Hello Marvey Fans!! Iâve been doing a couple of Marvey roleplays (Iâm not replacing anyone) but Iâve had this idea about the pair having to fake marriage to cover for Mikeâs fraud (or something along those lines), so I was interested if anyone else would be willing!!
I would prefer to be Mike in this roleplay.
I only roleplay on Discord so DM me for that if youâre interested.
I'm a busy person. I have health issues. Please, be mindful of this. I'm not ignoring you.
I don't have triggers and probably never will. Bring it with the angst, trauma, gore, and all 18+ topics. The only thing that makes me uncomfortable is when someone makes the Dominant, that's the only thing I can think of.
No one liners, please!!
Those are just some short rules, I have more, these are the most important. If you have any questions, let me know!!
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â¤ď¸These two and their beautiful grand romantic gestures.â¤ď¸
He Goes, I Go. Â Thatâs right, Iâll give up my job, my reputation, my family up until this point, and I would probably cut off a limb, for Mike Ross.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
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Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Inspired by this post. Liebestraum is Franz Lisztâs most famous piano piece, told in 3 parts. The 3rd part, the part Harvey requests, is said to be about unconditional, enduring love. The kind that never fades, that never dies.
The cold morning air is bracing, and Harvey relishes the feel of the wind on his face, the feel of his feet hitting the pavement, as he runs through the paths of Central Park.
He passes another runner coming from the opposite direction and he nods. The man nods back, giving Harvey a once-over with a leer and Harvey smiles to himself and keeps running, turning the corner. He reaches the sidewalk outside the park and is greeted by a couple of ladies running toward him. They smile and he gives them a winning grin that starts to widen when he hears them giggle to each other behind his quickly retreating back.
He loves his morning run.
Finally he reaches the front door of his building and he stops, nodding at the doorman.
âHow was the run, Mr. Specter?â
He checks his heart rate with a couple of fingers pressed to the inside of his neck and says, âGood, Henry. Thanks.â He watches a moving van pull into the underground garage, a couple of guys in the cabin, and says, âSomeone moving in today?â
He nods. âApartment twenty-three. Nice guy.â
âHe had to have been, for Mrs. Grosvenor to give it up. She loved her place.â
Henry gives him a secret smile. âThe new tenant convinced her she loved her grandkids in Florida more.â
Harvey laughs, shakes his head. âWell done. Heâs not a fellow lawyer, is he?â
Henry opens the door for Harvey as he shakes his head âHe didnât say. But I did see them move in a baby grand earlier.â
Interesting.
+
Harvey throws the file down onto his desk. âGoddammit, Aaron.â
The associate nervously steps up to the front of Harveyâs desk and says, âHe didnât give me a choice.â
âHow many times have I told you? Thereâs always another choice.âÂ
âI can fix it.â
âNo.â He shakes his head, a clear dismissal. âIâll take care of it. Youâre done.âÂ
âHarvey-â
âYouâre done.â
Aaron retreats from his office with one more look thrown over his shoulder, his tail between his legs. Ridiculous.
âYou realize the associate pool is quickly dwindling.â
Harvey looks up and catches Donnaâs eye through the glass of his office wall, her hand on her hip and her finger pressed against the intercom button.
âI donât need your judgment, Donna. I need an associate who can do their damn job.â
âIt wouldnât hurt you to decompress once in a while, you know.â
âIf I didnât spend three quarters of my time fixing their damn mistakes, I might be able to.â
Thereâs a silence that goes on entirely too long, and then she finally says, âIâll find someone else.â
Sheâs judging him, hard, and Harvey canât find it in him to give a shit.
âGood. Try to find someone who doesnât need their hand held.â He picks up the file on his desk. âIâm going to fix another mess.â He strides out of his office, and as he passes her desk, he says, âMaybe one of these days Iâll actually get to do my damn job for once.â
+
It takes a good seven hours to placate the clients and undo Aaronâs shitstorm of a mess, and when heâs finally through, all he wants to do is strip out of his suit, pour himself a few fingers, and sink into one of his armchairs.
He opens the door to the balcony to let in a little air as he passes by, strips down in no time, and slips into a t-shirt and jeans. Heâs just bent over his turntable, Billie Holliday in hand, when he hears the bright, quick notes filter down into his condo from outside the open patio door.
