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Mike woke to the sound of pattering rain against his window.

He stared at the raindrops that obscured the window, allowing only enough light through to know that the world outside was as bleak and dismal as he felt right now. He didn't know how long he laid there underneath his blankets, a warm and encompassing sanctuary that he had no desire to leave. It wasn't until the alarm on his phone went off that he remembered about having to go to work. Today was the day they were supposed to meet Jacob Davis, a new client, and see if he would be willing – .

No. No, he didn't want to do that. Not today. He didn't want to get out of bed, get dressed, and go to work. He didn't want to see Louis, Donna, or Harvey. He didn't want to talk to clients or talk to lawyers – he didn't want to talk to anybody.

It felt like a giant rock had come and placed itself on his chest during the night, making it difficult to breathe and feeling like he was slowly being crushed beneath its weight. He didn't want to get up, he didn't want to move, he didn't want to do anything. He just wanted to stay here forever, and if the earth decided to swallow him up, it would be more than welcome.

Bodies, however, don't care for such desires, and soon Mike found himself leaving his bed to stumble into the bathroom. He returned a moment later and made his way into the kitchen, his arms wrapped tightly around his torso as he stared at the various cereals and breads on the counter, wondering what he should make. After a while he grabbed a couple of bagels and placed them in the toaster, pressing the slider down as they began to cook. He stared unseeingly until they popped up, and he mechanically took them and put them on a plate.

He ate his breakfast in silence, thinking of nothing but chewing and swallowing. The rain continued to beat against the window, never ceasing. Mike finished his food and set the plate down on the small coffee table in front of him, placing his arms around his torso again and leaning back against the couch.

He wasn't sure what to do now. He knew he was supposed to be at work, was supposed to be there twenty minutes ago, but the thought of seeing Harvey and Donna, of them knowing that he… what he did – they would want to talk about it, they would look at him and call him a freak, call him abnormal, because who on earth willingly disfigured themselves? Who in their right mind actually took up a knife, and instead of using it to cut bread they used it to cut their wrists, instead? As well as their arms, their shoulders, their waist, their legs…

Mike brought his feet up onto the couch, curling into himself. He wasn't going to work. And if that meant Harvey would fire him, then so be it. This life was never meant to last, anyway. He was a fake from the beginning, and nothing built on the foundation of lies and deceit could ever last for long. And if it meant that he never had to confront Harvey or Donna again, he'd only too gladly accept his loss.

Donna stared worriedly at the clock on the wall; it was quarter-to-nine, and Mike still hadn't arrived. He was supposed to be here at eight; he and Harvey were scheduled to meet a new client and discuss his upcoming trial over brunch. But Mike hadn't shown up, and if he remained absent for the next fifteen minutes, Harvey would have to do the meeting alone. Usually she would have called Mike by now, berating him for being late and harassing him to get here as fast as he could, but Harvey hadn't given her the go-ahead, and so the phone remained untouched. Her eyes fell from the clock to the man behind the desk, who was leaned over his papers, looking for all the world to be focused on his work. But Donna knew better than the world.

–

Harvey stared at the clock on his computer, not wanting to accept that Mike was not coming in. He still had time, he'd certainly been later than this before – but Harvey knew that his absence today was no accident. He closed his eyes, trying to gather himself and focus his thoughts.

Mike was cutting himself. Whether he wanted to believe it or not, it was the truth. No matter how much he wished that the night before had just been a very bad dream, reality wouldn't change. Mike wouldn't walk in here, a big, stupid smile on his face, making some stupid joke or some lame excuse as to why he was late. Because Mike was cutting himself, and he knew that they knew. And Harvey suddenly felt like he'd been cast out to sea, unable to swim and having no idea which direction to go to get back to shore.

When the clock struck nine, the door to his office quietly opened and closed. He didn't need to look up to know who it was.

"Should we call him?" asked Donna, standing in front of Harvey's desk. He didn't like that. He'd rather her sit on the couch farther away from him, so that maybe, just for a little longer, he could pretend that nothing was wrong.

"No," Harvey said at first, then stopped. "Do you think we should call him?" Because hell, for once he honestly didn't know what first step they should take.

"I think we should give him half an hour, then give him a call. I'll just ask if he's coming in, maybe mention the Davis case. I won't… I won't mention last night."

"Do you think he'll go for it?"

Donna bit her lip. "I don't know. Maybe if we just act like everything is normal, that nothing is wrong, he'll –."

"Except it's not."

"Harvey –."

"It's not, Donna. Mike is cutting himself, for God's sake. We can't just pretend like he isn't doing it."

Donna's eyes narrowed slightly. "Well then what do you propose we do, Harvey? Do you want me to call him and ask him to come to work so we can all talk about how he self-harms?"

Harvey took a steadying breath. "No."

"Then what?"

