"

Harvey grabbed him by the shirt, his knuckles white, his vision narrowing to a single point of rage. He could feel his pulse in his ears.

"Harvey, don't," Donna's voice cut through the noise, sharp with warning.

Harvey took a breath—just one—and considered the implications. Getting suspended. His college applications. His dad's disappointment. His mom using it as ammunition.

Frustrated, he released the guy and shoved him backward. The asshole stumbled but caught himself.

"You know what, screw it," Mike said, mostly to himself, though Harvey heard him.

Before Harvey could process what was happening, Mike climbed onto the table.

He cleared his throat. "Excuse me, if I could get everyone's attention."

The cafeteria went silent except for the distant clatter of dishes in the kitchen. Every single person turned to look at him.

Harvey's heart was pounding. What was Mike doing?

"Since it's clear so many of you are more worried about who I date than your own damn lives," Mike continued, his voice steady despite the flush in his cheeks, "I just want to save you all the trouble of trying to make my life 'miserable and shameful' and tell you straight up that I do, in fact, like guys."

A collective gasp rippled through the room, followed immediately by whispers.

"And if someone here has a problem with that," Mike said, his voice stronger now, "then go check yourselves. It's the 21st century, for God's sake."

Mike sighed—Harvey could see the tension physically leave his shoulders—and climbed down from the table. The dense, suffocating atmosphere slowly returned to its normal rhythm. The junior who'd started it all walked away, muttering something under his breath. The silence broke into chatter, heads turning, voices rising again.

Harvey sat back down, still processing. Mike returned to his seat across from them, his face flushed, his hands slightly shaking as he reached for his water bottle.

"That was awesome," Donna said, her eyes bright. "Very brave."

"Thanks." Mike's voice was quieter now, the adrenaline wearing off. "It just feels good to have it out of my system."

"I bet," Harvey said.

He didn't mean to sound so serious, but he couldn't help it. The rumors were true, and he'd never expected to find out like this—not with Mike standing on a table in the middle of the cafeteria, not with some asshole forcing his hand.

But watching Mike up there, owning who he was in front of everyone, Harvey felt stupidly proud of his friend.

"Well," Mike said, glancing down at his Coke-soaked jeans, "Grammy's going to kill me."

Harvey let out a surprised laugh."I'll testify on your behalf. Tell her it was for a good cause."

Mike met his eyes, and for a second Harvey saw the uncertainty there—the fear that this changed things between them, that Harvey would pull away now that it was out in the open.

Harvey held his gaze. "Hey. That took guts. And you’re a rockstar."

Mike's shoulders relaxed slightly, chuckling. "Thank you for saying that, Harvey."

Donna didn't miss the camaraderie in either of their eyes.

Chapter Text

Most days, Mike didn’t regret coming out.

He'd done it out of impulsivity, and actually hadn't stopped to think about the implications it could have. If he'd given it too much thought, he probably would've stayed in the closet forever.

Jenny had been there the day after, like Mike knew she would be. She'd found him at his locker and told him she was proud of him, gave him a hug that felt like an apology for all the months she'd been absent. He didn't even know how to feel about it, considering what a terrible friend she'd been since they started high school.

At least he knew that years later, when he actually wanted to date someone and it might be a guy, he'd appreciate that he'd ripped the bandaid off at school long before then.

So he guessed, even with the pros and cons it carried, that he was grateful to past Mike for not having to worry about that anymore.

On the pros list: rumors had stopped, he'd received supportive comments from fellow students, and in general the world kept turning.

On the cons: some idiots still called him names in the hallways or the locker rooms, but he guessed they were the kind of troubled kids who would've found one way or another to attack those who looked more vulnerable.

Now it was late April, and Lincoln Prep was buzzing with end-of-year energy. Final projects were due in two weeks, the end-of-year dance was a month away, and everyone seemed to be either stressed about exams or excited about summer plans. The seniors were in full senioritis mode, and the juniors—Harvey and Donna included—were starting to feel the pressure of college applications looming on the horizon.

Despite it all, movie nights with Harvey and Donna had remained regular. In difficult times it was more crucial than ever to hold on to traditions to stay sane and grounded.

Last week they'd watched The Dead Poets Society at Harvey's place—Mike's pick—and Donna had ugly-cried during the final "O Captain! My Captain!" scene, then threatened both of them when Harvey tried to take a photo.

