Be a baby about it

"C'mon, can I just have a few minutes to regret all of my life choices, first?"

Harvey chuckles, before reaching in to unbuckle you and drag you out of your seat by the arm, like you're some kind of child throwing a tantrum. Apparently, he misjudged just how much **** he'd need to put behind this action and you both end up on the ground next to the car. The asphalt scrapes the top layer of skin off your hands as you try to brace yourself, and you can hear your cousin get the wind knocked out of him as you land heavily on top of him. (Serves him right, you think.)

It's an unpleasant experience for the both of you, and you grumble and groan your way to the elevator, with the straps of your bag carefully held in the crook of your elbow so as not to agitate your bleeding palms. At least when you finally make it inside his (rather cozy) apartment, Harvey has the decency to lead you to a bathroom to take care of your scrapes. It's a sort of close moment you haven't had since you were kids, as he carefully washes your hands and wraps them. For a moment you're stuck thinking of the time he had a similar injury playing soccer, and you were the one taking care of him, then.

Somehow this doesn't feel like just returning a favor. He's always been gentle with you, even when you played rough, growing up as one of the few girls in your neighborhood who got to play with the boys at Harvey's insistence. This isn't just returning a debt, because there's no such thing between you two - you just acted out of love, taking care of one another when no one else would.