"We go to his apartment," Harvey said after a moment. "If he doesn't show up at work today, we'll go to his place tonight and… talk."

"That's not going to work."

It was Harvey's turn to get annoyed. "Yeah? And why's that?"

"Because it's only been a day! He's probably still mad at us, and seeing us on his doorstep would be the last thing he wants!"

"He's obviously cutting himself for a reason, Donna, and the sooner we find out what that reason is the sooner we can put a stop to it, and then Mike will stop cutting and everything will go back normal."

Donna glared. "This isn't about getting things back to normal, Harvey. It's about getting Mike better and doing what's best by him. Not doing what's best for you."

Harvey's glare deepened. "You think I only care about myself? Seriously, Donna? You would really think that of me?"

"No, I don't, but Harvey – this isn't some problem that simply needs to be fixed, it doesn't work that way –."

"Of course it's a problem that needs to be fixed! What, do you think this is just some bad habit he picked up, like biting your nails? Someone's done something to him, or said something, and we have to find out what it was and put a stop to it."

"You just don't get it, Harvey. Mental health –."

"It's got nothing to do with mental health! There's a reason he's cutting, we'll find out what that reason is, fix it, and then he'll stop."

"That is not –."

The phone began ringing at Donna's desk, interrupting her. She glared at Harvey a moment longer, before turning around and walking out of the office. Harvey watched her as she took her seat behind her desk and picked up the phone, talking for a few seconds before hitting the intercom.

"It's Davis. He has a question about the trial."

Harvey let out a deep breath, then walked back around his desk and sat down, picking up the phone. He didn't care what Donna said; they were going to Mike's apartment tonight, and they were going to have it out. He'd make Mike tell him why he was doing it, and once he found that out they would fix the problem, and everyone could go back to work happy.

He wouldn't let himself believe otherwise.

He'd lost track of how many new scars he'd carved into his skin. It had started out innocently enough; he'd picked up the knife off the counter, thinking he would just make a few cuts, just to calm himself and relax, to focus on something else than the humiliation he still felt from the day before. But then he kept going, the areas of clean, unmarked skin staring back at him, as though taunting him for having missed them, and soon blood was dripping steadily down his arm and onto the floor below.

The pain felt like an old friend, welcome and wanted beyond all others. It was an oh-so familiar feeling that he found himself cherishing, wishing he could bottle it up and keep it stored safe for the days he needed it the most. The fact that others now knew of his secret only made him wish for the pain more, because maybe – just maybe – if he focused enough on this pain, he would forget the pain of everything else.

The serrated edge of the knife tugged and pulled at his skin, forcing him to press it deeper until the skin gave way and allowed itself to break. He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he couldn't keep getting away with this, that Harvey and Donna would eventually come knocking on his door, breaking it down and demanding that he tell them everything. And he –.

Mike's thoughts were interrupted with the sound of his phone ringing beside him. The unexpected noise startled him and the knife that had been running across his arm slipped, digging in deeper than he intended. Blood began pooling faster and Mike let out a curse, absently grabbing a blanket beside him and pressing it against the wound. The exhaustion he'd been feeling all day suddenly intensified, and he stifled back a yawn, resisting the urge to close his eyes.

The phone rang again. He wrapped the blanket around his arm twice before reaching and grabbing his phone, reading the caller ID. Mike tensed.

Donna.

His hand hovered over the screen for a moment, before he finally took a breath and answered it. No matter how angry he was with them, he didn't want them to think he'd gone and done something worse than just cut himself. He wasn't that far down the road.

"Hello?"

"Mike? Oh thank God, I know you probably don't want to hear from us, but when you didn't answer your phone, I thought…"

Mike frowned, annoyed. "Just because I didn't pick up on the first ring doesn't mean there was a problem, Donna."

"Mike, this is the sixth time I've called you."

Mike stilled. His eyes glanced at the clock on the wall and was shocked to see it read 5:25pm. But… but he could have sworn it was only a little after 12pm. And this was the first call he'd received all day, he'd kept his phone with him, he hadn't –.

Mike's eyes fell to the blanket that he had just wrapped around his arm, and he paused, before gently pulling it off. His heart skipped a beat when he saw that the blood – the blood that had been pooling rapidly just a moment ago – had stopped flowing, had stopped flowing a while ago, and was long since dried up. The blanket was soaked, much more than it should be if he'd only just grabbed it a moment –.

"…ike? Mike?! Mike, honey – are you there? What's wrong?"

A wave of nausea fell over him as he realised what had happened. After he cut himself he must have fallen asleep, but because the wound hadn't been properly taken care of, he… he could have… Mike gripped the blanket, suddenly realising the extent of the danger that he had just been in. And if the Donna hadn't –.

"Mike!"

Mike swallowed, trying to focus his attention back on the phone. "Sorry, Donna. I was just… I forgot to do something, that's all."