Tonight was supposed to be another movie night, but Donna texted the group chat saying she couldn't make it. After some dramatic sad-face stickers, Harvey asked Mike if he still wanted to come over, and Mike only replied with a nodding emoji.

Mike biked to Harvey's place. The evening air was warm, almost sticky, and by the time he got there his shirt was clinging to his back.

Harvey opened the door, giving Mike one of those improvised quick guy-greetings with their hands.

"Dude, you're sweating," Harvey said, eyeing Mike's damp shirt.

"It's good to see you too," Mike said, amused. "Try biking up that slope at a decent pace and let's see how you turn out."

"We should race sometime."

"I'll beat your ass."

Mike walked in and headed to the kitchen, where Harvey's parents were.

"Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Specter."

"Oh, hello, Mike," Lily said, stirring something on the stove.

"How's school?" Gordon asked over his shoulder, washing dishes.

"Very good, thanks," Mike said.

"Make yourself at home," Lily said. "I'll be serving pie later if you want some."

"No thanks, Mom," Harvey said. "We're good with our snacks. Now, if you'll excuse us."

Harvey headed for the stairs, Mike behind him.

"Dude," Mike whispered, "I actually do want pie."

Harvey shook his head in disapproval.

They entered Harvey's bedroom. An XL bag of M&Ms and two bowls sat on the floor in front of the bed.

"I'm getting acne just by looking at this," Mike said.

"Yeah, well, the sacrifices we make for chocolate," Harvey said, sitting on the floor. "Your turn to pick, by the way."

"Good Will Hunting," Mike said without hesitation.

Harvey raised an eyebrow. "Bold choice. You ready to get emotional?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You know," Harvey said, settling back against the bed as he typed the movie name on his TV, "I never really thought about it before, but there are some parallels between you and Will. The whole genius thing, obviously."

"And the orphan thing," Mike added.

"Yeah, that too," Harvey said, a little tensed up. "But you've got Grammy. And you've got us."

"Like Will has Chuckie," Mike said.

"Exactly. Though I'd like to think I'm slightly more articulate than Chuckie."

Mike smiled. "Debatable."

"Wow. Rude."

Mike had watched it before, but watching it with Harvey was different. Harvey actually paid attention, made comments during the slower parts, laughed at the jokes even when he'd clearly seen them coming.

When the movie ended, they sat in comfortable silence as the credits rolled.

“Van Sant is such a genius,” Mike said.

“He certainly is,” Harvey replied. "And Affleck and Damon really knew what they were doing when they wrote this. They were like, what, twenty-five?"

"Twenty-seven when it came out. But they started writing it in college."

"Of course you know that. Hey, maybe we can start making director-themed marathons.”

“Donna will love that. Speaking of, did she tell you why she couldn’t make it?”

"Yeah, she told me earlier she wanted to focus on college applications for the rest of the week. I should probably get to it too, but I'll do it on the weekend."

"Any schools on your mind?"

"Does Harvard ring a bell?"

"Only slightly." They both chuckled. "I'm so relieved I still have time to think about all of that."

"Only a couple of years, though. Don't sleep on it too much."

"Okay, Dad."

"Inappropriate," Harvey said, mock-offended. "How's the end of the year treating you?"

"It's busy. I have three final projects due in the next two weeks."

"Three? What are you even doing here?"

"Says the guy who spent all of last semester doing extra assignments."

"Very well justified, thank you very much." Harvey looked for the mostly empty bag of M&Ms. "You going to the dance?"

The question caught Mike off guard. "I don't know. Probably not. You?"

"Yeah, Donna's making me. She claims she needs a 'safe date' so she doesn't have to deal with anyone actually asking her."

Mike smiled. "That sounds like Donna."

"What about you? Anyone you want to ask?"

"Not really. My social skills have been... rusty lately. Turns out hanging out with people from a different year will do that to you."

"Feel free to return to your really great friends anytime you want, Ross," Harvey said with a grin.

"Inappropriate and rude."

"For what it's worth, you should still go to the dance. Even without a date."

"Maybe. I’ll think about it."

Mike fidgeted with a green M&M in his hand. He'd been meaning to bring something up with Harvey, and now was probably a good moment to do it. "You know when people don't mention something because they don't want to make it weird, but by not mentioning it at all they also make it weird?"

