It was 7:03 on a Saturday morning and the first hint of flurries had just begun to sting the skin of Harvey's cheeks with its small, icy flakes. The weather had been exceptionally unpredictable for days, with the quiet tension and ominous feel in the air. The promise of subtle morning sunshine prompted Harvey to leave his condo in favor of a steaming mug of artisan coffee. In its rarity, the peak of light was worth a trip to his favorite café before the first blizzard of winter came, more than likely the first of many.

Harvey resided in one of New York's nicer neighborhoods – the Upper East Side. His condo was the penthouse suite of a slate stone building, located about two and a half blocks from Central Park and around it many bustling cafes and coffee shops.

The bridge between the seasonal changes in New York would never be perfect. The peak in temperatures, the dips between the two extremes of winter and summer were common enough that throughout Harvey's life, there wasn't anything more beautiful than witnessing the beginning of autumn. The way the oak leaves changed colors as if they were hand painted, the air – crisp and fresh with its ripeness - and the coffee – ever so richer during the transition was like sunshine after a long shower.

As he sipped his espresso, Harvey felt himself relax for the first time since last night. The week had been rough – with an intellectual property case on the brim of closing, the start of a new contracts case, the 10 million dollar Levier merger and working with those asshole board of directors with an alternative contingency plan (Plan B) simultaneously was taking a toll on him, just a bit.

But his first thought before he left his condo this morning was Mike, damn that kid. Harvey had barely made it halfway to the café before his mind started wondering what Mike was doing at this exact moment. The kid was always on the spectrum of both extremes – quick-witted genius and a persistent pest. He wondered if Mike slept at all last night. He's known his associate for a few months now and he was slowly etching his way underneath Harvey's skin. He quickly brushed that thought away.

The nuances of the espresso became more evident as Harvey sunk into the chair. The properly roasted flavor of the coffee bean was pleasant and sharp – the very contrast of the way he appreciated his caffeine. The thought of Mike however, took him out of his pensive state. He downed the rest of the espresso like a shot of liquor, ate the crema with his spoon and made his way back to the condo.

Mike awoke from his slumber in relative calmness but his throat felt parched and uncomfortable. He shivered slightly and touched his forehead. It was damp and sticky and he groaned at the apparent chill he felt against his slightly raised temperature. Damn it, Mike thought. He didn't have time to get sick. Not when there's so much work that needs to be done in the next few weeks. It was a calamity of sorts, always resonating in Mike's peripheral. There's always one thing or another that followed Mike, and he felt another chill creeping up on him. It was probably his life's punishment – his penance to reconcile for his past.

So Mike did the only logical thing to clear his headspace – run.

Mike was glad his grandmother didn't give him any shit about graduating with a 4.0 GPA and not making any altering life plans. Perhaps she wanted him to make decisions based on what he wanted, or maybe she had a passive aggressive way of steering him in the right direction without saying a word. Either way, Mike was grateful for it and it made him feel like an adult.

Seventeen was an age that's neither here nor there. You're not legally an adult but you're no child.

Mike stayed behind to attend the local community college with Trevor. Trevor was a lot of things. He was equal parts trouble and arrogance, sharply manipulative and a childhood best friend who'd watch after Mike at his lowest points. When Mike was bullied on the first day of freshmen year, Trevor followed the kid home after school to teach him a lesson in bullying. Mike hadn't known about it and never questioned why Jason was absent for a week straight after that day. Jason never bothered Mike again.

When Mike told Trevor in his junior year of high school that he may be bisexual, Trevor treated it as if it he discovered Mike was double jointed or something – not important, nor wrong. "If that's what you want, who cares."

Mike would theorize with Trevor on nights they couldn't sleep and talk about becoming the men they want to be. Do they want to be the sort of men who made a difference? Working in honest jobs? Be prolific? Keep their promises? It was the sort of lazy nights that kept them both calm in the company of each other.

When Mike turned 11, he received Confirmation into the Catholic Church – his grandmother had believed that would unite him closer to his parents, and give him the faith he didn't know he was searching for. Mike found it to be a strange experience – all of the other kids he knew that were confirmed were less like warriors of god, and more of spiritual couch potatoes. The experience had deepened Mike's curiosity for the ritual and, while he identified himself as more of the couch potato in a vague sense, he still found the militant ritual to be soothing during times of sadness and uncertainty.