He puts the record down and walks over to the patio door, listens for a minute inside before he steps outside. The piano is a little louder out here, and Harvey sits in one of the lounge chairs on his patio, stretches out his legs and crosses them at the ankle. He leans back and closes his eyes, and rests the tumbler of Scotch on his belly as he listens to the notes go faster, get brighter, start to take shape, almost as if he can see them dance behind his closed eyelids.
This must be his new neighbor.
+
It doesnât take Harvey long to realize that his neighbor plays the piano a lot. And that heâs very, very good.
Some mornings he wakes up to notes filtering in through his patio door, gentle songs that turn quick and bright, that welcome the rising sun, that greet Harvey with a Good Morning. He falls asleep to slow, soothing songs, songs that sound like the stars coming out.Â
There are classical pieces that must have taken months to master. There are pop songs that probably took ten minutes. Harvey smiles every time he hears Elton John or The Beatles mixed in with Chopin or Beethoven.
Thereâs one piece the pianist hasnât played yet, something Harvey would love to hear.
So he thinks, why the hell not?
And he sticks the note to the front door of apartment 23.
+
A tentative knock sounds on his office door and he barks out, âWhat?â
A meek associate peeks his head into Harveyâs office, as if Harveyâs office walls werenât made of glass, for godâs sake. As if he could somehow hide himself from Harveyâs current mood. After fixing yet another stupid associate mistake this morning, Harveyâs patience level is hovering somewhere close to negative 14. This associate better start speaking, and fast.
âMr...Specter? Iâm, um...Iâm Harold? One of the associates?â
âYouâre not sure?â
âNo, I...um...I am. I just...â
Harvey feels every single last ounce of patience he has melting away. âWhy are you in my office, Harold?â
He hurries toward Harveyâs desk and holds out a folder. âI noticed Jimmy was working on the Carnahan case for you? But he didnât...um...he missed some precedent.â
Harvey takes the folder. Thatâs exactly the mess he was smoothing over. âSo you took it upon yourself to do work on a case you werenât assigned?â
His voice is small, meek, and he winces when he speaks, like heâs waiting for a reprimand. âI didnât want you to go into the meeting tomorrow unprepared.â
Harvey sizes him up. Harold needs a lot of work, but heâs just saved Harvey a lot of work tonight, and heâs already proved himself more competent than Jimmy and Aaron and whatever the hell the rest of their names are, so Harvey can ignore that for now.Â
âHow long will it take you to go through the entire Carnahan contract?â
He hesitates. âYou want me to work on the Carnahan contract?â
Harvey sighs audibly. His patience level is going down again.
âI can have it by five.â
 Harvey nods. When Harold doesnât move, Harvey looks down pointedly at his watch then back up again. âYou might want to get started.â
He scurries out the door, barely sparing Jessica a glance as he passes her.
âTerrifying the help again, are we?â
He gives her his most winning smile. âNo more than usual.â
âHowâs Carnahan coming?â
âIâm closing him tomorrow.â
She eyes him. âGood. Get it done. I donât want any hanging threads before the benefit Saturday.â
âIâll take care of it.â
This benefit was orchestrated in large part as a celebration of their new partnership with Carnahan Electronics, with an aim to fund raise an absolutely obscene amount of money for music programs across the city. Itâs Elise Carnahanâs pet charity, and everyone knows the way to Frank Carnahanâs heart is to make Elise happy. All Harvey has to do is make sure the contract is impeccable.
Itâs going to be a long night.
+
Itâs so late when he gets home from the office that he doesnât expect there to be any music, not really.
Heâs still disappointed when nothing comes floating through his open patio door. He has to fill in the silence with a Coltrane album.
Itâs not quite enough.
+
The contract is impeccable. Frank signs.
When Jessica grants him her nod of approval, he excuses himself with a handshake to Frank and gives himself the rest of the day off. Heâs earned it, but someone else as earned something too, and Harvey stops by the associate bullpen and makes sure to give Harold his due in front of everyone for a job well done. He perks up considerably, like Harveyâs the first person to ever tell him heâs done a good job. Harvey gives him a quick once-over. He looks like he rolled out of bed completely clothed this morning.
