I wish Suit's were my brainchild. It isn't.
Author's Note: When I started writing this, it was a one shot. Fifteen pages and six thousand words later, it's a (finished) several chapter story. I just feel like posting it as one piece is a grossly long chunk of text. I'll probably post all the chunks tonight, though. Also, fair warning, if you're not prepared for me to play evilly upon your emotions, or if you've been dumped recently, I wouldn't suggest reading this.
Mike fought the urge to stand. He forced his shoulders to stay slumped in relaxation, his hips tucked forward, spine curled comfortably into the couch. It tickled a thought in the back of his head that he also tried to push away. But, it being Mike's brain and all, it stuck. He taught you to do that, it nagged at him, like a child blowing a raspberry. He taught you to react and physically back up your point. He swallowed it away and continued his reasonable argument.
"I'm not getting rid of the bike, Harvey."
Harvey had started by making a casual remark here and there weeks before. Tossed carelessly into the midst of a conversation as they climbed out of the town car, or masquerading as Harvey's opening one liner when Mike pulled up in the morning, pant leg tucked into his sock and helmet strapped securely under his chin.
Something like "Nice ride," with the twitch of a brow. Or "nice not to show up sweaty to a meeting, isn't it?" as they said goodbye to Ray.
Mike had simply started replying to every comment with "I'm not getting rid of the bike, Harvey."
Flatly. Not open for discussion.
Mike loved his bike. It was certainly a nicer bike than the one he had when he started at Pearson-Hardman. It was safer. The brakes always worked.
It was also faster, cheaper, healthier, more eco-friendly, and frankly Mike just loved to ride the goddamn thing.
But this was not an off-hand comment. They were sitting on Harvey's couch, watching a movie. The man's feet were in his friggin' lap, for Christ's sake when Harvey announced: "I want you to get rid of the bike."
"I'm not getting rid of the bike." Mike's reply had been swift and final as he twitched and then stayed in his seat, winning his silent battle.
"It's dangerous, and I don't like it," Harvey answered, equally as confidant, and not missing Mike's flinch for a second.
"To be perfectly honest with you, Harvey, I don't care whether or not you like it. It's my decision. I can respect that you're uncomfortable with it, but you're going to have to learn to live with it," Mike stated calmly. Harvey's feet swung to the floor and he leaned forward to snatch the remote, pausing the movie.
"Don't use phrases like 'to be honest,' it makes it seem like you weren't being honest before," Harvey lectured absently, never one to miss an opportunity to tell Mike how to behave.
"Mike," Harvey's refocused, his bare forearms rested on his knees, hands clasped between, "I'm looking out for your well-being. I don't want you to get hurt."
"And I don't want to get hurt, Harvey, but shit happens," Mike shot back, although he kept his posture neutral, still facing Harvey's absurd flatscreen.
"A car is safer. You can afford the car service now, use it," Harvey insisted, leveling Mike with a cool stare the younger man could feel through his skin.
"The only time I need to use the car service is with you, for meetings. And that's expensed, so don't talk to me about 'affording it,'" Mike snapped, even as he struggled to control it, "And from an engineering standpoint, a car really isn't safer."
Harvey's eyes narrowed.
"Don't talk to you? I'm trying to explain why you're being stupid." Harvey knew it was crass, but he said it anyway.
Mike lost it. He flew up off the couch, one balled fist barely missing the tip of Harvey's nose as he shot to his feet.
"I'm not fucking stupid, Harvey. You, of all goddamn people know I'm not stupid!" Mike shouted, storming around the apartment. He yanked his shirt on, finding one shoe beside the coffee table. He shoved his foot into it and turned in circles looking for the other one.
"I didn't say you were stupid!" Harvey yelled back, cringing at how childish he sounded, "I said you were being stupid. Don't put words in my mouth!"
"Where the FUCK is my shoe?" Mike didn't even hear him, listing around the apartment in search of his rogue footwear.
"You're just going to leave, then? You think you're going to get away with raising your voice at me and storming out like a teenager?" Harvey was on his feet, though he refused to trail Mike around the apartment.
"You're screaming right back!" Mike paused in his quest to spit a rejoinder at Harvey, his lips twisted into a furious grimace.
"Oh, it's under the goddamn couch, Mike!" Harvey had had enough, bending to scrape Mike's sneaker from beneath the low slung leather sofa. He flung it at Mike.
"Thank you," Mike growled as he pulled his shoe on. He stopped just long enough in his storm out of Harvey's apartment to snatch his bike from the rack on the wall.
As soon as the door slammed shut, Harvey dropped back onto the couch.