Hi everyone! I'm back with another chapter :D This features more college!Mike and mainly deals with Mike being a bit homesick and settling into Harvard and adulthood and trying to make new friends. Don't worry; Harvey makes a lengthy appearance too ;D I'm not really sure why this chapter is so long because it's not particularly eventful or action-packed, but I don't know how to cut it down so...hope you all enjoy!

Also, I've attempted to put in chapter titles! It may or may not have worked, but they're absolutely terrible, so get excited about that XD

Mike's age: 18

And we are safe from every harm

In our home; no light or charms.

Just us, all on our own

No one, we are all grown.

-From "Shutters" by Hayden Calnin

As it turned out, law school was pretty hard.

Mike's classmates had started off the first day of class looking like bright-eyed, competent young professionals; all of them ready and eager to sink their teeth into the law and study at the best university in the country. They had been confident; cocky even, each so certain that they were the crème de la crème of the nation and that law school would be difficult but manageable; that it was just a necessary step in their plans to become a famous lawyer or judge or Supreme Court Justice or U.S. president.

Now, about a month into the school year, they all just kind of looked like homeless zombies. Mike had never seen people study like this before—all of them were obsessed. They were breathing, sleeping, dreaming, living the law. It was very admirable in Mike's opinion, and it showed great work ethic. And he supposed that this was what some of these people had been working towards for their whole lives, so it made sense that they were going to give it their all.

But people were starting to get cutthroat in the race to emerge in the top ten percent of the class rankings. And some people's haggard faces were beginning to look unnaturally pale because the only two places they ever went were class and the law library. Mike had accidentally startled a couple of sleeping law students awake in the library before, and each time they'd come awake shouting some legal term or yelling a precedent.

And that wasn't even taking into account all the people who had taken to walking around campus and murmuring legal terms to themselves. Mike had even caught one of his classmates arguing with himself last week. Everybody was doing a great job of looking put-together on the outside—the men all wore chinos and sweaters and button-downs to class, and the women generally wore professional pantsuits and nice sweaters—but the Harvard Law first years as a collective group all had massive bags under their eyes, terrible coffee breath, and a slightly crazed look in their eyes.

Everyone except Mike.

Mike was finding law school to be difficult, but in the opposite way from his classmates. While their greatest fears were mock trials and tests and 50-page essays and tough professors that grilled unsuspecting students during lecture, Mike actually relished in all those things. Well, okay, maybe he didn't really enjoy the essay-writing bit because it tended to get a bit banal and pedantic after the thirtieth page, but he'd been waiting for the chance to debate precedents and ethical issues with people who were smarter than him and more experienced than him his whole life. And several of his professors fell into that category, so he actually enjoyed the challenge of class. And he kicked ass at mock trial. The simple truth was that Harvey and his undergrad work at NYU had prepared him well for the academic side of law school—nobody could say he didn't belong there amongst all the 22 and 23-year-olds who were in his year. He had earned his spot at Harvard, and he wasn't afraid to work his hardest to earn the top spot in the class overall.

But he didn't really have to work that hard, and that was one of the main problems he was having. His classmates were not big fans of him. And he got that—he was sure that he'd feel jealous and threatened too if some hotshot kid came in and barely had to study and still knew all the answers. Because he knew that most of his classmates had to dedicate hours of their time to master the same information that took him a half-hour to read and memorize and store away for the rest of his life.

And nobody liked that. Mike couldn't really blame them for it, but it still wasn't fun. He'd hoped when he first came to law school a month prior that he'd finally meet other people like him—people who were so far ahead of everyone else that even Harvard Law wasn't difficult for them. He'd been disappointed though—while all his classmates were incredibly smart and talented and were all going somewhere big and important with their lives, none of them had the same prodigy-like gifts that he possessed.

And so he was back to being the class oddball, as usual. One of his professors had called him out on it in a very public way the very first day of class when taking roll—'Mike Ross—you're Harvey Specter's boy aren't you? The one with the eidetic memory? It's a pleasure to meet you; you're one of our first ever eighteen-year-old law school students!'—and that had completely ruined any chance Mike might have had of blending in and fitting in with the rest of his peers. Not only did they all know that he was only eighteen, but they also knew about his memory.

Which was where his problems with law school began: his complete lack of social life. Nobody was really outright mean to him—after all, these were all adults who had graduated from some of the most prestigious colleges in the nation before coming to the best law school in the nation. They weren't immature or stupid by any means. And fortunately, nobody stooped to the high school standards of pushing him in the hallway or trying to beat him up under the bleachers in the football stand. Small blessings, he supposed.

It was all far more subtle than that—the ones who hated him made snide comments whenever he answered a question right in lecture and he'd learned to guard his laptop very carefully when he was in the library or other public places where his work could be sabotaged. He'd once shut his laptop and left it with all his textbooks on his favorite library desk for two minutes to run to the bathroom, and when he came back his computer had been opened and his entire twenty page essay that he'd just finished writing had been deleted. Whoever had done it obviously hadn't understood the way his memory worked, and he'd been able to just sit down and rewrite it word-for-word from memory, but it had been annoying at best. And scary at worst—if people would stoop to sabotaging his papers, what was to say they wouldn't try to get a hold of his tests to change the answers before they were graded? Or what if they tried to hack into his trial plans for mock trials to get the upper hand on his strategy?