"What do you want to talk about?"

"I've been self-conscious about the fact that we never brought up my... moment in the cafeteria. Not after that day."

"I honestly didn’t have anything else to say."

"No, that’s fine. I'm self-conscious because... remember one day at my place when you picked up some books and I said I was reading them for English class?"

"Yes, that was a lie, and it's okay—"

"No, I mean, yes, it was a lie. But I've been self-conscious about that whole thing because, remember when I asked you if you'd watched the movie?"

Then it hit Harvey. He closed his eyes, a heavy sigh leaving his lungs. "Fuck. I remember."

"I panicked a little bit after that because I never knew how to read into that reaction. I decided not to read into it at all for my own sanity, but—"

"But it still bothers you to even remotely think I could reject you for who you are."

"Pretty much."

"Jesus, Mike, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it like that. You know I'm into classic movies. Not only is that a new movie, but it's also a rom-com, and I don't know, it seems like the clichéd thing I would hate. I was really just judging the movie. Not the fact that it's a gay movie, and I certainly wasn't judging you for reading the book."

Harvey paused, then continued, "And no, just for the sake of leaving this very clear and not making it awkward later: I don't judge you for having come out. I don't think less of you, or differently. It's not like our friendship is based on checking out girls and commenting on them. Not that it'll ever be like that now."

"Who said I don't like girls too?"

"Well, you're full of surprises, Mike Ross."

"I contain multitudes," Mike said with a half-smile. Then his expression turned more serious. "But hey, I do feel better now. I was afraid you'd think—" Mike cut himself off mid-sentence. It was a stupid thought.

"Think what?"

"That I had a crush on you or something. I know that's the first thought a lot of straight guys have when they find out a close friend is into guys."

Harvey was quiet for a long moment. When Mike finally looked up, Harvey had this expression on his face—somewhere between amused and exasperated.

"Please," Harvey said. "Like you could help it."

"You're impossible."

"But loyal. And for the record, I never thought that. Not once." Harvey leaned back against his bed. 

"I know that now. I think I knew it then, too, it's just—" Mike sighed. "Scary, you know? Telling people. Even people you trust. Because once you say it out loud, you can't take it back."

"Yeah, I get that." Harvey was quiet for a moment.

Mike smiled. "You've been a better friend in months than Trevor's been to me in a lifetime."

"Trevor's an asshole. What he said to you—that you deserved the shit you were getting—that's not what friends do. You deserve better than that."

Mike blinked, surprised. "How did you know what Trevor said?"

"Trevor told Luke. Luke told Kristen. Kristen told Donna. Donna told me. We have a whole network." Harvey's expression darkened slightly. "I better not run into him at school. I can't stand the guy."

"Harvey—"

"I'm kidding. Mostly." Harvey's smile returned. "And hey, I can't say the bar with Donna isn't high, but you've met some remarkable friendship standards in a short time yourself."

"Remarkable friendship standards?"

"Shut up," Harvey said, but he was smiling too.

Mike felt something loosen in his chest. "Thanks, Harvey."

Harvey grabbed the remote again. "So, wanna do us both a favor and get us some pie?"

Mike was more than happy to oblige.

Chapter Text

Mike sat in the backseat of Harvey's car, Donna riding shotgun.

They drove past Lincoln Prep as the music still rang faintly in his ears, and his feet hurt from standing in dress shoes for five hours straight.

Donna had successfully convinced Mike to go, claiming they'd all be a group so none of them needed actual dates.

Mike had to admit that the dance was alright. Better than he'd expected, honestly. The food, despite being free, was actually good. The music wasn't all TikTok trends like he'd feared. And he'd made it through the awkward slow dances and the questionable punch thanks to his friends' company.

He'd watched couples sway under the dim lights, and seniors taking photos like they were trying to capture something before it slipped away.

Next year, Harvey and Donna would be those seniors. And the year after that, they'd be gone. Mike really should make an effort to befriend people from his own grade. Besides some guys he'd worked on group projects with, he barely talked to anyone now outside of Harvey and Donna.

Mike pushed the thoughts away as they pulled into the McDonald's parking lot. This was the part of the night he'd actually been looking forward to—the part where they could just be themselves without being under the school's watchful eye.