Christ, this guy is going to take a lot of work.
But at least he actually knows how to do his damn job. Everything else, Harvey can fix.
âDo you have a tux?â
Heâs guessing the answer is no, but people have surprised him before.
âI can get one?â
Harvey suppresses his sigh. Everything with Harold is a question. âGet one. And make sure it fits you. Youâre coming to the benefit tomorrow.â
Harold stands, eyes wide, and Harvey hears the jealous gasps around them. Harold will be the only associate there. Itâs a major win for him, and Harvey knows exactly what heâs done for him by offering.
âYou want me to come to the benefit?â
âYou earned it.â
Harold sputters out a heartfelt thank you as Harvey just nods and says, âA tux that fits, Harold.â
Harveyâs not holding his breath, but he can hope.
+
The deal is done, everyoneâs happy, so he turns his phone on silent and enjoys the rest of his day. Harvey picks up lunch to go, then goes for a midday run through the park. When heâs done he pulls open the patio door as he always does these days and takes a long, hot shower, relishing the way the water pounds at his back.
Thereâs an afternoon game on between the Royals and the Blue Jays, so he puts that on, volume on low, and sinks down into the couch, a beer in hand.
Harvey hears the first notes come filtering down through his patio door when the second inning comes to a close and he stands, walks over to the open door and slips out onto the patio.
Itâs the song he requested.
Harvey sits down and leans back on his lounge chair, sets his beer down on the patio. He closes his eyes and smiles as the notes flow into one another like a cascading wave: a beautiful, bright, expressive piece of music, that Harveyâs neighbor plays absolutely beautifully.
When the notes finally fade away, Harveyâs eyes blink open and he claps, loudly and unreservedly, his heart utterly full.
+
âJessica,â Harvey says as he walks up to greet her, glass of champagne in his hand. âYou look gorgeous.â
She smiles fondly then cuts her eye to the other side of the room. âI see you brought...â
She trails off at the site of Harold across the room, looking unsure and unkempt even as his tux, miraculously, seems to fit him. Small victories.
âHe needs work, but he did most of the legwork for Carnahan, and he did it well. Besides, Carnahan liked him.â As if to punctuate this, Frank Carnahan walks over and slaps a surprised Harold on the back then pumps his hand, thanking him for the good work. âHe deserved this.â
Jessica just nods, a knowing smile on her lips, then walks over to the stage to introduce their first performer for tonightâs event: a pianist from the New York Philharmonic sheâd called in one of her favors to secure. Heâs already standing by the black baby grande with a sweet smile on his face, looking at Jessica as she approaches.Â
Harvey moves a little closer and just misses the tail end of their conversation, but he doesnât miss the familiar way they look at each other, the gentle affection they have for each other. Jessica squeezes his hand and turns toward the room.
âIâm sure most of you know Mike Ross, the principal pianist for the New York Philharmonic, but Elsie...Iâm told heâs a special favorite of yours.â Elsie nods, a big smile on her face, her hand over her heart. âSo I mentioned our benefit to him the other day over lunch and he insisted on helping.â
She smiles at him and Mike smiles back. âMusic education, and arts education, is so important to me. I wouldnât be standing here today if it werenât for Mrs. Monroe and PS forty-nine.â That gets an appreciative chuckle from the crowd and Mike smiles at them. âMusic opens up worlds. Thank you for supporting arts education, and thank you for letting me play for you today.â
He nods at Jessica and sits on the piano bench and she steps off the little stage and comes to stand next to Harvey.
Mikeâs hands barely start moving before Harvey recognizes the piece heâs decided to play.
Harvey could be mistaken, but the pacing, the quick finger work, the emotion...they all sound an awful lot like Harveyâs laying out on his patio, listening to his neighbor play.
No. It canât be.
But it is. As Mikeâs fingers play the last few, quiet notes, Harvey knows it has to be. Thatâs his neighbor.
Mike walks over to them and Jessica praises him, which Mike accepts with a bashful smile, ducking his head under her praise. Heâs fairly young, or he looks it, with that fluffy hair and those bright blue eyes. His own eyes have skittered to Harvey in interest as Jessica introduces them, then walks off to introduce the next performer, a cellist.