He hadn't told Harvey about any of these concerns for fear that the older man would react by doing something horribly embarrassing, like volunteering to come to Harvard to 'guest lecture' about Pearson Hardman and then actually using that time to try and figure out who it was that had deleted Mike's paper and scare the shit out of them. He kind of wished he'd just told his adoptive father though—Harvey had gone to Harvard and he would understand and sympathize with the way that the class dynamics worked. But he kept quiet because he knew that Harvey already worried plenty for Mike while he was here at Harvard. And that if Harvey did get involved, everybody would just dislike Mike even more for ratting them out and for running to someone else for help.

And he knew that these challenges would only make him a better lawyer one day and that the people who were doing this were just desperate to get to the top of the class rankings so they could get a good associate position upon graduating, which was something that he didn't have to worry about that much—he was pretty sure he'd be hired at Pearson Hardman without even applying. But it still sucked and it kind of hurt. He was so tired of people always trying to put him down just because he was smarter than them. He had hoped that he'd finally find a place where he'd fit in, but Harvard didn't seem like it was going to be that place.

Because even though there was a nervous, competitive edge to everyone's interactions, there definitely were still lots of people who'd befriended one another and formed little groups and cliques. And Mike hadn't been invited to join anyone's study group or go out for drinks after night class. Everybody seemed to have banded together to face the challenges of law school, and they hadn't wanted Mike to join. Most of the people weren't rude to his face, but were just coolly indifferent to his presence. And there were a couple people in particular who actually genuinely disliked him for some reason—people who made cutting comments about Mike in the library sometimes in voices that were just loud enough for Mike to overhear.

"I can't believe they let that little shit in four years early—he could have waited his turn and let someone have his spot now. My cousin worked his ass off to make it to Harvard Law and he didn't get in. And I bet it's because of him taking a place that wasn't his;always thinking he should get special treatment because he's 'so smart'."

That was what one girl in his Corporate Law class had muttered to her seat partner a few weeks ago after their professor had commended Mike for his essay in front of the entire class. And Mike had tried to brush it off at the time and act like it hadn't gotten to him, but a few manly tears may or may not have been shed that night in the shower when he got home from class and was faced with another solitary night of eating ramen and studying.

He hadn't really let on to Harvey that he was having a rough time socially…he was sure that Harvey already knew on some level—Mike had never been one to come home from school with a huge circle of friends. But he hadn't quite told Harvey that he had literally no friends—and barely even any acquaintances—in law school. It was just…embarrassing. Everybody loved Harvey; he wouldn't understand. Instead he had just talked about hanging out with Rachel and Harold. And he may have taken the completely true story of a guy named Jake loaning him a pencil in class and translated it into a story about how he and Jake had hung out once and watched a movie (Sitting next to one another in class could count as hanging out, right? And they had watched a video about tax fraud in class that day). So while Harvey was by no means under the impression that Mike had turned into a social butterfly, he maybe didn't know the full extent of how rough of a time Mike was having socially.

But currently his only friends were Rachel and Harold, and they were both swamped with their undergraduate work so he wasn't able to see them as often as he liked. It was…lonely. He didn't have to study all that much, so he found himself with a decent amount of free time and no one to spend it with.

Living completely by himself certainly had its pros—he enjoyed the extra privacy and the freedom to come and go as he pleased—but it definitely had its cons too. He couldn't remember the last time he'd sat down to a meal with someone else, and he was sick of ramen and plain pasta and couscous and rice. He didn't know how to do laundry, and he'd only realized last week that he'd been washing his clothes with fabric softener instead of actual laundry soap the whole time he'd been at school, which explained why his clothes were so soft but also meant that they hadn't been washed properly with detergent for a month.

He wasn't used to being on his own and there were random little things he was still discovering about being an adult. Like how expensive utilities and water could be if not used very sparingly. Or that living in a crappy apartment complex with no central air wasn't fun in the months of August and September. He had tried to put in an air conditioning unit that he'd bought at a thrift shop by himself, and he may or may not have accidentally dropped it out of his third-story window.

If Harvey asked, it hadn't happened.

Anyway, it had been two weeks since that hadn't happened, and Mike definitely wasn't still finding plastic bits of his air conditioner in the bushes every time he walked by. But at least Hank the landlord had finally stopped giving him the evil eye and snidely asking him if he knew how to operate his ceiling fan or if he was just going to throw that out the window one day too. Mike found this a little unfair, as the air conditioner had been a complete accident—he'd just pushed it a little too far out the window when he was trying to settle it in and it had just…slipped. And besides, it wasn't like there was any danger of anyone being hurt—the air conditioner had dropped straight into the bushes with no incident. Nobody would have been the wiser had it not been for the fact that Hank had been walking by at the time and saw Mike dangling halfway out the window with a panicked, startled expression and the accursed air conditioner lying on the ground in smithereens and put the two pieces together.