Inside, they claimed a booth near the window. Harvey was already halfway through his Big Mac, and Donna was picking at a bowl of nuggets she was sharing with Mike.

"Donna, we were there for five hours," Harvey said between bites. "I think enough people saw the outfit."

"I know, I know." She grabbed another nugget. "I still don't feel like everyone got to appreciate it, you know?"

"You looked beautiful, Donna," Mike said. "Whether everyone saw the outfit or not."

She blushed, smoothing down her lilac glittery dress. "Aw, thanks, Mike. Blue looks even better on me, but I'm saving that color for next year."

"You already know what you're wearing?" Harvey asked, incredulous.

"Don't you?" she shot back, as if it were obvious.

Mike chuckled, but the image of Donna in blue next year, Harvey in whatever expensive suit his mom would insist on getting him, both of them as seniors taking their final photos... Mike felt anxiety creeping into his chest.

His phone buzzed and snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Grammy, what's wrong? What?" He glanced at the time on his phone. Past midnight. "Whoa, I lost track of time. I'm at McDonald's with Harvey and Donna. Yes, he'll give us a ride. Sure. Bye."

"Past curfew?" Harvey asked, grinning.

"Ha ha. No, she was just checking in. Making sure I made it somewhere safe."

"Your place is only five minutes from here this time of night," Harvey said. "Don't worry."

Mike, indeed, didn't worry. He felt safe with Harvey—maybe because he was older, but most likely because he was responsible in general, regardless of his age. Even Grammy hadn't sounded worried or angry, just checking in the way she always did.

Yet somehow, the anxiety crept back in anyway. The awareness of time passing, of things changing whether he was ready or not. In a little over a year, this wouldn't be their normal anymore. Harvey and Donna would graduate, go off to college, start new lives with new friends. And Mike would still be here, finishing high school without them.

What if they forgot about him? What if distance washed away their friendship and it became just a high school thing? It'd happened to Mike before—believing he'd have the same friends for years only to later realize it was foolish to think that way.

"Dude, what's bothering you?" Harvey asked, noticing how quiet Mike had become. He finished his burger and cleaned his hands with a napkin that probably did more harm than good.

Mike hesitated. "Can I ask you something? It's random."

Donna smiled. "I love random."

"Can we make a pact right now? That we'll keep being friends even if we don't go to the same college?"

Harvey's eyebrows rose. "Mike, what are you doing thinking about that?"

"You two graduate next year. And then what? We need to take precautions."

"And the precaution is making us promise this like three years before it actually matters?"

"Yes," Mike said firmly.

Donna held her right hand up. "I solemnly swear to be your and Harvey's friend, even if we don't go to the same college, and even long after it matters what college we went to." She turned to Harvey and cleared her throat expectantly.

"Okay, okay," Harvey said. "I solemnly swear—"

Mike frowned. "You're not holding up your hand."

Harvey sighed but did as instructed. "I solemnly swear to be your and Donna's friend, even if we don't go to the same college, and even if we spend a lot of time without talking to each other."

Harvey put his hand down. Now he and Donna were both looking at Mike.

"Okay, my turn," Mike said. He held up his right hand. "I solemnly swear to be Harvey Specter's and Donna Paulsen's friend, even if we don't go to the same college, or we move to different cities, or countries."

"This has to be the sappiest thing we've ever done," Harvey said.

"Oh, you love it," Donna said. "Don't fight it." She pushed the nugget bucket toward Mike. "All yours. I'm full."

"Wanna split?" Mike asked, directed at Harvey.

"Oh, now we're back to sharing?"

"Call it my love language."

Harvey snorted and took a nugget.

Mike no longer felt his heart racing in his chest. Maybe the pact thing was useless, besides being sappy. It was no guarantee, and it could always turn out meaningless in the future.

But somehow, despite knowing things could and would change eventually, right then Harvey and Donna felt like constants in his life—the kind of people who wouldn't just disappear because circumstances shifted.

And maybe that faithfulness was all he needed. Certainty was overrated anyway. If he couldn't be certain things would be alright, he'd at least hang on to the hope that this friendship would last. 

Mike still had a freshman year to finish. A summer to get through. A sophomore year waiting on the other side. And beyond that, who knew? But whatever came next, he wouldn't face it alone.