Things Mike Ross Wanted To Say To Harvey Specter But Never Did.

Migranes.

Mike squinted at the rising sun, slowly filling his room with its morning rays. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something flash and groaned, covering his face with his hands. If he was seeing auras, the flashing streams of light that floated in his peripheral, that meant a migraine was unavoidable.

With a lot of effort, Mike pushed himself out of bed and shivered as his feet touched the cold floor. He made his way over to the bathroom and felt his heart sink as he realized that he was out of his migraine medication. He didn't get migraines often, so the last time he had one, and had used the rest of the pills, he had totally forgotten to get the prescription refilled.

With nothing else to do, he popped two Tylenol in his mouth and dry swallowed them, praying that they would keep the migraine at bay, with additional pain killers throughout the day, until he could get his medication after work.

The ride to the office was terrible. Even wearing the darkest sunglasses he owned, the morning sun was still too bright, searing into his eyeballs and making his headache steadily worse. By the time he got to the office, his head pain had already increased from a 2 to a 4 and the day hadn't even begun.

Thankfully, he made it to his desk in one piece and sat down to work. He didn't need to meet with Harvey until 11, their court time set for 12:30. They needed to go over some stuff with their client first though, so Harvey had told him to meet him in his office at 11 to get everything done.

Mike sat heavily in his chair and took his sunglasses off, wincing at the harshness of the office's fluorescent lights. He sluggishly pulled the files he needed from his bag and then placed them on his desk before he pulled out his earbuds and stuffed them in his ears, not even bothering to connect them to his phone. The earbuds weren't for listening to music like he normally did. Instead, they were to block out the noise of the bullpen, full of loud conversations and the grating sound of his fellow associates typing on their computers.

As the day went on, Mike's head only grew more painful. Nothing he was doing helped and he had already had to rush to the washroom to throw up twice, even though there was nothing in his body. Each vomiting session only made the pain worse, the Tylenol he took doing nothing to help with the pain.

After the second vomiting session, Mike had given up on doing his work entirely. The words on the pages he was trying to read weren't making any sense to his pain-laden brain and trying to sort them out was only making everything worse. Instead, he pushed his earbuds further into his ears and sat back in his chair, closing his eyes to try and block the harsh lights searing his skull.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there before someone yanked an earbud out of his ear. Mike turned around quickly to see who it was and immediately regretted it as his head spun and throbbed with the movement.

"It's hard to do work with your eyes closed you know," Harvey said, a smirk on his face. His boss then saw that his headphone cord was dangling in front of him, the end not attached to his phone.

"It's also hard to listen to music without those plugged in. What's up with you?"

Mike blinked, Harvey's question taking a second to register as his brain struggled to focus on anything except the pain in his head.

"Nothing. M'fine."

Harvey frowned. "Why are you slurring your words?" His eyes narrowed as he stepped closer to Mike. "Are you high? I swear to God Mike, if you're high at work-"

"Not high," Mike managed to grunt, cutting Harvey's tangent off. "Headache."

Harvey's eyes softened at this. "You do look like crap. How bad is it?"

"Not too bad."

Harvey's frown deepened as he took Mike in. "Then why are you only answering in such short sentences?"