That was the only major mishap he'd had at the apartment so far—and he was actually quite proud of the fact that he had never set the smoke alarm off. He was pretty sure he was the only one in the complex, because it seemed like they had to evacuate the building at least once or twice a week due to somebody burning their microwave dinner or trying to make popcorn while drunk.

So that was one good thing. And it was starting to cool off now that it was early October, so he was missing his air conditioner far less these days.

But he was lonely and tired, and he didn't know how he was going to do this whole law school thing for the next three years. It had only been a month, and he already missed New York more than he could bear some days.

Today was one of those days for some reason. He'd woken up early for class, which was odd. Normally he would have been grateful for the extra time to make coffee and sit at his rickety little table and watch the tail end of the sunrise, but he'd awoken in an oddly pensive mood and he found himself making the dangerous mistake of wondering what Harvey would be up to in New York around this time of day.

He pictured Harvey making his way to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee—he wondered if Harvey had changed his coffee-making ritual now that Mike was gone, because he'd always somehow managed to leave just the perfect amount of coffee for Mike in the pot after he took his own serving. And then he imagined Harvey sitting at their kitchen table with his toast and coffee and reading the paper or reading over a brief. Did he think of Mike in the quiet moments that Mike used to fill with his noise and questions and banter? Did he ever wander past Mike's bedroom and feel a pang that Mike wasn't in there with his music blasting and his clothes in messy piles all over the room? Did he miss tripping over Mike's shoes every day?

It was such a familiar, domestic picture that he'd painted for himself in his mind that he felt an indescribable wave of melancholy settle over his shoulders as he looked at the dingy, bare walls of his apartment. These walls weren't his home, and they would never be his home.

He was startled out of his early morning reverie by the familiar sound of his ringtone. He sighed and forced himself to rise from his kitchen table and make his way over to his bed where he'd left his phone. He collapsed on the bed, suddenly tempted to fall back asleep for the rest of the day and just skip class and being responsible for the day. But he reminded himself that this whole law school thing was something that he had to do if he wanted to fulfill his dreams, and forced himself to act like an adult.

He grabbed the phone on the last ring and blindly pressed accept. "Hello?" He said, wondering who was calling him at seven in the morning on a Tuesday.

"Hi, Mike," Harvey's voice said over the line. Mike felt a smile tug at his mouth—it was like Harvey had some sort of weird radar for when Mike was missing home, because he always seemed to call at just the right moment.

Or maybe it was just that he called Mike a lot. And that Mike called him a lot too.

Perhaps a slightly embarrassing amount—it certainly wasn't daily, but they did talk a couple times a week, which he was guessing was a lot more than most of his peers talked to their parents while they were living at school.

But they had both gotten really good at inventing plausible excuses for why they needed to call one another so often, so that helped make it a little less embarrassing. Then they didn't have to admit that they missed one another, and Mike didn't have to admit to being homesick—they could just pretend that they'd had a specific reason for calling one another, and that they accidentally started chatting about how things were going after taking care of the business end of the call. But it took real skill to come up with these kinds of opening lines for their conversations. Some of Harvey's best excuses included variations of:

"Well, I was just calling to make sure you had managed to get your lazy ass out of bed and make it to class on time…"

"I heard you coughing a few times the other day when we talked, and I was just calling to check the Black Lung hadn't caught up with you and killed you…"

"Mike, a new study just came out in the New York times about how the average college student reports having binge drank within the past two weeks. Now you've been away from home for a few weeks, so I was wondering how many of your brain cells are still functioning…"

Sometimes Harvey called with incredibly obscure questions that only Mike could answer: what had that deli been called—that one they had driven by that one time two summers ago when it was really hot out? No, he didn't need to know for any particular reason. No, he didn't want to go eat there. He just wanted to know. Oh, and while they were on the subject, how was the weather at Harvard?

Or sometimes it was case-related. "Mike, I need you to look up a precedent for me for next Tuesday on this case; our latest batch of associates is completely incompetent. And speaking of next Tuesday, did you manage to order the right version of that textbook you had mentioned the other day? Yes, I know that next Tuesday and your textbook aren't actually related; it's called a transition…"

Mike thought it was ridiculously transparent that Harvey was just calling because he missed Mike and wanted to see how everything was going and ascertain that he was surviving and had not succumbed to the ever-present threat of the mold in his apartment.

But he was also guilty of doing the same thing, so he supposed he couldn't talk. He liked to think that he was a little better at disguising the fact that sometimes he got homesick and just wanted to hear Harvey's voice though. When he called home, his calls generally started with:

"Dad, I'm out of money again. No, I didn't specifically use the word 'dad' instead of Harvey because I thought it would make you give me more money; don't be ridiculous…"

"So…Harvey, are you supposed to just mix up the fabric softener and the laundry soap and dump it all in there? What does bleach do? Do you have to separate them all out when you dump them in? What? You're supposed to divide up all the color groups? Huh, that would explain why all my white shirts turned pink last week…"

He was far more practical in his set-ups; probably because he had some very real doubts about how to take care of his adult responsibilities.