He could hear Donna breathe a sigh of relief. "Mike, I know you don't want to hear from us, but I just wanted to… to check on you and see if you were okay."

"I'm fine, Donna."

"Will you… will you be in tomorrow?"

Mike resisted the urge to give a snarky reply, but found he was too tired even if he wanted to. "I don't know," he said finally.

"Just… just don't be too upset with us, please. We just want to help you, we care about you, we –." He suddenly heard Donna gasp. "Harvey!"

"What about him?"

"He – after you didn't pick up on the fifth call, he left and went… he thought maybe something was wrong, so he decided to go see you at your apartment. Mike, I'm so sorry – I'll call him right now and tell him that you're okay."

Mike looked down at the mess on his couch and a stab of fear shot through him. If Harvey came, if he saw – with all this blood, he'd think –.

A knock sounded from the door.

Mike swore and hastily told Donna not to bother, that Harvey was here, and made a quick goodbye before he hung up the phone and tossed it onto the coffee table in front of him. Just as he was about to grab the blood-sodden blanket, Harvey's voice sounded from the door.

"Mike?"

Mike gripped the edge of the couch, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He could do this. He could be strong, he could be brave. He didn't want to do this, but he had to. He had to.

Getting up off the couch, Mike made his way to the door, where Harvey was knocking once more.

"Mike!"

"Yeah, yeah." Mike opened the door, making no attempt to stop himself from glaring at the other man.

Harvey could feel his entire body slightly relax as he looked Mike up and down, and could see that he was still in one piece. He was still in his sweats and a t-shirt, most likely having never changed when he woke up. His forearms were turned away from him so that he couldn't see any scars, and Harvey forced himself to not focus on them, pointedly staring at Mike's face, instead.

"You weren't answering your phone, so I wanted to make sure you were… okay."

"Yeah, I was just talking to Donna, she said you were coming here. Well you don't have to worry, I'm fine. I just fell asleep so I didn't hear the phone, that's all. So thanks for your concern, but you can go now."

Harvey tried to keep his expression steady, not wanting to spark off another fight. He knew that Mike was still angry at them, at him – and so it probably wouldn't take a lot to get him mad again. So if he wanted to have any hope of having a decent conversation, he'd have to be as calm as he could be.

Yes, because that was something he was so good at.

"Can I come in?" he asked at last. "We can… talk. Maybe watch some TV, or that Netflix you're always going on about."

Mike gave him a suspicious look, as though debating the sincerity of the request. "Don't you have work to do?"

"Nothing that can't be done tomorrow."

Mike didn't know what to do. On the one hand he was still angry, still humiliated over what had happened; he didn't want to talk to Harvey, had purposely planned today to not talk to him, to have him look at him like he was a freak, try to sit him down and give him a long-winded talk about why what he was doing was wrong, how he should simply stop doing right then and there. But on the other hand, he was so, so tired… he didn't want to fight, to argue. He didn't even want to speak, he just wanted to crawl back into bed and go back to sleep. Hadn't he only just gotten up a little while ago? What was Harvey doing here so early, anyway? Shouldn't he be at work? Shouldn't he be…

Harvey watched as Mike's eyes slid from his and focused on something behind him. Concern began to grow when all of a sudden Mike began to waver, and for a moment looked as though he were about to fall.

"Mike? Mike!" Harvey grabbed Mike's arm, steadying him, as the younger man's eyes looked back to his, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"Harvey? What… what are you doing here? I" He paused. "I think I need to sit down."

Mike leaned against the doorway and with Harvey's help, he slid down to the floor. Harvey gripped his arms worriedly, wondering what the heck was going on. Just a second ago he'd been fine, he was –.

Mike's eyes were beginning to close, and Harvey shook him, knowing that until he figured out what was going on, he didn't want him falling asleep. "Stay awake, Mike. What's wrong? How do you feel?" Harvey turned his wrist around in order to take his pulse, freezing when he saw all of the new cuts criss-crossing up and down his arm, some of which had reopened from Harvey's grasp and were now beginning to bleed. One look at Mike's other arm showed the same scene. Harvey bit his tongue, resisting the urge to yell. He pressed his fingers against Mike's wrist, feeling for his pulse. He waited a few moments, then swore. "Shit." Mike's heart was beating way too fast, and his skin was beginning to feel clammy, a sheen of sweat reflecting off his forehead. Something was seriously wrong.

Harvey took out his phone from his pocket and quickly dialled 911. He spoke to the woman on the other end for a few moments and was assured that an ambulance was on its way. When he looked up, he was surprised to find Mike looking back at him, his eyes half closed and shining with unshed tears as he looked back down at his cut up wrist, which Harvey still had in his hand. Harvey swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Oh, kid," he said. He placed his hand behind Mike's head, bringing it to rest underneath his chin. "You'll be okay. We'll figure this out." He closed his eyes. "We'll figure this out."

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