Harvey means to just shake his hand, to say his name, but he has to know. âApartment twenty-three?â
His eyes widen a little and he gives Harvey an obvious once-over, then hesitatingly, hopefully, asks, âApartment forty-eight?â
Harvey grins and nods, and Mike almost lights up in front of him.
âYou have talented fingers.â Mike blushes, ducks his head. âIâve been listening to you for so long from my patio, Iâve wondered what it would be like to hear you up close.â
He looks up. âAnd the verdict?â
Harvey takes a step closer. âBeautiful.â Heâs gratified to see the light dance in his eyes. âBut maybe I should hear you again, just to make sure itâs not a one-time impression.â
This time Mike takes a step closer, and his eyes drop briefly to Harveyâs mouth. âAre you inviting yourself over?â
âOnly if Iâm welcome.â
+
The thing is, Harvey knew Mike could play, but he didnât know Mike could sing. With Mike in his lap, Harvey latches his mouth on Mike throat and tries to coax out another groan, another moan, another note as Mikeâs hands skitter across Harveyâs skin, find sensitive places Harvey didnât even know he had.
Happy birthday to Gabriel Macht / Harvey Specter / Paul Cutler / Lawson Pines / Robert Pryce / Many others. You are an amazing actor and im high key obsessed with you and everything to do with suits. Can't wait to see you and and the rest of the cast in the next part of suits season 6 (and I'm stoked it was renewed for season 7) đ Â Happy birthday, have an awesome (rest of the) day.Â
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 wasn't 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 wasn't even there, as though he couldnât see him at all.
âHarvey?â Mike asked tentatively as he trailed after him.
No reaction.
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 couldn't 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?
âI know you know this, but Iâm going to say it anyway. If your roles were reversed, if that car had hit you, then Mike-â
âWouldâve forced his way into my hospital room and never left my side,â Harvey said, smiling softly. âYeah, I know.â
âDonât you think heâd want you there with him?â
âYes!â Mike cried, moving closer still. âIs that whatâs happening? Am I lying in a hospital room somewhere?â
âI donât think Iâll be able to handle seeing him like that.â
Mikeâs mind was reeling. Was he still alive? Had his spirit just left his body, and somehow found Harvey? Maybe Harvey could take him back, reunite spirit and body, wake Mike upâŚ
âHarvey, please. I need you.â
Harvey sighed. âYeah, I know.â
Donna furrowed her eyebrows. âYou know what?â
âThat Mike needs me.â
Donna opened her mouth as though she was going to say something but in the end thought better of it. Instead she smiled reassuringly at him, before picking up his jacket and leading him out of the apartment.
Mike felt wired, overcome with hope. He wasnât dead! Sure, he clearly wasnât in the best health, and his soul had been separated from this body, but still. It wasnât over. He headed towards the door, and suddenlyâŚ
⌠he was standing in a hospital room. It was blindingly bright after the dim mood lighting of Harveyâs apartment. He looked down and could see himself lying in the bed, covered in cuts and bruises, hooked up to too many machines.
Mike didnât blame Harvey for not wanting to see Mike like this. In truth, standing there, Mike kinda didnât want Harvey to see him like this either.
No sooner had the thought entered his head did the door to the room open and admit Harvey. He looked pale and drawn, and Mike automatically took a few steps towards him before he remembered. Harvey couldnât see him, he couldnât hear him, and he certainly wouldnât be able to feel him if he reached out and put a comforting hand on his arm. So Mike just stood there, watched Harvey cross the room and gingerly sit in the uncomfortable looking chair beside his bed.
For the longest time Harvey didnât say or do anything. He just sat there, unblinkingly looking at Mike. A tear silently streaked down Harveyâs cheek before he swiped it away, and Mikeâs heart broke for him. For both of them.
âThey said youâd want to hear my voice,â Harvey said at last, his tone low and rough. It was the best sound Mike had ever heard. âBut I donât know what to say. The whole drive over here, I kept thinking about it. What would I say to you, what magic words would bring you back to me. But there arenât any words that will instantly wake you up, and I refuse to sit here and babble on about the weather or some shit. You wouldnât want to hear that anyway, if you can hear me at all.â
âI can hear you,â Mike said desperately.