"Hi, Harvey," he responded, grabbing his blanket to swaddle himself in and returning to the kitchen table where he got better reception. "What's up?"

Sure enough, Harvey had a good excuse prepared. "I was just calling to see what your plans are for the weekend. Will you be busy Saturday during the day?"

"Hmm, let me check my busy social calendar," Mike said, grabbing his nearby notebook and flipping through the pages in a deliberately loud fashion as though it were a massive planner that he was checking. He found the squiggly, untidy little calendar he had drawn out at the beginning of the week to plan out his homework assignments and reading, and the only thing he had written in the Saturday square was 'buy 40-watt lightbulbs for desk lamp,' which didn't seem like it would occupy too much of his time.

"Yes, I think I could pencil something in between commitments," Mike said. He could practically hear Harvey roll his eyes through the phone.

"Well, if you want some free lunch or dinner, I'll be in the area for the day," Harvey said nonchalantly, although there was poorly masked excitement in his tone.

"What?!" Mike exclaimed, suddenly much happier than he'd been five minutes ago. He hadn't been planning on going home for a few more weeks when they had a long weekend at the end of October for fall break, but it would be great to see Harvey before then. He already couldn't believe that they'd gone a whole month without seeing one another. "You're coming to town? Why?"

"Well," Harvey said, maintaining his casual tone. "The Hamline Bros. want to celebrate their merger that I helped them through, so they're throwing a big gala about twenty miles away from Harvard this Friday night. I figured I'd get into town on Friday, go to the party that night, crash in a hotel, and then we could spend Saturday together. Your birthday is on Monday, after all, and I can't be there on the actual day. So I thought this would be the next best thing."

"Thanks, Dad!" He said in excitement.

"Yeah, well…Harvard was always pretty in the fall," Harvey said, obviously conjuring up excuses to make his decision to come see Mike sound a bit less sentimentally motivated. "And this way I can meet your new friends."

Oh.

He couldn't wait to see his father this weekend, but that meant he only had four days to conjure up some law school friends.

He'd have to find some theater majors and ask them to play his friends for a few hours on Saturday. He sighed and forced himself to chug the rest of his coffee and get ready for class after hanging up with Harvey.

With the way things were going, he'd never find friends by Saturday. He couldn't help but wonder if people would accept ramen or plain pasta as payment for acting as his friend this weekend?

It was Friday morning, and the quest to find friends had failed miserably thus far. Mike had tried everything he could think of since Tuesday—he'd smiled at his classmates as they'd walked by (most of them had just stared straight ahead, completely stuck in zombie-mode), he hadn't raised his hand to answers any questions in lecture all week so as not to seem like a teacher's pet, and when he'd seen a girl from his Ethics class sleeping in the library right before they were supposed to be in class, he'd woken her up so that she wouldn't miss the lecture. He'd had a moment of hope that surely she'd like him now that he'd saved her from missing class, but she'd startled so badly when he'd tapped her that she'd kicked him hard in the shins and had yelled at him for scaring her.

And now it was Friday and he was out of options: he was just going to have to man up and tell Harvey the truth—he didn't have any friends in law school. But he was afraid that if he told that truth, all the other truths that he'd been trying to bury would surface—that he consistently missed Harvey even worse than he'd missed his parents when he'd done his first sleepover at Trevor's house as a little kid; that he wasn't sure if he could handle the responsibility of being an adult and being on his own, and that some nights he was so lonely that he thought about hopping on a bus back to New York City just to see Harvey for a few hours.

He sighed as he drummed his pencil against his desk in their meeting for mock trial. It was run by the strictest, harshest professor in the whole law program. His name was Dr. Benson, and he was fair but very tough on students. He seemed to like Mike, though, and Mike was pretty well-prepared for the mock trial that was set to start next week.

It seemed that not all of his classmates were as prepared, however. Dr. Benson had been mercilessly grilling students all afternoon on their arguments, shooting everyone down and calling out all the fallacies and problems they were going to have during the real mock trial.

Jake, the guy who had loaned Mike a pencil a few weeks ago, looked incredibly nervous. "I haven't had time to do any prep work for this," he muttered in Mike's ear. "I had a midterm essay due in Civil Law, and I put mock trial off to work on the essay."

Mike looked over at him; pleasantly surprised that Jake was initiating conversation with him. That was the first time that had happened all year. "I'm sure you'll be fine," he whispered back. "Just keep your head down and he'll leave you alone."

Jake nodded, looking slightly appeased. But apparently Mike had spoken too soon, because Dr. Benson was headed their way.

"Jacob Nyman," he said, approaching their row of chairs. Jake suddenly went completely pale and petrified looking. "Tell me; how does your team hope to establish precedent for this case."

Mike could tell from Jake's face that he was drawing a complete blank. He casually laid the tip of his pen on the word 'McMillan' on his sheet of notes on his desk and cleared his throat slightly to catch Jake's eye.

Jake's gaze darted over and Mike could see the light go on in his mind the second he saw the word 'McMillan.'

"The defense wants to use the precedent established in the case McMillan vs. the state of New York from 1987," Jake said quickly, his voice slightly anxious but steady.

