A/N: i don't even know what i'm doing anymore.

The first beat on Harvey's door tore him from his thoughts, from his empty gaze at the bottom of his wine glass. His late night drinking often resulted in a "buzz", nothing the stature of Mike's current state. He had warned his subordinate not to come in such a state, but Mike, his better judgment congested, decided to anyways. They were working to defend a woman accused of insider's trading, and Mike had acquired evidence through unfavorable means. In short, he had found the woman's co-workers at a bar and pretended to know them in order to get them to spill the trades. This resulted in his drunken state.

More beats soon followed after. The lawyer suspired and murmured curses under his breath. Part of him wondered if he should ignore it, just pretend that he was asleep. But the constant pounding told him that would not be a possibility. He set his glass down before he trudged himself off the couch and through the hallway to the door. "Heeey, Harvey! Come on!" Mike called. "We gotta save Gabby!" Harvey threw the door open to find Mike standing there, definitely as drunk as Harvey figured that he was. "Gabrilini!"

Mike's entire countenance was disheveled, from his crooked tie to the scuffs on his normally polished shoes. His breath reeked of alcohol, the scent alone enough to drown Harvey into a headache. His eyes were glossed and far-off, likely unaware that he was even here. And then there was his hair – his blonde locks with their darker, brown undertones. It was sticking up in parts, and a longing to correct it for him came from a deep place in Harvey's gut.

That's how it was for Harvey when it came to Mike. Always, that deep feeling to fix things for him when possible. And it was so out-of-character for him that the longing was often accompanied by a sickening feeling. He didn't want to care about Mike Ross or his careless mistakes that even a law TV fanatic couldn't dream of making. He didn't want to care about his shitty friends or his grandmother or any other of the trivial shit in his life, but the feeling in his gut was like a drug that coursed through his blood, his nerves reacted violently to it. His mind was conquered by it, completely helpless when it came to Mike Ross.

Mike's glossed eyes looked over Harvey's shoulder to peer into his flat. "Oh…OH…You got a sweet place, dude," Mike slurred.

The faux Harvard graduate felt a different sort of way about Harvey Specter. Harvey was what Mike could never be. Even in his thoughts, he couldn't live up to Harvey. The brunette was like a celebrity, a model human in his status, wealth, abilities, and being. Yes, his being meant his body, of course. Mike switched his view from the apartment to Harvey's body. His drunken mind ran over his gray-toned attire, the thin lighter v-neck sweater over the darker shirt.

It was easier for him to accept now, while intoxicated, that his feelings for Harvey were shameless. He lusted for him, lusted for their bodies to be close and the heat from his body to reflect off Harvey's flawless sculpt. He wanted short pants and stifled moans and his eyes to roll into the back of his head. He wanted his superior to leave his model life behind for a moment of defective bliss, to witness a different kind of perfection. Because even during these thoughts, he was not worthy of Harvey Specter.

"Don't ever call me 'dude'," Harvey said, bringing Mike back from his fantasies.

"Do you think that maybe I could take it off your hands like when you're-" Mike hicced before continuing, "going out of town, like a – like a – a house-sitting type situation?" If he had been any bit sober, he would've seen the way that Harvey's eyes were sunken and tired, that he was in no mood to deal with this.

But for Mike Ross, he pressed through his sore mood. "Remind me to have Donna get you a spare key."

Mike seemed surprised at this. Had his better judgment not been on vacation, he would've seen this was most likely sarcasm. Instead, he saw it as an instance of Harvey accepting him, of being good enough for him.

"You have the trades?" Harvey asked.

Spirits risen past proud, Mike slapped the paper into his hand. "Ta-da!" The touch of one another's flesh shot a special kind of pressure into their bodies.

"Good," Harvey said. Mike looked up, expecting to find Harvey's rarely given expression of approval. Instead, he found a door closing in his face. Twisted and confused, he called out, "Hey, when can we uhhh—" The thunk of the shutting door silenced him. He breathed exasperatedly and leaned against the doorframe. Part of him wanted to stop trying, trying to be something that he knew that he could never be. Had he been wrong? Had he not proven his worth?

As for Harvey, the sooner Mike left, the sooner he was alleviated of the nauseating feeling in his stomach. He waited on the other side of the door, the sound of Mike's breath against the wooden surface making it impossible for the brunette to leave. Then there was that. When can we…what? Controlled by curiosity, Harvey reopened the door to find Mike looking ten times more forlorn than before, with his arms against each side of the doorframe. "When can we what?" Harvey asked.

