There are people in this world who are romantic idealists. They are day dreamers, they thrive on their own imagination. Deep within them, somewhere, is the fear that if they actually get involved with anyone, it will end badly. It will end badly, and they will be unhappy, and that perfect love they've got imagined in their cranium will be tarnished, burnt, and in some cases, destroyed. They like people, they like the idea of love at its purest, and yet, they're so very afraid of it.
There are not many options for people of this nature.
There are those who choose to hold out for that special someone to give their whole heart to. They pass by everyone in their present, looking forever towards the image of their future, beautiful and almost hypnotic. They spend so much time looking towards the 'one day' that they never stop and realize that their future could be their present, if they just took a chance.
There are those who get burned out early, throwing their entire being upon someone incapable of returning their feelings to the fullest. It happens all too often: those who are the biggest, those with the personalities too large to be contained, are often the ones left jaded and alone, simply because they are intimidatingly real and unimaginably devoted.
And there are those who choose to live vicariously through other people. Close enough to love to bask in its light, but removed enough to not get burnt. Mike is one of those people. He watches romance movies, where A meets B and they fall in love immediately, overcoming every single obstacle thrown at them, despite the odds. He reads books, much more complex in their plots and vivid in their imagery, yet still the same as their moving-picture counterparts. Those weren't enough after a while, and by the time he realized that, he didn't really have anyone to hold onto. Then he discovered that he could write.
He wrote everything he could, everything he'd ever imagined. They were his creations and his alone; they were manifestations of what he longed for, yet feared and denied himself. But he needed something more direct, something much closer to human interaction and affection. So he decided to adopt stranger's love stories, and make them part of his own.
He writes for people of all ages, he writes for anyone in love or in pain, anyone sorry and anyone who just can't find the words. He consumes their love story, as complicated as it is, because it is real. And then he makes it his own, weaving his fantasy into their lives. After, he casts it away as if it were a boat in the sea, away, back to the couple, because as lovely as the love is, it's not his to keep.
He's made a living out of what he adores the most: love. And that's all he needs for now: the knowledge that others are in love, and that he's contributed to their story.
Dear Harvey,
I've been at work for a few hours now, and I really have a ton to do, but all I can think about is you. I'm not even one to really write letters, I'd prefer to tell you all these things in person, but you're at work and I'm at work, and anyway, this would be much too much to say out loud during one of our dinners. Believe me, I would tell you these things during those hours when we're together and there's no work involved. But that would take up too much time, and I'd much rather hear about your day, and listen to your voice.
So, I've decided I'm going to sue you. I really need to pay attention to this new client who came in, she wants some pretty fancy stuff done—she's very specific. If you were here, you'd just roll your eyes at her until she left, but I'm not that mean. Instead, I'm pretending I'm writing notes to what she wants done. I'm really writing to you.
It's crazy, really, how strongly I feel about you, even though we met what, two months ago? All I want is to wake up to you on Sunday mornings, the sun streaming through your ridiculously huge windows, all warm and happy, and spend the day with you. We can go anywhere, you know? It doesn't really matter, as long as I'm with you.
We need to go out soon. There's so much we haven't done, and since your big case is over soon, maybe we could take a trip down to the shore? I can show you all the cool spots, the one's I hid out in during the summer as a kid. That one ice cream shop, I'm sure I've told you about it—the one that makes the really fantastic just ieverything/i? I want to take you there. And of course, since it's my place that I'm showing you, I'm going to pay—don't even try that lawyer stuff on me.
That woman just left, and she wants her car back in time for Saturday morning. It's Tuesday now, and she wants a ton of work done. Thank god she left a detailed list, (I kid you not, Harv'! There are so many bulletpoints, and sub-points, and little footnotes, you wouldn't believe it) because I was too distracted thinking about dinner tonight, and your smile, and your hair to actually pay attention to what she wanted.
Oh, god, I hope you don't find these things annoying. That would make this even more embarrassing. Would it be too much to ask if you didn't laugh when you found this? Because I mean every single thing I've said.
I should probably get back to work, these cars won't fix themselves (sometimes, I really really wish they did) so I'll see you tonight, Harv!
Yours, Felix
Felix looked up at Mike, uncertain. The letter was better than something he would've written, but he wasn't sure if it was really what he and Harvey needed. Would Harvey be weirded out? Would he be brave enough to actually give this to his lawyer boyfriend? Would Harvey suspect he didn't actually write it, and that he was just taking the easy way out?
Mike smiled, completely unsurprised by Felix's doubt. He'd been at this for a while, and that was one of the most commonly asked questions. "Yeah, Felix, I'm sure your Harvey will like it. You spent half an hour telling me about him, who he is, and I've done some research about him on my own. You took the personality test I gave you, and answered all the questions honestly, right? That gave me more than enough information about both of y'all to start writing this. I'm sure he'll like it. I have a system, and it hasn't failed me in the past."
Felix nodded, shuffling the papers around in his hand. "They sure are better than what I would've written, that's for certain." He looked a little ashamed at the fact that he couldn't turn his feelings into words.
Mike grinned, thinking back to the absolute crap he had read when his clients decided they would give him a 'rough draft they just wanted him to clean up'. "Hey, don't worry," he said, trying to further reassure the man, "we're all good at different stuff, you know? I'm sure I couldn't fix a car like you could, or act the way Robert Downey Jr. could. I just happen to be a little more emotional and wordy than you, that's all."
"Well, thank god someone like you exists. I really do like Harv, it's just we're both really bad at the whole romance aspect of things. I'm a mechanic, and the only language I speak is the language of cars. And English, but you get me. Harvey's great, really, but he's not exactly lovey-dovey either, he's always hiding his emotions and all because of his job. I just want this to work out, because he's fantastic."
"I'm glad to help, man. It's my job." Mike responded, checking his watch quickly. "You wanna pay for this now? I'm on a bit of a tight schedule. Christmas is in 3 weeks, and I've got a ton of orders to start writing up."
"Oh, yeah, sorry." Felix sprung up, almost knocking the chair over in his haste. "How much for this one, again?"
Mike was glad he had an eidetic memory, because he never would've remembered his pricing system if he didn't. "Because I took the time to write that, it's forty. You're unsure of whether you want to continue to get these, so there's no deal involved, but since it's December, you get five dollars off. Your total is thirty-five dollars, Felix."
"All right, thank you so much! Really, you don't know how much this means—"Felix gushed, taking out his wallet.
"Alright, alright Felix, go on, it's time to go woo your man!" Mike chuckled, as he nudged Felix towards the door, counting the bills the burly man had shoved into his hand.
"Thanks again!" Felix shouted, closing the door behind him.
Finally, peace and quiet. Mike didn't mind talking to his customers; actually, it made his job a lot easier. But there was a lot of work he still had to do, and he sighed, sitting back down in his plush chair. He looked around the office, eyes touching onto the familiar paintings hanging up, the well-worn polished wood, the plush client couch opposite of his desk. He grinned then turned back to his computer, ready to start writing again. God, he loved his job.
me again with another new project even though you all hate me for leaving like 7 billion other ones unfinished oops
filled for a prompt on the suits-meme, and it's-you guessed it-a wip
comments, questions, concerns?