"Thank you, Mr. Nyman. Tell me, Benjamin Goodman, what would I…" and then he was gone. Jake let out a slightly shaky exhale.

"Thanks, man," he whispered to Mike as Dr. Benson moved on to interrogating someone else. "I owe you one."

Mike waved it off but smiled, feeling good inside that Jake appreciated what he'd just done to help him out.

When Dr. Benson dismissed the class, Jake grabbed him by the elbow before he could leave. "Hey," he said. "I'm having some friends over tonight if you want to come."

"Oh," Mike said, suddenly uncertain of how to respond. Part of him wanted to jump up and down with joy that he'd actually been invited somewhere. But part of him was scared to go and hang out with the older crowd—he probably wouldn't fit in and Jake would regret inviting an 18-year-old to a party with people mostly in their mid-twenties.

"This is normally the part where you say 'sure, Jake, I'll see you around 9,'" Jake said helpfully. He seemed like a very easy-going and friendly guy and Mike knew he was 23 because it had been his birthday on the first day of school and he'd mentioned that at one of the student mixers that day.

Mike grinned. "I guess so, if you don't mind having me there. You're the first person who's willing to talk to the whizkid."

"Nah, you seem cool enough," Jake said, and Mike wanted to burst into tears and hug the man. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed friendly interaction with his peers until this moment. "How old are you, anyway?"

Mike bit his lip. "I'll be nineteen on Monday," he said hopefully. Nineteen was pretty old, right?

"Okay, well you definitely have to come now so we can properly celebrate your birthday weekend. Listen, I've got to run, but here's my address," he passed Mike an address scrawled down on a half-sheet of paper. "Just come any time after nine or so."

Mike bobbed his head fervently in excited agreement as Jake waved and left. He couldn't believe it—his first night out in college! This was going to be great—he'd go out, meet some new people, and then tomorrow he'd get to see his dad all day. It sounded like the perfect celebration of his birthday weekend, just like Jake had said.

Harvey was not nearly as drunk as he would have liked to be. The Hamline Bros. were not his favorite people—to be honest, they were quite obnoxious, and were it not for the fact that this trip gave him an excuse to come and see Mike, he wouldn't have agreed to come to their merger gala.

Now it was nearing one in the morning and he was counting down the minutes until he could go back to his hotel and crash. He was tired—it had been a long week, and he wanted to be relatively well-rested to spend the day with Mike tomorrow.

He figured he could probably slip upstairs to his hotel room now—both the Hamlines were heavily intoxicated, and they wouldn't notice that he was missing. He had a strict policy against getting drunk at work events, but he could use a nightcap in his quiet hotel room upstairs, and then a relaxing night's sleep on his luxury king bed in the hotel room.

He was just slipping quietly away in the elevator when his phone rang, the caller I.D. showing Mike's name. Frowning and wondering why Mike was calling him at one in the morning, he quickly pressed 'accept.'

"Mike?" He said, hoping that nothing was wrong.

"Dad?" Mike's voice sounded slightly slurred. "Dad! It's you, isn't it? It's me, Mike! I'm at a party, Dad! It's a party for my birthday! Well...kind of," Mike said proudly.

"Oh god," Harvey said, dread washing over him. "I prayed the day would never come when I'd get this phone call. Mike, how much have you had to drink?"

"Uh, I don't know," Mike said, his voice goofy and overly-enthusiastic. "A lot! It's lots of fun down here, Harvey. And some of the people here are old—they're like twenty-seven. You could come and talk to them. You'd have fun."

Harvey exited the elevator and entered his hotel room, pinching the bridge of his nose to ward off the headache that was suddenly blossoming in his skull with the development of this situation.

Exiting the call screen, he found his way to his text messages. Just got my first drunk phone call from Mike, he sent to his little brother Paul. Paul would find it funny—he'd called Harvey many a time during his early drinking days in college.

He'd figured Paul wouldn't be awake at this hour, but he got a text back almost instantly.

I know—he called me three times already to tell me that there was a guy at the party he's at named Paul. Either there are three guys named Paul, or he forgot he told it to me the first two times. Have fun dealing with that tomorrow morning :P

Harvey groaned, resisting the urge to facepalm. This was worse than he'd anticipated.

"Daaaaaad," Mike was saying in a long, drawn-out sing-song voice. "Daaaad, why did you stop talking to me?"

Harvey sighed and exited his texts. "I'm still here, Mike. I was texting with Paul."

"Paul! Hey, that's right—I need to call Paul and tell him—tell him that there's a guy at this party named Paul! Isn't that funny, Harvey?"

"Hilarious," Harvey responded drily. "Now listen to me, Mike. Where are you at? Whose house?"

"Uh—I'm at my friend Jake's apartment. Guess what—he's my friend, Harvey! We're friends and I have friends here at Harvard! Everybody at this party is so nice—they sang happy birthday to me and then we took shots! College is pretty fun," Mike said, his tone cheery and his voice slurred.

Harvey groaned. "Mike, is there anyone there who isn't drunk off their ass?"