Mike's breath was labored as he ran past libraries he spent his youth in – reading stories of pain and triumph, magic and happily ever afters - receiving dog-eared copies of books given to him by Helen the Librarian. He'd read in solitude, often living vicariously through Maniac Magee, or Huckleberry Finn, the characters encompassing his life and giving him the hope of something bigger. Mike continued running, only stopping to catch his breath as his thoughts lingered through the vast emptiness of a rare New York morning. Mike in search of what he couldn't find – his piece of mind. Why is he so tense?

And then he found himself in the vicinity of Harvey Specter's neighborhood.

Harvey was consumed in the contract case when he heard a knock on his door. Surely he hadn't expected any visitors. He opened the door and saw Mike, out of breath but with a sharp look in his eye.

"Mike, what are you doing here?" Harvey asked.

"I was – "

Harvey cut him off. "More importantly, how'd you manage to get my address? Nevermind. Don't answer that question."

"Harvey, I was thinking, and I mean really thinking about that Sever case. I think we can get it dismissed."

Harvey made a gesture to let Mike in. Mike took off his ear buds and pocketed them.

"Alright hot shot. What do you suggest we do? This case was made for shit anyway because it is going to get dropped." Harvey said.

Mike sat in one of Harvey's bar stools, and Harvey stood next to him with his arms crossed.

"Woodland Park can't sue our client for nuisance" Mike said, "because how can Woodland Park differentiate what deliberate and what 'everyday noise' sounds like?" Mike asked, air quoting the last bit, "Besides, they have five small kids. It's a given."

"But if it's a violation of the terms on the lease, you know Woodland Park is going to go for the signed contract. It's in the print and they're tenacious bastards. They're suing a tenant, Mike. The Severs entered into the lease 6 months ago."

"…Which is why the doctrine of nuisance precludes an action in nuisance where the noise they're claiming to come from the Sever's could be from another apartment. AND, Woodland Park Properties had every opportunity to seek out the tenants they rented it to. It wasn't like they hid the fact that they had 5 kids in the initial rental application. But that's beside the point." Mike walked around to Harvey's couch. "I found something else. Woodland Properties was previously called Le Garden Pointe, and the owner of that property is the current owner's brother, Lee. Garden Pointe sued 5 of its tenants within the span of 10 years, all of whom have families with more than 3 kids and all of the families have a history of bad credit. And here's the kicker – they offered rental promotions to each of those families on the basis of need and eventually sued them all" Mike said, feeling proud of himself.

"And here I thought you wouldn't figure it out" Harvey commented while looking through another manila folder.

"You figured it out already?"

"I already have 2 former tenants willing to testify against Woodland Park" Harvey said, "and you know why?"

"Because if they've done it once, they'll do it again. Shit, Harvey. We're gonna bring down the wrath of God on them!"

"Not so fast, rookie. If we were able to figure this out so fast, they would cover all their avenues as well."

Mike noticed Harvey said 'we' instead of 'I'. "Wait, why did you need me on this when you already figured it all out?" Mike asked.

Harvey cleared his throat. "Because I need to make sure we're on the same page. Now that I know that you know, we can work on more important things like the Levier merger." He looks closely at Mike, "We'll worry about this on Monday. We're going to get this case dropped so we won't even need the other two to testify but we'll be ready for them if we need to be."

They continue working throughout the day in companionable silence. Harvey quite enjoys Mike's company though he does not admit to such a thing. Mike reminds him a lot of Marcus, in his bright mind and spirit.

They take a break and order Thai for dinner. Mike looks in Harvey's fridge to find them some beers. Mike looks disheveled now, grateful for the break. The concept of time is shot to hell when he's challenged by Harvey. Mike has no objection to that and wants to impress the older man, logistical concerns like breathing aside – not being in Harvey's presence is turning foreign.

The sun set hours ago as they share dinner. Mike's never been to Harvey's condo before and it was the first time he really took a hard look. Harvey's condo is dark, and inviting and masculine, with mahogany furniture and minimalistic stylings. The dim light cast throughout the condo is warm and homey, the vast open space in the company of toe to ceiling windows. The aura is of a privileged man, living in his expansive space, the city lights twinkling below him. There is the feel of the rich leather against their backs, and Mike silently wonders what his 700 thread count Egyptian sheets must feel like.

Mike's thoughts were disrupted as he finishes the last of his dinner and Harvey brings their plates into the kitchen and discards them in the sink. Harvey walks toward his record collection in such a lithe manner, Mike realizes this must be a ritual Harvey does in the evenings.

"What kind of music do you want?" Harvey asks.

