A/N: Chapter 2! Sorry for slow-ish updates. I had writer's block, and then I got super busy with work. I have less than two weeks to finish this and any other fun related things because I decided this semester I am going to NOT be on the verge of failing, and therefore will have to stuy non-stop. So, I will be vanishing from the internet for a while... But here is another chapter, and I will definitely finish this fic before school starts.

Thanks for all the reviews and feedback! Hope you guys like this =]

Harvey walked quickly down the hallway to his office. The entire car ride he could feel his shirt rubbing against his raw skin. It was irritating, but he was mainly worried about blood seeping through. He didn't give a fuck about the shirt, really, but he couldn't have anyone seeing it and, god forbid, asking questions. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about it.

He made it through half the morning without any incidents. He didn't have to leave his office until nearly noon when he desperately needed a file from the archives.

He wasn't paying attention to where he was walking and nearly collided with Mike, whose was carrying a large stack of paperwork.

"Sorry," he muttered before he registered who it was. He grimaced. "Mike…" it came out in an almost whisper.

"Harvey."

They stared at each other for a moment in heated silence.

Then Harvey sputtered, "Sorry—you must be busy—lots of work—Louis—" and moved to walk past Mike.

Then Mike reached out to grab his arm. Harvey involuntarily flinched with pain as Mike's fingers closed around one of the cuts. Mike jerked his hand back as Harvey turned around. Then Mike's eyes went wide as he stared at Harvey's sleeve.

"Is that… blood?"

Harvey looked down to where a line of red had stained his sleeve.

"No. It's nothing. Get back to work." Harvey turned and started to walk away.

Behind him he heard a dull thud as Mike dropped his papers on the nearest desk. He kept walking.

Then suddenly Mike was in front of him, hands on his shoulders. "Harvey, I—" he trailed off, staring into Harvey's darkened eyes. It was apparent he hadn't thought out what he was supposed to say, if there was in fact something you were isupposed/i to say. "I'm sorry."

Harvey's eyes narrowed. "For what?" he asked, with more bitterness than he'd intended.

"I—can we go somewhere to talk?" Mike backed off, letting his hands drop.

Harvey couldn't read Mike's expression. He nodded and led Mike to his office and shut the door behind them.

"Are you okay?" Mike blurted.

Harvey frowned. "Of course."

Mike's eyes drifted towards the blood on Harvey's arm.

"Let me see."

Harvey vaguely wondered when Mike had become so commanding. He was starting to sound like… him. Harvey cursed internally. Then slowly he unbuttoned his sleeve and pulled it back.

Mike let out an audible gasp of shock at the wounds on Harvey's forearm.

"You did this?" he breathed.

Harvey didn't respond.

"Was this… did you… is it my fault?" Mike asked quietly.

Harvey shook his head. "No. Not directly." He didn't know why he was even talking to Mike. But he was oddly calm. Maybe, like Mike had said, it was time to really start trusting someone.

Maybe.

Mike frowned. He had taken a step back from Harvey, not out of disgust or fear, but out of shock. Harvey was the last person he would ever expect to do this. He had unwittingly put Harvey up on a high pedestal, regarding him as more than a mere mortal, so this was a staggering discovery.

Mike's hand unconsciously went to his own wrist. Although his cuts had healed long ago, and the scars were nearly faded, he would never forget. He'd been thirteen the first time he did it. It was a few months after his parents' death and he'd gotten in a fight with Trevor. It had been about something stupid—he didn't even remember what it was anymore—but it had ended with mike in tears and Trevor telling him he needed to stop being a pussy and get over it. i 'What are you, some kind of faggot?'/i

He'd tried to forget about it, but even after he'd gone home, finished his homework, and forced down some dinner, he couldn't stop thinking about Trevor's words. He hated that he was so emotionally weak. He needed to be a man and stop letting words get to him so much.

The more he thought about it, the more his anger at Trevor dissipated and became directed at himself. His spinelessness was disgusting. He needed to rid himself of these pathetic emotions. So he reached for his Swiss Army knife and slashed two quick lines into his wrist.

It took two years for him to stop being reliant on the blade. But even then he'd just traded one habit for another when Trevor introduced him to pot.

These last few months working with Harvey had been a true test of his strength. And he was surprising himself. Every time Harvey put him down or criticize him, it just made him want to work harder, to prove it to Harvey that he could be strong like him.

But now, seeing that even someone like Harvey could break… he didn't know what to do.

He finally looked up at Harvey. "You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to, but I want you to know that I'm not mad at you, for anything, and you can trust me. And… I get it."

Harvey met Mike's unwavering gaze and held it for a moment before nodding.

"Thank you."

Harvey awkwardly turned away from Mike and busied himself with checking his phone.

"Don't you have work for Louis?" he asked, as Mike hovered in the doorway.

Mike remembered that he'd dropped his files in his worry about Harvey. He knew he should get back to that, but somehow this seemed more important.

"It can wait," he told Harvey.

Harvey studied Mike's expression. He looked like he wanted to say something but was biting his tongue. And he looked like he was about to cry.

Harvey sighed. It appeared that they were going to have this conversation now after all. He resigned himself to that and went to close the blinds over the glass walls.

Then he sat down on the leather couch and glanced at Mike, inviting him to join. Mike sat down against the opposite arm, putting space between them.

Harvey took a deep breath. "There's… more," he admitted quietly.

Mike frowned. "Can I see?" he asked tentatively.

Harvey nodded and began unbuttoning his shirt.

Mike's breath caught in his throat when he saw the jagged red lines crisscrossing Harvey's chest and stomach.

"Shit," he stammered, gaping. "Harvey." The word came out as a plea, as if he were begging for this not to be real. Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes.

"I know," Harvey muttered darkly, pulling his shirt closed, "I'm disgusting."

Mike swallowed the lump in his throat. "Harvey," his voice cracked, "Never, ever say that. Never think that. You are not disgusting. You're amazing. You're—God Harvey, I didn't mean any of those things I said. I was just pissed that you didn't help me with the mock trial, and you were off with that iScotty/i, and dammit Harvey, I was jealous."

Harvey cocked his head. "You were what?"

Mike felt the blood rush to his face and he was sure his cheeks were bright red with embarrassment.

"Nothing," he muttered.

TBC