"I dunno, Harv," Mike giggled. "Wait, I think I'm drunk off my ass. But shhh, you can't tell Harvey!"

"Okay, I won't tell him," Harvey said, rolling his eyes and grabbing his jacket. "Mike, can you find someone to walk you home? I'll meet you there and I'll crash on your couch tonight."

"But home is so far away! I don't wanna walk to New York," Mike said, pouting.

"Not to New York, Mike. Just to your apartment at school," Harvey explained, drawing upon all of his patience to survive this conversation.

"That apartment isn't my home, Dad," Mike said, his voice still slurred but his words certain.

Harvey paused, a strange ache stretching across his chest as this statement. "I know, kid. But that's where I need you to go tonight, okay? Can you put one of your friends on the phone? Preferably one who did not take shots with you after the birthday song."

There was a moment of fumbling and Harvey was afraid that Mike was just going to end up hanging up his phone. Finally a new voice spoke into the phone.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Who is this?" Harvey asked, locking his room and heading to the elevator.

"This is Jake Nyman. Who are you?"

"I'm Mike's father," Harvey said, not caring in the slightest that his voice had edged into 'intimidating-the-witness-on-the-stand' mode.

"Oh, shit," Jake exhaled. "You're Harvey Specter. Well, there go my chances of getting hired at Pearson Hardman after graduation."

"'Oh, shit' is right," Harvey said.

"Look, man, I'm sorry if Mike called you—he's pretty drunk, but I've been keeping an eye on him all night to make sure nothing gets out of hand. He's drinking some water right now. You don't have to worry about him, sir," Jake said, and Harvey was relieved to hear that this guy at least sounded relatively sober and in control of his mental facilities. It was a little quieter now, as though Jake had moved to a different room where there wasn't music blasting.

"Care to tell me why you even allowed him to drink with you in the first place? Are you aware of how old he is?" Harvey asked in his best prosecuting-attorney voice.

Jake sighed. "Look, sir, I'm not sure if you know this or not, but Mike's been having a miserable time making friends this year. Everybody's jealous of how smart he is, so nobody wants to talk to him. And he's just been walking around campus looking like a kicked puppy for the past month. And I dunno…he seems like a nice kid. I just thought he'd appreciate being included—he looked like he was about to cry with joy when I invited him over. I didn't have the heart to exclude him from the drinking and the party atmosphere; I thought that would just isolate him further. I'm sorry, sir, but I think it was good for Mike. He made a bunch of new friends tonight."

Harvey sighed himself as he headed out to his car, his suspicions and worries about Mike struggling socially at law school now having been confirmed. His heart ached for the kid, it really did. He still didn't approve of the whole going-out-and-getting-drunk thing, but he could see that Jake's intentions were good and could understand why Mike had decided to go out and get wasted.

"Look—we're not going to get anywhere with this discussion right now. How drunk are you, Jake? Can you walk Mike back to his apartment? I'll meet you there—I'm in town for the weekend, and I would feel more comfortable making sure that Mike is okay myself tonight."

"Sure, man. I'm of age and I've only had a couple of drinks, so I'm good. I'll walk Mikey home and meet you there in half an hour."

And with that Jake hung up and Harvey stared his engine.

Time to go deal with a drunk teenager.

When Mike awoke, it was with a pounding headache, an alarmingly nauseous stomach, and...a slightly damp forehead?

He blinked and opened his eyes, instantly regretting it as the bright light of morning slammed into his eyeballs. He blinked a few more times, the world spinning slightly as he finally managed to open his eyes to slits and take in his surroundings.

"Dad?" He rasped as he zoned in on his father, who was sitting on the edge of his bed and wiping at Mike's forehead with a damp cloth. "Why are you dabbing at my forehead? I'm not sick," he said.

"No, you're hungover," Harvey said, rubbing at a spot on Mike's forehead near his hairline as though trying to erase something. "And someone drew a picture of the male genitalia on your forehead in sharpie."

"What?! Oh god," Mike said, sitting up and rubbing at his wet forehead. He instantly regretted this sudden movement as it made his stomach roll unpleasantly. "I'm going to be sick," he gasped, stumbling out of his bed and making his way towards the bathroom, where he swiftly emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

He was dimly aware of the fact that Harvey had entered the bathroom and was rubbing soothing circles on his back. He sagged against the toilet when he was finished, completely exhausted.

"Here, take a few sips of this water," Harvey said, handing Mike a glass of water. "Slowly—you need to stay hydrated, but if you drink too much you'll just get sick again."

"This is horrible," Mike moaned, the world still spinning slightly. "I'm never drinking again."

"Eh, give it awhile," Harvey said. "Unfortunately, I'm sure you'll change your mind. Do you think you're going to be sick again?"

"I don't know," Mike said, resisting the urge to whimper pathetically. He imagined himself facing the nightmare of his first hangover alone, and was suddenly incredibly grateful for Harvey's soothing, reassuring presence.

"Alright, well, let's get you back to bed for a few more hours. I'll put the trash can next to your bed, and I think you'll feel much better if you just sleep it off a little more."