Harvey sighed. He eased forward in his chair and tentatively picked up Mikeâs hand. Mikeâs breath caught in his throat. He felt the touch like a tingling white light. âI can feel you,â Mike murmured. âHarvey, I can feel you.â He stepped closer. âPlease tell me you can feel me too. Iâm not gone, Harvey. Please.â
Harvey was looking down the bed towards Mikeâs face. âYou feel so real,â Harvey whispered. âMike. Are you still here?â
âYes!â
âThere are so many things I want to tell you. Things I shouldâve said a long time ago.â
Mike was torn between wanting to hear everything Harvey had never said and hoping Harvey would remain silent, that he would wait until Mike was awake so he could say it to his face.
âI give you my word, if you - no, when you wake up, Iâll tell you everything.â
Mike smiled softly. âIâm going to hold you to that.â
Harvey reverted back to silence then. He still kept hold of Mikeâs hand, idly running his fingertips along the back of his hand, and Mikeâs skin tingled at the touch. Time lost all meaning, and though Mike didnât know how this had happened, how heâd become separated from his body or why he wasnât going back, he was strangely calm about it. He probably shouldâve been panicking, worrying about never waking up, but being in Harveyâs presence was like a relaxing tonic, and he didnât worry. Despite having no idea about the extent of his injuries or his prognosis, he just had this weird faith that heâd be okay.
As the hours passed two separate doctors came in to check on him. Harvey spoke to both of them in quiet whispers, as though Mike was simply asleep and he was worried about waking him. Mike didnât listen in on the conversation. He didnât want to know, not right now anyway.
Mike watched the room slowly brighten with the morning sun. Harvey was still holding his hand, but he was resting his head on his folded arm on the end of Mikeâs bed, obviously tired from the long night. His eyes were still wide open though, staring at Mike like ⌠like he was afraid if he closed his eyes Mike might not be there again when he opened them.
When the door opened Mike expected it to be another doctor. Instead Louis walked in the door. Harvey sat, withdrawing his hand. Mike instantly missed the presence of his touch.
âHowâs he doing?â Louis asked with clear concern.
âStable,â Harvey replied. In other words: no change.
âYou should get some rest.â When Harvey looked like he was going to object Louis continued with, âIâll stay with him, make sure he isn't alone. Go get some food, have a shower, take a nap. Come back later. Mike will need you at full strength when he wakes up.â
Harvey managed to give Louis a weak smile. âOkay. Just give me a minute.â
Louis nodded, quietly exiting the room.
Harvey took Mikeâs hand again. Mike felt the flare of warmth at the touch. He desperately didnât want Harvey to leave, suddenly scared that if he left something bad would happen. And honestly, at that point, it wasnât that he was scared of dying. He was basically half dead already. It was just, if he did end up moving on from this life, he didnât want to do it alone. In many ways Mike finally started living the moment he met Harvey. If this was his fate, he didnât want to go through it alone, he wanted Harvey by his side.
Harveyâs eyes roamed over Mikeâs prone form. There was nothing of the poker face he was infamous for in his expression. The pain he was clearly feeling was obvious and Mike hated to see it.
âPlease wake up,â Harvey said desperately, but there was no change, the monitors in the room continuing their monotonous tone. Harvey let out a shaky sigh, and he leaned down, pressing his lips to the back of Mikeâs hand in farewell.
It felt like Mikeâs chest was exploding with warm, white light. He tried to say Harveyâs name, but he couldnât speak. The feeling spread throughout his body as Harvey crossed the room to leave. Mike reached out to him. He couldnât breathe, he couldnât move, he couldnât --
Mike opened his eyes, taking in a large lungful of air. The machines he was hooked up to beeped loudly and when his vision came into focus all he could see was Harveyâs face, his watery eyes and shaky smile and blinding expression of relief.
âMike!â he exclaimed, squeezing his hand. Mike no longer felt the same tingle when Harvey touched him, but that was okay, because this was real, and it felt a million times better. Mike tried to smile, but it hurt, now that he was awake everything hurt. âThank God youâre okay.â
Mike tangled their fingers together, overwhelmed and confused and utterly relieved to be here, to be alive and breathing and holding Harveyâs hand. He smiled through the pain. âSo,â Mike said, voice hoarse, âdid you have something you wanted to tell me?â