A/N: Title somewhat inspired by the Nine Inch Nails song of the same name. Warnings for self-harm. Harvey/Mike. And um, that's about it. Gets pretty heavy... and hits really close to home. So… yeah. That's all.

Harvey knew he was hard on Mike. But he knew the kid could take it. Mike was strong and resourceful and Harvey was confident in his ability to take anything that he dished out. And so he kept dishing. He rode Mike hard because he knew it would help Mike. The kid was smart and clever, but he hadn't gotten it yet, and Harvey wouldn't let up until he did.

He was proud of Mike's progress, really. The kid had impressed him—bringing in a client, turning a pro bono into a fifteen person suit against a dirty landlord, insisting that Gabby Stone was innocent—but he was still a puppy who needed Harvey to clean up his messes. When he stopped making messes, Harvey would stop treating him like a puppy.

For now, though, puppy it was.

So when Mike came to him for help with the mock trial, he didn't just spoon feed him the answer. Of course, he didn't want him to make a complete fool of himself, and therefore make Harvey look bad, so he gave him some advice.

It wasn't his fault Mike trusted that cocky slimeball Kyle to keep his deal without a written agreement—just another example of how Mike had yet to get it—but it was kind of his fault that Scotty had shown up and totally thrown him off his game.

So maybe he wasn't as helpful to the kid as he could have been. Like he'd told him, he had real law problems to worry about. And mock trials were ridiculous anyway. Of course, he still expected Mike to win, and not just because he bet Louis a hefty sum. He had faith in Mike, so yes, he was disappointed when Mike lost.

But it was less the fact that he'd lost and more how he'd lost. It had nothing to do with facts of evidence or even Kyle, it had to do with emotion… and weakness.

Harvey had contemplated saying something to Mike right after the trial, but he figured it was better to let Mike stew in his defeat for a while.

When Mike came into his office later, he spared nothing. The kid needed to hear the truth, not some sugar coated bullshit.

Then Mike had stared him straight in the eye and spat with utter disgust, "Sometimes I like my kind of person a lot more than yours."

Harvey had been taken aback. He honestly didn't think he'd been any harder on Mike than usual. But he didn't show his surprise.

He frowned. "I call it like I see it," he said deliberately, "And what I see is a kid who asked for an opportunity who still hasn't decided if he wants it or not."

Something in Mike's eyes flickered, and he suddenly looked like an entirely different person. He stared at Harvey for a moment, then turned and left the office.

Harvey slumped back in his chair. What had just happened? That hadn't gone at all like how he'd planned. He sighed. Mike would get over it by Monday morning and things would go back to normal.

But things didn't go back to normal.

When Harvey got in to the office Monday morning, Mike was already there. He was sitting in his cubicle with his iPod headphones in his ears and his nose buried in a mound of paperwork. Paperwork that must have come from Louis because Harvey hadn't given him any.

Mike didn't even look up when Harvey walked past.

When he got to his own office, he was stopped by Donna.

"What did you do?" she asked.

Harvey raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

Donna looked at him with disgust. "Don't condescend to me, Harvey Specter. Mike told me to tell you he volunteered to take a pro bono case that Gregory was struggling with. He said to tell you not to bother him today, and that he'd let you know when he was available."

Harvey frowned. "He said what?"

"You heard me." She turned away from him and started typing on her computer. Harvey got the feeling that he had been dismissed.

He sat down at his desk now thoroughly confused. In his head he went over the last conversation he'd had with Mike. They'd both been stressed, neither thinking clearly after a long hard day of work. He had been tough, but fair.

But what Mike had said—his sarcastic "because everyone know you're the best"—he couldn't stop thinking about it. That hadn't just been Mike spouting off out of frustration. That had been achingly real.

Harvey absently checked his emails and ran through his schedule for the day, but his mind wasn't on his work. Every so often he would glance up to see Donna staring him with a look dripping with disapproval.

Had what he's said to Mike really been that bad? He'd just been telling the kid the truth, what he thought he needed to hear. Did he cross a line?

He pushed back his chair and stood up from his desk, intending to go talk to Mike. Donna stopped him before he even closed the door.

