Death wasnât at all like Mike imagined it.
His life didnât flash before his eyes. There was no white light. In the end it was just the few seconds he could see the oncoming car and then ⌠nothing. No pain, no feeling, no anything.
Heaven was also not at all like Mike imagined it, and yet he couldnât help the rueful smile. He opened his eyes to find himself standing in the middle of Harveyâs apartment. Of course. This wasnât his heaven because of the slick lines or the sparkling city view. It was his heaven because this was the place heâd felt the happiest, the most at home.
He wandered around the space for a while. It was such a perfect facsimile that he felt like he was really there, standing in Harveyâs actual apartment. He didnât feel much different than from when he was alive. Where were all the answers he was promised? If this was indeed his heaven why were there no pearly gates or choirs of angels or even just someone - anyone - to greet him?
Where were his parents? Grammy?
The sound of a key in the front door lifted his spirits. That must be them now. Grinning, he rushed to the entryway. But when the door opened it wasnât his parents or Grammy. It was Harvey, and he looked ⌠there was no other word for it, he looked wrecked.
Mike was confused. If this was his heaven and Harvey was here, shouldnât he be happy to see Mike? But then he walked straight past Mike as if he wasnât even there, as though he couldnât see him at all.
âHarvey?â Mike asked tentatively as he trailed after him.
Harvey went straight to the wet bar, poured himself a scotch, and drowned it in one go before pouring another. He took the second drink over to the lounge, collapsing in the chair and drinking it, albeit slightly slower this time.
Mike sat down beside him. He said Harveyâs name again and again and again but there was still no reaction. Harvey was just staring off into space, looking utterly devastated. Something was wrong. Harvey was right there, close enough to touch, except when he tried, when he reached out his hand couldnât connect, just moved right through him. Harvey couldnât see him, couldnât hear him.
Maybe he wasnât in heaven. Maybe he was in hell.
Mike didnât know how long they stayed like that; Harvey staring off into space with glassy eyes, Mike hovering uncertainly by his side with no idea what was happening. The impasse was broken by the sound of Harveyâs phone. It was the text alert tone, and when Harvey pulled it out from his pocket Mike tried to angle himself to see what it said, in case it gave him some clue as to what was happening. But Harvey was too quick, throwing the phone aside after reading the message, and then hunching over, his head in his hands.
Mike reached out to put his hand on Harveyâs back. Not that it made any difference.
In the silence that followed Mike started to mourn for the loss of his life. There were still so many things he wanted for his life. Heâd never travelled overseas. Heâd never made it to name partner. He never saw the Mets win the world series. He never went to Comic-Con. Heâd never won a landmark case or set any precedents. Heâd never gotten married.
So many things he wanted to do and never did. Too many. But the worst of it was Harvey. Mike was desperately in love with him, and heâd never gotten the chance to tell him.
So he did it now. Because what could it hurt? This wasnât real, he was in some kind of hell or purgatory or something. The real Harvey would never get to hear these words, so why not say it to this fake one?
âI love you, Harvey,â Mike murmured.
Harveyâs head snapped up, looking around the room as if heâd heard something. Mike froze, hope flickering in his chest, but when Harveyâs eyes passed over Mike there was no recognition. Mike hated himself for hoping, he hated God or whoever was responsible for this torture, he hated the driver who killed him and took him away from the man he loved.
The sound of a door opening and closing stole both their attention. Donna walked slowly into the apartment. She didnât look that great. Mike wanted to make a joke, smile and say jeez who died and get them both laughing, but even if he could, even if they could hear him, he knew it wouldnât work. Because he was the one who died, and the afterlife was taunting him over it.
âHarvey,â Donna said gently, but Harvey stood, taking a few steps away, his back to her as he stood at the empty fireplace.
âI canât. I canât go there. I canât seeâŚâ
Mike looked between them, confused. Donna didnât shy away, she walked right up to him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. There was nothing sexual or romantic in her touch, but Mike felt the jealousy flair nonetheless. How come this fake Donna could touch this fake Harvey and yet Mike, who was the only real thing here, couldnât?
âI know how hard this is for you.â
âNo, Donna, you donât,â he snapped, whirling around and shaking off her hand. âYou have no idea how this feels. How angry and scared and useless I feel. How this is the one thing I canât fix and itâs killing me. How all I can think about is how I wished it was me and not - and notâŚâ
Donna wrapped her arms around him, and Harvey let her. Mike stood and walked away, attempting to give them some privacy. The moment felt too intimate, and even though he had no idea what they were talking about he knew it wasnât good, and Harvey wouldnât want Mike seeing him like this.
âI know youâre scared,â Donna said. âI am too. But Harvey, heâs not gone. He needs you.â
âI canât. I canât see Mike like that.â
What? Mike turned, taking a few steps toward them. What were they talking about?
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