Mike looks up quickly, a bit startled. "Uh, I-I don't care. Whatever you like."

"You must have some preference, Mike" Harvey says, his voice oozing with warmth and control.

"I really don't."

Harvey looked over to Mike and almost missed the slight tremor in Mike's body - his left arm willing his body to still. Harvey could tell that Mike's breathe hitched and his breathing became stifled. It was too easy to miss but Mike was holding a beer in right hand and the moving waves of the liquid in the bottle were tiny but unmistakable.

Harvey tries again, "You always seem to have an opinion in the office with Donna"

"Well, that's because Donna is awesome."

Mike maneuvers his body away from Harvey and curses himself for the lame answer. Damn it.

And then, as if the papers in front of him were suddenly pressing, Mike picked up the papers and looked at them with heavy concentration, "Harvey, what if we tricked the witness? Get him to admit that he knew about the cover up without him admitting it."

Fair enough, Harvey thought and came back to sit next to Mike. They continued working for another few hours. Mike was feeling rather tense, and Harvey saw the stress signs in Mike's body. Mike was still dressed in his running attire looking much younger than his years and certainly much more innocent than what life has thrown at him.

"How about we call it a day, Mike? You look like shit."

"But what about –"

"The numbers can wait. We'll dispose the witness on Monday. We'll work on this on Monday. We have a week to work on the due diligence."

Mike sighed slumped down on the leather couch, letting the rich leather envelope him. The merger had been taxing and the company's financials were less than solid in the past five years – records missing, a hole here, a hole there. There wouldn't be enough time in the week to figure out the mess.

Harvey brought out 2 more beers for them and Mike was grateful for the gesture. He was planning to go home but didn't mind having another beer with his boss. Harvey took a swig of his beer and flicked on the TV, leaving it on old reruns playing in the background.

"Seriously, Harvey. Law and Order?" Mike smirked, wistful but teasing.

"What can I say? I like fake lawyers," Harvey quipped back, his gaze intense. Mike felt his throat tighten at that statement but he knew Harvey didn't mean it like that… right? Subconsciously, it's blatantly obvious, at least to Mike, that Harvey was an 'international man of mystery', according to the firm's inner circle. And it wasn't lost on him that Donna frequently asked him, "blonde or brunette?" He's straight.

"Besides," Harvey speaks, "I defended the network on a copyright case a few years back. I do some consulting work for them every now and then."

Mike took another swig of his beer and gave Harvey a 'are you serious?' look. "Right. You got me. I don't like Law and Order."

"No, you don't like my record player or music." Harvey said, eyeing Mike speculatively.

Mike forced a laugh. "What? What are you talking about?"

"Just earlier, when I asked you what kind of music you wanted to hear, you looked like you saw a ghost."

Mike started feeling the heat rise up to his neck. He unconsciously tugged at the neck of his tee shirt, and chuckled nervously. "I have absolutely nothing against your music or your record player Harvey."

"Mike, I read people for a living. I don't know what it is but –"

"And it's killing you not to know right?" Mike interrupted. "Well, I'll have you know I actually enjoy your music." Mike sounded honest.

"Okay. So you're saying if I go and play something right now, it won't bother you?" Harvey asked.

"That's correct" Mike answered, "go ahead. Knock yourself out."

Harvey walked to his record collection and placed a needle over the record. He was testing Mike and he knew it. He could tell there was an odd sense of urgency in Mike's voice – a sort of panic that rose when he willed Harvey for the go ahead. It's silly, Harvey doing this based on a hunch but it bothered him slightly – possibly more than slightly, and his curiosity was getting the better of him. Mike was surely on the defensive, annihilating any chance of Harvey being able to read him.

The music started playing – a soft jazzy tune mellow enough to sink into but still a hint of prickly at the edges – a melody so strong it exhibits a juxtaposition of familiarity, and loss. Of anger and helplessness – the very of core of a tune that carried all the correct elements to touch and shatter nerves.

And Mike felt it – lived in it – even for a mere half a minute, his calm exterior falling apart. As if he was bit, suddenly everything started to feel close together. Too close. Sweat was pooling around his head and he felt restless and uncomfortable, unable to catch his breath as if he was being pushed headfirst into water.

He snapped out of it for a second and looked around the room, and made quick eye contact with Harvey as he shot up from his seat.

"Michael -" Harvey started and took a few steps toward Mike.

"You're a real asshole, Harvey. I hope you know that." Mike said, and made his way out of the condo, slamming the door behind him.