Mike nodded weakly and clambered to his feet, grateful for Harvey's supportive hand on his shoulder as he stumbled back to bed and burrowed under the covers. "Thanks, Dad," he mumbled. "'m really sorry about this. It was going to be our day together."

Harvey sighed, smoothing out the blankets over Mike's body. "Well, I think you've punished yourself enough already with this hangover. But get ready for a fun talk about underage drinking when you wake up later."

Mike groaned and buried himself even further under the blankets. "Have you seen my phone?" He asked, suddenly wondering where his wallet and keys and other personal effects had gotten to last night.

"Yep," Harvey said. "It's in the blender."

"What?!" Mike asked incredulously, pulling the covers back to stare at his father. "I tried to blend my phone last night?"

"Well, you didn't actually turn the blender on. Jake stopped you, but you were still going on about it when I got here. Apparently you were very proud of your new 'indestructable' phone case, and you want to put your phone in the blender to test the indestructable-ness. Anyway, eventually Jake just unplugged the blender and let you put your phone in there because there was no diverting your attention. I think it's still in there."

Mike groaned, wondering if he even wanted to know the full story of what had happened last night.

Mike felt about a million times better when he awoke a few hours later. It was nearing noon, and Harvey was gone—he left a note saying he'd run down to the corner store to "remedy Mike's appalling lack of edible food" next to a fresh glass of water and some tylenol.

Mike had brushed his teeth thoroughly and taken a nice long shower, allowing the hot water to soothing his headache and his sore muscles. Then he scrubbed at his forehead until the sharpie ink was barely visible, pulled on a comfy outfit, and huddled at the kitchen table, waiting for the tylenol to kick in and take care of the lingering bits of his hangover.

He was still sitting there when Harvey came back.

"He lives," Harvey said sarcastically as he began putting away groceries. Mike quickly jumped to his feet and helped Harvey put away the rest of the groceries, feeling guilty that he'd called his father away from his ritzy hotel in the middle of the night and left him to sleep on his dingy little couch and then puked all over the bathroom. And all Harvey had done was take care of him and buy him groceries.

"Dad," he said. "I'm so sorry about last night—"

"Save it, Mike. Let's go get some food and we'll talk then," Harvey said, his tone not unkind. "Also, random question: why are there pieces of plastic in the bushes next to this apartment building? I saw them on my way in and it struck me as odd. Did someone throw their computer out the window or something?"

Mike pretended not to hear this question—no way was he going to tell Harvey about his doomed attempts at installing an air conditioner, because he'd never hear the end of it. "There's a really good diner down the street," he said cheerfully, as though Harvey hadn't spoken. Harvey looked at him oddly but nodded in agreement.

So they headed down the block to Mike's favorite diner and ordered some brunch. After the waitress had disappeared with their orders, Harvey turned to Mike with his eyebrows raised expectantly.

"So," he said. "You want to talk about it?"

Mike sighed. He poured himself a cup of coffee and practically inhaled it, needing the caffeine today more than he'd ever needed it before in his life. "I just got a little out of control. That's the first time I've ever really been drunk, and I was excited that Jake had invited me to the party. I just wanted to fit in. It was stupid.'

Harvey carefully examined Mike's tired face. "You've been having a rough time making friends, huh?"

Mike looked away, emotion suddenly clogging his throat. "Nobody wants to be friends with me, Harvey. They all hate me because I'm younger and smarter. I don't have any friends at Harvard."

"That's not true," Harvey said, and Mike looked up in surprise.

"Jake's approach with you last night was a little...misguided, but he spoke very highly of you on the phone with me. You at least have him as a friend."

Mike looked up in pleasant surprise. "Really? He said that he didn't mind? Because I was a mess. And he had to walk me home and stop me from blending my phone and stuff."

Harvey shrugged. "Sounds like something a friend would do," he said. "Look, Mike, I understand that fitting in has been hard for you, but you know that underage binge drinking is not the answer to your problems. People will like you well enough if you just act like yourself—and it might take some time. The crowd at Harvard is tough. I get that, trust me. But I think you'll make friends if you just relax and keep doing what you've been doing."

Mike sighed wearily. "Harvey, nobody likes me for who I am, because who I am is way smarter than all of them. I haven't been rubbing it in or anything, but they all just don't like that I don't have to try as hard. I can't do anything to change that."

Harvey was silent for a minute. "Jake told me about how you helped him out in mock trial yesterday, Mike. That had nothing to do with you being smart or dumb—that was just you being yourself. And that's the reason that Jake invited you to hang out last night— not because you're smarter or younger, but just because you seemed like a good guy that he wanted to get to know better. Keep that up and you'll be fine."

Mike thought this over, feeling much better as the truth of Harvey's words sunk in. He was lucky to have met Jake—he was pretty sure he'd chatted with some of his other classmates last night too, and they'd all seemed to be very accepting of his presence. Maybe there was some hope for him after all.

"Now...about the drinking. As unfortunate as it is, you're not twenty-one and everyone else in your class is. But you're just going to have to deal with it—it's not worth risking your scholarship getting caught underage drinking. I know that I can't make you stop because you're an adult and I can't ground you when you live three hours away, but I want you to really think about this the next time you're at a party and you want to have that extra beer or do a few more shots. Make responsible choices, Mike. I know you're capable of that," Harvey said, his voice slipping into the ever-familiar 'fatherly-lecturing' tone.

