summary:
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"I'm not looking for something serious," Harvey said, voice low.

"Good," Mike said, folding his arms in mirror to Harvey's. "Neither am I."

Harvey raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, we just need to get it out of our systems, right?" Mike's mouth quirked, but it didn't reach his eyes. "One day. Just one. We see what this is, realize it's not as big a deal as it feels, and move on."

Harvey's chest ached. He didn't let it show. "A one-day dating experiment."
--
Or, Mike and Harvey agree to date for exactly one day so that they can get over their respective crushes on the other, a flawless plan, right?

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The thing about Harvey Specter was that he didn't do half-measures. He didn't do gray areas, hesitation, or that squishy middle ground where people linger when they're too cowardly to make a call. But then again, there was Mike. And Mike was his gray area. Mike was hesitation wrapped in a three-piece suit he still didn't wear right. Mike was the one thing Harvey hadn't figured out how to win or walk away from.

So there he was, standing in his office at 10:47 p.m. on a Wednesday night, staring at the skyline through glass walls, pretending he wasn't waiting. Pretending he hadn't stayed late on purpose. Pretending Donna hadn't given him that look when she left earlier. The one that said I know what you're doing, and I won't say it out loud, but don't be a jackass. She always knew. She knew before he did, probably.

The door opened behind him, the soft click of it sounding louder in the quiet. No knock. No announcement. Just Mike, like always, walking into his office like it belonged to him. Like he belonged there. That used to annoy him. Now it just made his stomach clench in ways he'd rather not unpack.

"Still here?" Mike asked, like it was a surprise. It wasn't. Not anymore.

"Still can't tie your tie properly?" Harvey shot back without turning around.

Mike made a face he could hear, that exasperated, fond exhale that meant don't start with me. "Didn't realize we were doing the greatest hits tonight."

Harvey turned then, slow, measured, like he wasn't already halfway unraveled inside. Mike looked... normal. That was the problem. He looked too normal, too casual, sleeves rolled up, hair a mess, the day's tension still sitting in his shoulders. Harvey wanted to smooth it out. With his hands. His mouth. Christ.

"You're late," Harvey said.

"I wasn't aware I had an appointment," Mike said, smirking like he'd already won something. He hadn't. Not yet.

"You said you wanted to talk."

Mike shifted, stepping further in, closing the door behind him. "Yeah. I did."

They stood there in the low hum of the city bleeding through the glass. This wasn't new. This was every conversation they hadn't had since the beginning. Every almost-touch, every glance that lasted a second too long. Every time Harvey had gone home and jerked off to the memory of Mike's mouth moving fast during arguments, or the way he bit his lip when he was thinking. Mike probably did the same. Or Harvey liked to think so. Needed to think so, if he was going to survive this.

"So," Mike said finally. "I've been thinking."

"That's dangerous," Harvey murmured.

Mike ignored him. "We've been circling this... whatever this is. For a while."

Harvey leaned back against his desk, arms crossed, trying to look unaffected. "There is no this, Mike. You're imagining things."

"Oh, come on," Mike said, stepping closer. "I've imagined a lot of things about you, but this? This is real."

That landed like a punch. Harvey looked at him, really looked, and there it was—bare honesty, eyes too open, too knowing. Mike was calling the bluff Harvey hadn't realized he was still playing.

"I'm not looking for something serious," Harvey said, voice low.

"Good," Mike said, folding his arms in mirror to Harvey's. "Neither am I."

Harvey raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, we just need to get it out of our systems, right?" Mike's mouth quirked, but it didn't reach his eyes. "One day. Just one. We see what this is, realize it's not as big a deal as it feels, and move on."

Harvey's chest ached. He didn't let it show. "A one-day dating experiment."

Mike nodded. "Exactly. One day. We date. Dinner, maybe something stupid like mini golf—"

"I'm not playing mini golf."

"—and by the end, we'll be able to look at each other without thinking about how good it would feel to... you know."

Harvey smirked despite himself. "To what, Mike?"

Mike narrowed his eyes. "You know damn well."

"Say it."

Mike stared at him, jaw tight, the flush creeping up his neck. "To touch. To kiss. To fuck. Happy?"

Harvey was many things, but happy wasn't one of them just then. Turned on? Absolutely. But underneath that was something sour and hot, something close to regret. Because he wanted more than one day. He just didn't know how to say it.

Instead, he said, "Fine. One day. Tomorrow."

Mike blinked. "Tomorrow?"

"You said you wanted to get it over with."

"Wow. Okay. You really know how to make a guy feel special."

"Don't get soft on me, rookie."

Mike stepped in, too close, always too close. "Don't worry. I'll leave that to you."

The silence that followed was heavy, electric. Harvey could hear the blood rushing in his ears, feel the tension humming through him like a live wire. He wanted to touch. He wanted to lean in and end this stupid dance with teeth and tongue and fists clenched in fabric. But he didn't.

"Tomorrow," Mike repeated, voice quieter. "Just one day."

Harvey nodded, throat tight. "And then we go back to normal."

Mike gave him a look that said you and I both know normal is dead and buried. But he just said, "Yeah. Normal."

They didn't move for a long moment. Just stood there, pretending they weren't two seconds away from tearing into each other. Pretending this was all fine. Just a casual, logical decision between two grown men who definitely weren't already in too deep.

Mike finally turned, walking toward the door with a steady pace that betrayed none of what Harvey knew he had to be feeling. His hand was on the handle when Harvey spoke.

