The thing about being Mike Ross, first year Associate at Pearson Hardman and fraud who shall burn in hell in perpetuity, was that he had a certain obligation to not get caught lying about attending Harvard. It was a weighty responsibility, but he'd known that from the get-go. He'd known that it wasn't just himself he had to protect - it was Harvey, as well, and that was, honestly, the more important aspect of this whole arrangement. Protecting Harvey.

Mike would do anything for Harvey, which in his darker moments he thought quite depressing, because Harvey was never going to know - and if he did, he'd probably mock Mike for being too soft-hearted, or something similar.

Some days he thought agreeing to work for Harvey was like selling his soul to the devil (which was also highly appropriate, given Harvey's temperament and attitude most of the time).

Hence, Mike's presence at the bar all of the other Associates liked to hang out at, because the more often they saw him, the easier it was for them to convince themselves they'd seen him other places as well - like Harvard.

That day had been rough, anyway, rough enough that Mike actually wanted the beer in his hand, a beer he planned to finish and replace, and soon. (It was only his third, what could it hurt? Beer was nothing; he played (and won at) poker and drank beer all the time.) The alcohol had made his muscles, still clenched tensely from Harvey's earlier (shouted) expression of his disappointment, relax slightly, and Mike realized he had a half-smile of disbelief on his lips as he listened to the conversation taking place beside him - a conversation he had only been subconsciously paying attention to, before.

They were all laughing at something Kyle, king of belligerence, was saying, so Mike tuned in as well, just in time to hear, "- and you can't tell me Howard isn't at least a 5. Probably a 6, if we're being honest with ourselves." Everyone else snickered maliciously, but Mike frowned; he liked Howard, and Kyle's tone made it obvious they were mocking the absent Associate.

So Mike, being Mike, butted in. (Of course.) "A 5 what?" he asked, smiling crookedly and tipping his beer in a 'hello' gesture as the group's attention swiveled to him. "Did we have a performance review I didn't know about or something?" He knew they hadn't - for one thing, those weren't done out of 10 anything, and for another, the results were confidential, and only the Partners had access to them.

Kyle's groupies chuckled a bit, looking to him for their cues; he puffed his chest a bit, a sure sign he was about to say something he thought would be insulting but just ended up sounding ignorant (so, about fifty percent of his dialogue). "The Kinsey scale, Speedbump." Mike gave him a purposely bland, slightly blank, look as he rifled through his mental library. (He ignored the nickname, because come on, it was one case.) "Dude, the queer scale?" Kyle explained when he felt Mike was taking too long.

It clicked, and Mike laughed, tossing back the rest of his bottle and calling for another before incredulously replying, "Queer? Howard? No way."

"Dude, he totally is," insisted Kyle. "Have you seen how he acts around Louis? Come on, he's totally trying to hide his mancrush."

Mike squinted, his beer fuzzed mind actually playing the idea all the way out. Well, almost. There were some thing even he didn't want to think about. "No way," he repeated once he'd frowned at that mental image. "No. Howard's totally got the hots for Rachel, anyway - maybe you're just projecting." He smirked, anticipating Kyle's indignant response, and wasn't disappointed.

He sputtered, probably trying to voice threats but unable to as though the slight to his masculinity had rendered his brain even more useless than usual, and several of his cronies laughed despite themselves, one even going so far as to elbow Kyle in the ribs, as though it was a funny joke they were all sharing. "I'll have you know," he finally spit out heatedly, "I've never even looked at a dude that way! And what about you, hmm?" He sneered, obviously feeling like he had triumphed over Mike and that Mike would feel horrified at such an insinuation.

He realized he was wrong when Mike just shrugged and replied, "There's only one man I'd go gay for, but yeah, I don't see anything wrong with it."

Gregory, who had previously been one of Kyle laughing shadows, gaped slightly at that reveal, or so Mike assumed, his lips parting as though he was going to speak and his eyes wide. (Mike didn't notice where those eyes were fixed, of course, because social interactions were mostly beyond him on a good day and he was struggling with just Kyle as it was; also, he was a bit too buzzed to focus on more than one person at the moment.)

"For some reason, that doesn't surprise me, Ross," Kyle commented snidely; his tone was demeaning and insulting, of course, but Mike paid it no mind.

