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Mike’s been up for hours, but the deep exhaustion in his bones keeps him tied to his bed and ignoring the wretched sounds of his alarm going off.
His throat feels as if it’s been scratched out by twelve pissed off cats and his nose hasn’t stopped running no matter how many times he’s wiped it. He knows he should get up, he has at least a hundred work-related tasks to get done for Harvey, but he just can’t convince himself it’s worth it. His head is pounding, even his ears are starting to hurt.
Speaking of: his phone is ringing.
He knows it’s Harvey, he set up a ringtone just for his calls ages ago, so he’d know if he had to actually pick up.
Mike groans, which of course forces a painful cough to spike in his throat.
He throws a hand out to dismiss the call.
Harvey calls back a second later.
Mike huffs and swipes to answer it this time, “Fuck off,” he croaks.
“Wow, rude. Good morning to you, too,” Harvey snarks, “Any particular reason you’re not where you should be?”
“Just let me die.”
“Ah, I see,” Harvey clocks, “You have a cold and you’re being dramatic.”
Mike sniffs, “I’m in hell,” he says, feeling the tickle of a sneeze creeping up on him.
Harvey snorts, “You’re not in hell, Mike. You just have the flu.”
“Wait,” Mike cringes, proceeded by a very nearly earth-shattering sneeze, “Oh my God, kill me,” he pleads.
Harvey hums, “You don’t sound great,” he acknowledges, “I’ll come over.”
“No, don’t,” Mike whines, “I’ll just get you sick, and then you’ll bitch at me about it for weeks like it’s my fault you came over.”
Harvey scoffs, “Fine. I promise not to ‘bitch at you’ as you so eloquently put it, capiche?”
Mike mulls it over, “Depends,” he answers.
“On what?”
“...Will you bring me that soup I like? I’m hungry,” he adds.
Mike can hear him smiling when he says, “I’m already on my way to get it, kid.”
“You’re a lifesaver,” he breathes, setting off a nasty cough.
“Lifesaver? You were begging me to kill you a second ago,” Harvey jokes.
“Fuck off.”
“Tetchy,” Harvey snorts.
Mike hangs up and lets his arm fall to the bed, continuing in his efforts of not moving until he absolutely has to.
It’s fine, Harvey has a key, he can just let himself in.
Mike startles awake sometime later to the sound of his door slamming shut.
“Sorry,” Harvey winces, his head peeking through the threshold of his bedroom door, “I forgot your front door’s heavy as shit. Did I wake you up?”
Mike glares at him in response, eyes just barely peering over the duvet. He looks sweet, Harvey thinks. In a... sweaty, sickly kind of way.
Harvey sighs and walks into the room, “I guess this is an apology gift now, then,” he says, holding up a plastic bag.
Mike smiles, just the smell of it is enough to lift his spirits, “Thanks, Harvey. Can you get the... whatever it’s called, from the kitchen. Medicine. The medicine. It’s green, the box, I mean.”
Harvey chuckles, “Sure. Which cabinet?” he asks, dropping the bag on Mike’s lap.
“Um, should be far left, I think. Unless I moved it for some reason,” Mike says, groaning as he sits up, leaning against the headboard.
While Harvey rummages through his cabinets, Mike unpacks the soup. He huffs, “Can you get me a spoon?!” he shouts, “These wooden ones suck,” he adds, mostly for himself. His throat protests the sound, and he coughs into his elbow.
Harvey reappears in the doorway like a real hero, with a normal, metal spoon that won’t have the world’s worst texture. And the medicine.
“Here, your spoon,” he says, passing it to Mike, “I’ll measure out a dose of this while you eat, do you have enough tissues?” he asks, opening the box and moving to sit on the edge of Mike’s bed.
“I think so,” Mike says, blowing on a spoonful of soup before sipping on it.
“This is night stuff, are you going to sleep after you eat that?” Harvey asks, turning his head to look at Mike as he takes the bottle out of the box. He looks funny with that little measuring cup in his hand.
Mike nods, “Yeah, I’ve been up since like... maybe three? I’m not sure, but I am tired,” he gives a weak laugh and goes back to eating his soup.
Harvey narrows his eyes, “Why didn’t you call me?”
Mike turns to look at him, “At three in the morning? Are you insane?”
“Okay, you have a point, but still. Why didn’t you call me at a more... respectable hour, then?” Harvey counters, turning to Mike’s nightstand and placing the little measuring cup the medicine came with down onto it.
Mike shrugs, still looking at Harvey even when his head is turned away from him, “I didn’t want to bother you, I don’t really need taking care of,” he says, clearing his throat.
Harvey huffs a disbelieving laugh, “Like you were going to take care of yourself,” he says, moving to crouch in front of the nightstand to get a better look at the little numbers on the sides of the measuring cup.
Mike glares at Harvey again, putting his spoon down to hit him lightly on the arm, “Shut up,” he mutters, fighting the small grin that threatens to take over his face.
“You know I’m right,” Harvey says, opening the medicine bottle and pouring some into the comically small cup, “Here, there’s twenty millilitres in it,” he says, offering it to Mike.
Mike hums, “Just leave it there, I’ll take it after I finish this.”
“Sure, just don't go operating any heavy machinery after,” Harvey jokes, moving to stand, smiling only after Mike gives a half-cough-half-laugh.
“Funny.”
“I thought so. Any chance you’re pregnant or breastfeeding?” Harvey asks, smirking.
Mike snorts, mouth still full of soup. He swallows and coughs again, “What the fuck?” he laughs, looking up at Harvey.
“Just making sure,” he says, stopping to consider his next move. He decides it’s worth it and reaches out to ruffle Mike’s hair with a grin, “I need to get back to the office, but I’ll stop by later... bring you some more of that soup.”
“Okay,” Mike says, offering up a tired smile as he watches Harvey walk to the door, “Thank you.”
Harvey shrugs, “Someone’s got to do it.”
Mike gives an acknowledging grunt as he eats another mouthful of soup.
Harvey loiters at the door for another few seconds, looking back at Mike’s dishevelled appearance.
Noticing the staring, Mike looks up, “What?” he asks.
Harvey waves him off, “Nothing, don’t worry about it.”
Mike furrows his brows, “...Okay?”
“Take a shower, you look like shit.” Harvey instructs, “You don’t smell great either,” he adds.
Mike rolls his eyes, “There he is, the real Harvey Specter. I knew something was up, you were too, dare I say it, caring , there for a second.”
Harvey glares, “Whatever helps you sleep at night, kid. I’ll see you later,” he says, “I was going to say, ‘feel better’, but now that you’ve said that I don’t think I’ll bother,” he smiles, sarcastically.
“Very nice of you, Harvey,” Mike acknowledges, going back to his soup.
“I know, right? Goodbye, Mike,” Harvey says, “Sleep well,” he mock-sings as he turns to leave Mike’s bedroom.
“Bye Harvey!” he shouts when he hears his front door click open, “Wake me up when you come see me!”
“Sure!” Harvey yells back, and the door shuts, quieter this time.