Mike woke up with a dry mouth and a cool head. Adjusting before he opened his eyes, Mike found himself in his own bed with his comforter pulled and folded just under his chest. He heard a sizzling from his kitchen and scuffling from feet against his scratchy un waxed flooring. And then he smelled it. He wasn't sure what it was exactly, but it smelled like food, and the food smelled delicious.

Mike opened his eyes. Things wavered and he let out a gasp, not quite sure if he was still dreaming or conscious. He let out a moan, and sat up against his headboard. A rolled up, wet face cloth fell from his forehead and onto his lap with a dull thwump. He picked it up and put it on his nightstand in a delirious state. He rubbed his head with hands and things came into more focus.

"What's wrong with me," Mike muttered into the palms of his hands. "This is shit."

"Well if you ask me, I'd say the likely hood of malnutrition and dehydration are a fairly good deduction."

Mike startled. A man stood in his doorway. This time with clothes, and clothes that resembled quite closely to Mike's workout sweats and his "I'm Irish" t-shirt. Both pieces of clothing were loose fitting on Mike, but on this man, they fit like gloves. A good fitting glove. Mike vaguely wondered if the man was wearing his underwear too. But another thought said this man wouldn't, and was probably going commando.

Mike sputtered at his idling thoughts, and shook his head to clear it. "Uh… um. Harvey. Right?"

The man Harvey nodded his head at him. "Harvey Specter. And you're Michael."

Mike blushed. "It's Mike. Mike Ross. No one calls me Michael."

The man snorted and walked over to Mike's nightstand. He picked up the wet cloth and replaced it with a plate of food and a glass of water and a glass of orange juice beside it. Mike hadn't even noticed the consumptions in Harvey's hands until now.

"W-wow! D-did you make this?" Mike didn't know why he was stuttering. But an amazing golden yellow frittata and buttered brown rye were carefully position on his dish.

"Yes, I did. Eggs high in protein, orange juice with sugar and vitamins, water for hydration. Now eat the damn food before I get pissed off."

Mike ignored Harvey's Hangover Grump and gratefully took the plate into his lap and ate. Through mouthfuls, Mike sputtered out a "thank you" and "this is goddamn heaven'." Harvey just leaned on Mike's bedroom door jamb with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes watching over Mike as he gobbled down the yummy frittata full of veggies and some meats. After a chug of orange juice, Mike had turned chatty.

"Did you know that one egg contains twenty percent of the daily recommended intake of choline? Mmm, yup. It's true. Eggs are fantastic. Approximately ninety percent of Americans are choline deficient. Choline is pretty much essential for phospholipids used in all cell membranes. Which is pretty much saying that choline is essential for brain and nerve health. And oranges, Jesus, don't even get me started. Oranges from concentrate are extremely good for the body. One orange contains 116.2 percent of our daily intake of vitamin C. They are even saying that oranges can help fight cancer through cell growth. Can you imagine? Oranges are fucking awesome. They even"—

Mike stopped licking his fork and froze in mid sentence. Harvey was just smiling at him in mock interest. Yet again, Mike felt his cheeks redden.

"Oh um, I'm sorry. I… um. Thank you. Again. This obviously wasn't from my fridge, so… you must have gone out and bought it. You really didn't have to do that."

"Oh, but I did. I have a thing for nurturing baby animals back to health. Just call me Snow White."

Mike shifted uncomfortably. "I guess we share a common attribute I guess. I mean, you weren't sick. You were drunk… like really drunk. Were you at a party or something?"

Harvey snorted. "Hardly. Yesterday… just wasn't my day. Know what I mean?"

This time it was Mike who snorted. "You can say that. Have you seen my living situation? My awful hair? Everyday isn't my day."

Harvey ran a hand over his face, as if to check for stubble. His face was a baby's ass. Smooth as butter.

"Well, glad to know I'm not alone, Mike. Oh, and by the way, there's more frittata in the kitchen. I've got to run, I have a life to go back to. Nice meeting you."

"Wait! Um, are… aren't you going to eat some? I mean, I passed out on you. I hadn't eaten at all yesterday so my energy levels had obviously dipped into a really low state. The least I can do is"—

"You've already paid me back by giving me a bed to sleep in and a hot shower. Well, a mostly hot shower. I have work that I'm late to by three hours and deadlines I've already missed."

Mike pursed his lips. "You're a lawyer, right?"

"Right."

"I figured. With that hair and that suit and those eyes of yours, you look like a Fat Cat."

"Gee, Mike. Thanks." Mike laughed and Harvey released something of a smile. "Well once I've changed back into my clothes, I'll be leaving." He put out his hand and Mike shook it, surprised a little my it's callous and warmth. "Have a good one Michael Ross. " Harvey walked out, taking Mike's dishes, and closing the door. Mike wanted to see him out, but his eyes had already started to close.