His eyes could look everywhere but at Harvey. He wasn't anticipating that the door would ever reopen. "N-Nothing…" He hoped that blaming his flushing cheeks on the booze sounded believable.

"When can we what?" Harvey pressed the issue.

Mike swallowed all of his anxieties and self-loathing. He hiccupped again, which seemed to bring all of his desires to the forefront, allowing him enough bravery to blurt out, "…fuck?" It was supposed to be a statement, but his courage had waned at the last moment to make it otherwise. Even drunk, he regretted it. He wanted to stick a straw in the thick air and suck his words back up. What a mistake.

It happened as quickly as death, probably. In one swift motion, Harvey pulled Mike inside the complex and shut the door. Mike's back pressed against the door, and their lips found each other like magnets. The taste of alcohol was too much for Harvey, so he resorted to undoing the other man's tie. Mike's flesh burned hot, especially in every spot that Harvey's fingers touched. On his neck where Harvey played with his shirt's buttons and when his fingers scanned parts of his stomach when he ripped at his belt. He felt like he couldn't get his clothes off fast enough.

Mike wasn't sure where these feelings were coming from: the alcohol, Harvey's touch, or had they been in him all along, waiting for this moment? Every hair on Mike's body reacted to Harvey's whispering breath on his neck, telling him that they should move. He almost tripped on his falling pants on the way to the bed, glad that it went uncommented by the lawyer. Harvey's body was beyond what Mike had imagined it to be. Everything was defined, his muscles, his bones, and the hair on his head. He wanted Harvey to wreck him so hard that all of his imperfections fell into him and he made them his own.

Here he was again, taking care of Mike's mistakes, making him feel like he was more than he actually was. Harvey didn't mind, especially since he noticed that fulfilling his desire to care for him eradicated him of all his ill sentiments. The only thing it left him with was the cool drug that froze his blood still. He wasn't thinking anymore, just acting out on every static shock that happened across his nervous system. He wanted this, and if that made him a fool, then he would just have to be a fool.

They turned their hearts inside out for each other. All their weapons and walls were brought down by each wave of ecstasy they experienced. Harvey pushed into him, and he hit a soft spot that caused Mike's mouth to drop open. He was about to groan when Harvey withdrew and the noise sucked itself back inside his throat. Once more, he hit the spot that made Mike's toes curl, only this time a whimper was made. This was everything that Mike wanted: the closeness, the heat, the yearnings.

Their love really was like the sea. Completely vast and yet void, gentle one moment and coarse the next, controlled by a higher power. Their noises affected each other like the ocean, calming them both until they were floating on nothing but each other. Harvey would take him under like a wave, and there would be utter chaos. Then he would pull him back up where things were calm, only to put him under again. It continued like this until Mike's entire body throbbed in a manner that he had never experienced. His reaction caused Harvey to shatter along with him. They left the Earth together.

Harvey made sure that Mike cleaned up, got semi-dressed afterwards, and fell asleep on the couch, because he knew that he wouldn't remember it in the morning. Harvey told him that he had passed out drunk on his doorstep with the trades, and Mike gave him a sincere apology that it would never happen again. Harvey told him not to make any promises that he couldn't keep. He never knew if Mike had been too drunk to recall the event; he never brought it up and neither did Mike.

Unbeknownst to Harvey, Mike did indeed recall the event but was too shameful to bring it up. He had experienced his time, his trance of excellence. He wasn't good enough for Harvey, and the fact that Harvey hadn't brought it up proved it. The fact that Harvey had moved him to the couch, lied to him, ignored it. At least in his fantasies, though, he had the image of Harvey at his weakest. When he exploded and lost himself in all his faults. His perfectly molded hair was torn and his body belonged to Mike in that instant.

Mike had made a mistake; Harvey fixed it. That's just the way it was. He never brought it up because he knew that's what it was: a mistake. However, Harvey waited every day for him to remember the night, to make the mistake of bringing it up. Harvey would be there to fix it, to make it right, to make him feel worthy again. He would often think himself a fool when he recalled their night, especially the image of him finally able to fix Mike's hair as he drifted to sleep on his couch. His gut was at ease then and every time after that.

It was strange how they were like two pieces of a puzzle. Two pieces that were rigged and shaped entirely different, although they fit together as if they were made for each other. Not really a mistake, but planned to look like one.