His retort came out dry as he sprawled against the wall they were standing near, making a picture of indolence with his long limbs and the mischievous spark in his eyes. "C'mon, man. Anyone would go gay for Harvey. And don't even try to tell me different, the man is like a walking billboard for sex." Mike had always loved the way Harvey's suits sat on his frame, caressing the lines of his shoulders and back; how his hair was just begging to be mussed by eager fingers; how his attitude, so cocksure and effortless, could fill a room before he himself did. And how, underneath all that, he hid a good heart, a compassionate heart. The man was everything Mike wanted, and everything he wanted to be.

There was an aborted noise of amused shock to his left, and he looked over slowly, already knowing what he'd find. After all, his luck had never been the greatest.

Of course.

Harvey Specter, king of bad fucking timing, was standing there, smirking at Mike arrogantly, while the other Associates slowly edged away to watch the fallout from afar.

Mike, whose buzz was making him even more reckless than usual, just grinned nonchalantly and lifted his bottle in a salute. "What's up, doc?"

Breathing deeply to help suppress an eyeroll, Harvey took Mike by the elbow and dragged him further from the circle of Associates. "I was coming down to talk to you about the case, but I can see that isn't going to happen," he replied dryly. It was an apology, or as close as the great Harvey Specter ever got, for his irrational, rude, behaviour earlier, and even drunk Mike knew it.

"Let's talk about something more interesting, then," he purred, trying to drape himself on Harvey's shoulder and quickly being shrugged off with a glare. The beer was making him feel brave, giving him the courage to go after something he'd wanted since day 1, but had never had the confidence to do anything about. "I know you heard what I was talking about."

"I did," acknowledged the well-dressed man, smoothing his jacket down in a subtle sign of discomfort. "And as flattered as I am to be the reason behind your newly discovered rating on the Kinsey scale -" (Maybe flattered was the wrong word, but he was certainly interested. Mike was smart - too smart to be wasting himself on stupid young people who were only bad for him in the long run. (Jenny, Trevor, Rachel, Harvey Specter doesn't do jealousy, his mind taunted.) Harvey's mother had always said, "You should end up with someone smarter than you, so that they constantly challenge you." Harvey wanted to be that for Mike, because Mike was that for him.) "- I'm your boss, you're drunk, and your entire argument here hinges on the assumption that I am even the slightest bit attracted to you." Which he was, but he wasn't going to admit that to Mike. He'd become insufferable if he knew just how much Harvey obsessed over those stupid skinny ties, the way they made his chest look broader, his eyes brighter.

"I'm not that drunk." Protested Mike. "And I wouldn't be drunk at all if you weren't such an ass all the time." He giggled then, definitely drunk. "Ass," was all he managed to say through the peals of laughter.

When he'd calmed down, Mike pressed his forehead against the bartop, rolling it slightly so he could look up at Harvey with one eye. "I'm drunk," he announced with conviction, and Harvey opened his mouth to say, "I told you so," in the most self-righteous tone possible, but Mike kept talking. "Not stupid. I've seen the way you look at me." Smirking, he added, "Plus, Donna threatened to castrate me if I broke your heart. She's one scary lady, dude."

"Don't call me dude," he retorted on autopilot, scrambling to think of some sort of rebuttal. It was harder than it should have been, with Mike staring at him like he was a buffet in front of a starving man, but he finally managed a quiet, "I'm still your boss, Mike."

"I know," agreed Mike readily. "Kinky, isn't it?" Grinning, he straightened to look Harvey in the eye, barrelling over whatever the man might have tried to say. "I don't care. I want you."

It was a blunt statement, almost impersonal, but the naked emotion on Mike's face told a completely different story. He might not have loved Harvey, not yet, but damn, it wouldn't take him long, if his gaze was any indication.

Harvey wanted to disagree, to argue, to hide from his abandonment issues like he had successfully done for the majority of his adult life, but in the same instance he wanted to be happy, to make Mike happy, to be happy with Mike.

And why the hell shouldn't he?

"You're still drunk," he repeated sternly, his eyes meeting Mike's dead on.

"Next time I won't be," Mike decided, hearing the promise Harvey hadn't spoken, hadn't needed to.