"He's not here."

"What?"

"Mike ran off with Louis to some merger meeting," she explained. "And even if he were here, he wouldn't talk to you."

Harvey frowned and headed over to Mike's desk anyways. He was surprised to see a folded up piece of paper with his name scribbled on the front and underlined three times. He picked it up and opened it tentatively.

Harvey.

I need some time to think. What you said really made me question whether or not I even want to be a lawyer. No, that's not true, I know I want to be a lawyer, I just don't know if Pearson Hardman is the right place for me. I appreciate everything you've done, but Harvey, I can't be another you. Nor do I want to be. I kept telling myself that you cared, that inside you weren't the coldhearted jerk that you pretend to be, but now I'm not so sure.

So I need to take a break from working with you. Just to sort things out. Please don't try to talk to me, because I don't think I can handle that in a civil manner.

Mike.

Harvey reread the note several times. His first reaction was outrage. Who the hell did Mike think he was, telling his boss that he was "taking a break" from him? Then as he reread the letter, he felt an unfamiliar pang in his chest. I kept telling myself that you cared… Harvey leaned against Mike's cubicle, rubbing his temples with his fingers. …coldhearted jerk… The words echoed in his head. Is that really how Mike thought of him?

He stuffed the note into his pocket. As he made his way back to his office, he had a sinking feeling as he began to realize just how badly he'd fucked up.

Harvey didn't sleep that night. He hadn't seen Mike before he left the office, but maybe it was just as well. He wouldn't have been able to look him in the eye, much less have any clue what to say to him. He couldn't get Mike's words out of his head. All he could think about was that Mike was right. Harvey had become so reliant on his projected uncaring attitude that maybe he had actually forgotten how to care.

No, that couldn't be true. He cared about Mike.

And Mike was upset. Upset at him There was no way to put a positive spin on this, no way to deflect the blame any longer. He had hurt Mike, and now he may have lost him.

His phone alarm beeped at six and he slowly sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. He had finally dozed off around five. He was used to minimal sleep, but one hour was nowhere near enough. He didn't want to go in to work today. It was the first time he'd thought that since starting at Pearson Hardman and it really shook him.

What Mike had said about not liking the kind of person that Harvey was… he just couldn't stop thinking about that. It was making him question everything he'd come to know. His entire way of life was in doubt because of a few words. He didn't realize just how much Mike had come to mean to him. He had acknowledged that he was starting to trust the kid, but he hadn't been aware just how much he'd been working to gain that trust back.

Harvey made his way to the bathroom and took an icy cold shower in an attempt to wake himself up. It worked a bit, but didn't help to clear his mind. He wrapped the towel around his waist and then stood in front of the mirror. As he combed his hair, he stared at his reflection. How had he become such a jerk without even noticing? He was so caught up in his perfect looks, his perfect home, his perfect job, his perfect life, that he'd lost sight of what it meant to be a good person and not just a great one.

He reached for his razor and shaving cream.

Goddamn it, he'd fallen into this routine, this lie of a life, and now he knew he needed to break out of it if he ever wanted to get Mike back.

He stared at the razor in his hands, then down at his perfectly toned body. Unmarred tan skin, rippling muscles. He couldn't take it.

He tentatively slid the blade out of the razor, holding it tightly in his hand, examining it.

Then, with a sudden conviction, he slashed it across his forearm. The pain caused him to cry out, but the sight of the cut—blood bubbling in a thin line, dripping slowly down to his elbow—was calming. Somehow seeing that disgusting red gash spoiling the perfect landscape of his skin just felt so right.

He sliced the blade across his arm again, and then again, and then attacked his chest, his hips, anything he could reach. He didn't even feel the pain anymore. He was smiling, almost laughing as he destroyed the perfection he'd worked so hard to achieve.

He leaned on the sink, watching the droplets of red circle towards the drain. He looked in the mirror, and for the first time in a while, wasn't angry with what he saw.

The cuts weren't deep. It wasn't about the pain, or the blood, it was about his need to make the outside look more like the in.

Shakily he toweled himself off and went to the bedroom to get dressed.

[TBC]