Mike nodded, his mind busy processing all that had happened and all the choices he'd made over the past 24 hours. "You're right, Harvey. I know it was stupid and irresponsible. But I know my limits now. And besides, I don't think Jake will let me drink ever again. You scared the shit out of him, Harvey—I checked my phone after my shower and he'd texted me seven times to make sure that I was still alive this morning and that you hadn't murdered me and weren't going to come after him next."

Harvey gave a slightly devious laugh. "Ah, it's good to know that I still have it in me to scare first-year law students."

"You're evil," Mike said, grinning as the waitress came with their food.

"And don't you ever forget it," Harvey said, digging into his food. "So what are we going to do today? I'm guessing you're not feeling totally up to anything strenuous."

Mike shook his head in fervent agreement— he felt much better, but his head still ached slightly and he felt dehydrated and he did not want to do anything remotely physical. He thought for a long moment. "I know just the thing," he said, smiling brightly as he dug into his hash browns.

"These movies are terrible," Harvey complained loudly.

"Oh, come on," Mike said in exasperation. "You know you love it; you just don't want to admit that anything Star Trek-related that was made in this century is good."

"I plead the fifth," Harvey said stubbornly, grabbing himself another beer from the fridge. He'd offered Mike one while they watched, but Mike had declined—he was not eager to try drinking again anytime soon.

They'd been cooped up in Mike's apartment for most of the afternoon, but neither of them minded. Mike didn't own any of the seasons of Star Trek, but it had been his idea to have a Star Trek marathon like they did occasionally on weekends at home in New York. The only thing he owned was the two Star Trek movies that had come out over the past few years, so they'd been watching those, and Harvey had been quite vocal in his displeasure.

When the first one was over, however, he'd seemed quite eager to start the second one.

The tranquil afternoon had been a balm to Mike's homesick heart—he knew that Harvey was going to have to leave soon to go back to New York (he had a very busy client who could only meet up for Sunday brunch, so he had to be back in New York tonight to make that meeting tomorrow), but for now he was just enjoying being with his father again for the first time in more than a month.

The second movie was just ending, and Mike knew what that meant.

"Sorry, kid, but it looks like it's time for me to hop on the road for New York," Harvey sighed, standing up and stretching.

"Thanks for coming, Dad," Mike said. "Really. I miss this."

"Me too," Harvey said, grabbing his wallet and keys and pulling Mike in for a hug. "But I'm proud of you for sticking it out and doing this. And I'll see you in a few weeks for fall break. Donna can't wait; she's already planning out all the home-cooked meals she's going to make you that weekend. And she sent a care package a few days ago. It should get here soon."

"Okay," Mike said, trying to ignore the way his eyes were prickling. He knew that tonight was going to be especially lonely after seeing Harvey and then having to say goodbye. "Sorry about the whole drunk-puking thing."

Harvey smiled affectionately and clapped Mike on the shoulder. "It happens to the best of us. Hopefully you've learned your lesson, but if you haven't you should ask Paul to tell you some of his stories. He was quite the partier in college, and he'll be able to scare you straight."

"Bye, Dad," he whispered.

"Bye, Mike," Harvey said, ruffling Mike's hair. "You need a haircut!" He said, casually thrusting a hundred-dollar bill in Mike's hands.

"Uh, Harvey, you know haircuts cost like ten bucks down at that place down the block, right?" Mike asked, staring at the crinkled up bill in confusion.

Harvey waved him off. "You look like you haven't eaten in a month. Use the extra for some food."

And with that, he was gone before Mike could protest further. He sighed and flopped back down on the couch, determined not to look out his window and watch Harvey walk out to his car and drive away. That would make him too sad.

He didn't really have any homework and it was a Saturday night with nothing to do. He was just trying to come up with ways to distract himself when his phone buzzed. He was surprised to see that it was Jake texting him.

Hey Mikey. Not sure how you're feeling, but me and some of the guys were going to go bowling tonight if you wanna come. Don't worry, no alcohol involved haha.

Mike grinned. Sounds good! Thanks for the invite.

He didn't have to wait long for a response. Anytime, man. Also Ethan from last night wanted me to invite you to our study session Sunday. He sucks at tax law and was wondering if you'll help him.

Mike couldn't stop the smile from blossoming across his face as he pulled on his shoes and grabbed his wallet to head out for the night. This would be the perfect distraction, and it seemed like he was getting closer to being accepted into a group of law school students. Harvey had been right all along, even though he'd never admit it to the older man.

Maybe law school wasn't that hard after all.

Ahh, the foolish things that freshmen do. But let's be real; we've all been there XD Hope you liked this one- I'd definitely be open to writing more college!Mike if people are interested. Let me know what you guys think; if you want me to kind of continue in this vein or jump back to some younger/older Mike :D Thanks for all the lovely reviews/favorites/follows/lurks. You guys are the best *heart*