"Mike."

Mike looked over his shoulder.

"Wear the tie. Tomorrow."

Mike's smile was small, crooked. "Only if you tie it."

And then he was gone.

Harvey stood there in the echo of the closed door, hands clenched around nothing, heart beating like he'd just lost a fight he hadn't even known he was in. One day. Just one. Easy.

He was so unbelievably screwed.

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Mike hadn't slept much.

Not because he was nervous—at least, that's what he told himself—but because he kept going over every possible version of how today could play out. In some, they ended up laughing at how awkward it was and high-fived their way out of it by noon. In others, Harvey kissed him, and it was so good it broke something fundamental inside him.

And in the version that had kept him up until 3:42 a.m., Harvey kissed him, it was perfect, and then it was over. Just like that.

The knock at his door came earlier than expected. Mike shuffled over in pajama pants and a t-shirt that probably had some coffee stain he'd stopped noticing. His hair was a mess, his eyes gritty, and he was pretty sure his breath could kill a plant. Exactly the image you want on your first and only date with the man you've been quietly in love with for years.

He opened the door and found Harvey Specter standing there in a coat that probably cost more than Mike's rent, holding two coffee cups and a paper bag that smelled like salvation.

Harvey arched an eyebrow. "You look like you lost a fight with your bed."

Mike blinked. "I did. It was a long night. Come in before someone mistakes you for slumming it."

Harvey stepped in like he owned the place—again, like always—and set the bag and cups down on Mike's tiny kitchen table. The space wasn't built for two people, and Harvey looked hilariously out of place in it, all sleek lines and expensive cologne, like a designer suit had wandered into an Ikea.

"You got croissants from Le Petit," Mike said, peering into the bag. "How early did you have to get up for that?"

"I have connections."

"You bribed someone."

Harvey smirked. "Details."

Mike grabbed one and took a bite, then immediately moaned around it. "Okay, you win. Worth it."

Harvey sat down, unwrapping his own and sipping from his coffee. "This is our date breakfast. Figured I'd start us off strong before we end up in a dumpster fire of emotional mismanagement."

Mike snorted. "Wow. You make it sound so magical."

"I'm a romantic."

They ate in a surprisingly comfortable silence for a while. Mike kept stealing glances at Harvey, trying not to make it obvious, but it was hard not to stare. Harvey looked irritatingly good. Not just handsome man in a tailored coat good, but soft-around-the-edges good. Relaxed. He wasn't wearing a tie, and there was a casualness to him that made Mike's stomach feel like it was folding in on itself.

He didn't want this to be a one-day thing. That realization sat heavy in his chest, growing heavier every time Harvey smiled at him or said something casually funny without trying. Mike had pitched this whole stupid plan thinking it would help. That if they did something, they'd get it out of their systems and move on.

But now Harvey was sitting in his kitchen like he belonged there, and Mike was pretty sure he was the one who was screwed.

"So," Harvey said eventually, wiping his fingers on a napkin. "We doing this properly or what?"

Mike paused mid-sip. "Doing what properly?"

"The whole dating thing. You said we're dating today. There's rules to this. Public affection. Deep eye contact. Slow, meaningful conversations about our childhood traumas."

Mike grinned. "You wanna go trauma for trauma with me, Specter? I'll bury you."

"Please. My mother issues alone could fill a therapist's entire wall of degrees."

There was a beat, then they both laughed. It felt good. Easy. Until the silence came back, and this time it brought tension with it.

Harvey leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table. "So. Kissing."

Mike blinked. "What?"

Harvey's voice was calm. Too calm. That practiced, casual thing he did when he was hiding actual emotion. "You said we should get the full experience. So we should probably... you know. Kiss."

Mike's mouth was dry. "Like a—like a test drive."

Harvey nodded slowly. "Exactly."

Mike wanted to say no. He wanted to laugh it off, make a joke, throw another sarcastic comment into the void. But instead, he sat there frozen as Harvey stood up, came around the table, and stopped in front of him.

They were close now. Closer than they'd ever been without the excuse of arguing or proximity or office politics. Mike looked up, heart thudding so loud he was sure Harvey could hear it.

"Still on board?" Harvey asked, voice quieter now.

Mike licked his lips. Nodded. "Yeah. Totally. Just... you know. For science."

Harvey's mouth quirked, then he leaned in.

The kiss wasn't rushed. It wasn't aggressive. It was slow, almost cautious at first, just a press of mouths that lingered a second too long. But then Mike moved—tilted his head, parted his lips—and suddenly it was real. Harvey's hand slid to his jaw, warm and steady, and Mike leaned into it without thinking. Their tongues brushed, and Mike felt the shift in his bones, like something ancient and aching had just clicked into place.

It was supposed to be a kiss for closure. It felt like the start of something irreversible.

When they finally broke apart, Mike kept his eyes closed a moment longer, trying to breathe, trying to think. He opened them to find Harvey looking at him like he was trying not to show how shaken he was.

"Well," Mike said, voice a little too high, "that was... not bad."

Harvey raised an eyebrow. "Not bad?"

"I mean, I've had better," Mike said, even though he hadn't. Not even close.

"Liar."

Mike smirked, then dropped his eyes. "Maybe."

Harvey backed off slightly, giving him space, but the air between them was different now. Charged. Changed.

They went back to breakfast like nothing had happened, but every brush of their hands, every glance, carried weight. Mike knew, with a sinking certainty, that this wasn't going to go the way they'd planned.

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Word count: 2036