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“How about that guy? The one with the suit and the ‘I’m-better-than-you' look stuck on his face,” Trevor suggests, motioning toward a man walking down the street as he bites into his presumably stone-cold hotdog.
“Him? You’re not serious. He’ll deck me!” Mike protests.
“Hey, you’re the one that said this was the best way to get views, you can’t go blaming me for this,” Trevor says, defensively, mouth still full and screwing up his face in disgust as he looks down at his hotdog. “This wasn’t worth it.”
Mike glances at him briefly before turning back to look at the well-dressed... businessman? Banker? Lawyer? The styled hair definitely says lawyer, “I did try to tell you. And, for the record, I was high when I suggested this. I can’t be held accountable for this anymore than you can.”
Trevor grunts, throwing his hotdog into the trashcan they’re loitering by, “Just do it, Mike. Even if he does hit you, it’ll still be good for the video,” He smiles, “What’s the saying? All news is good news?”
Mike squints and furrows his brows, “You mean ‘all publicity is good publicity’?”
“Yeah, that.”
Mike shakes his head, “Everyone knows that’s a load of bullshit, Trev.”
Trevor shrugs, “Well... if he hits you then- You know the law, right? You got accepted into Harvard Law before The Thing happened.”
Mike’s face twists up and he glares at Trevor.
“Exactly, so you’ll be fine if he hits you cause like... that’s assault! And you'll be filming too so you’ll have- What's the word? In..dis...pitable..?” Trevor winces.
“Indisputable,” Mike corrects.
“Yeah, indisputable evidence and we’ll get loads of cash off the lawsuit!”
Still watching the guy wearing what could very well be classed as fancy dress, Mike says, “That’s not how that’ll go down. What we’re trying to do could easily be considered harassment if they take it the wrong way. Any lawyer worth their paycheck would see that from a mile away, Trevor. And the footage would just work against us.”
Trevor groans, “Whatever dude. Just go do it so we can go back, edit it and get loads of views.”
Mike exhales, shoulders dropping, “Fine,” he says, “But I’m telling you now he’s gonna hit me.”
“Dude, he’s not gonna fucking hit you,” Trevor starts. Taking in the look of extreme trepidation on Mike’s face, he switches his tactic and continues, “Okay, look: we’ll make it a bet just like we used to. Twenty bucks says he’s not gonna hit you.”
“Easiest bet of my life, I just wish it wasn’t at the behest of my fucking cheekbones.”
“Behest? Really? Thou shalt not mock thy neighbour, Mikey.”
“Shut up, dude.”
Trevor chuckles, “You’re the one that uses the big words,” he defends.
Mike whips his head around to look at him, “’Big words’?” He quotes, incredulous, “It’s six letters, what’s big about that?”
Trevor flips him off and then shoos him away, toward the man who, blessedly has not walked off and is now leaning against the building behind him, “Go away, make us some money.”
“You’re always so nice to me,” Mike mocks, walking off toward the probably-lawyer and pulling out his phone to start filming their interaction.
Sending up a quick prayer that this guy doesn’t hit him, just in case the Big Guy is listening, Mike begins his charade: phone up in an imitation of a facetime call Mike speaks just that little bit louder than what would be polite, “Hey Grammy!” He starts off, a big grin plastered on his face as he closes in on the stranger, “Yeah, I’m doing good, I’m just out with my boyfriend right now,” he says, turning his back to the man and throwing out a clean elbow nudge to his side in an attempt to get him to look up into the camera.
When the man looks up, he has a scowl on his face and a dark look in his eye. Mike falters, but doubles down all the same.
“Say hi to my Grammy, sweetheart. She says she misses you!”
The man does a quick look around and there’s a flicker of recognition - or maybe understanding - in the man's eye before he stands up straighter and leans into Mike, a smug sort of smile slides onto his face, “Hey Grammy, how are you? We’ve been missing you, too.”
Mike blinks. Huh?
The man turns to look at Mike, “What is it, honey? Something bothering you?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.
Mike startles, “Oh! No, sweetheart. All good on my end. Now, what do you say we go get some lunch?” Mike asks, trying to regain his footing in the conversation, glancing between his phone, this very surprising stranger who still hasn’t punched him in the jaw, and Trevor who’s still standing across the way watching the interaction intently.
“Sure thing, honey, my treat. And after that we’ll head over to that bakery and pick up the cake for my niece's birthday. Sound good to you?”
Mike, who has never had anyone go along with his bullshit like this before, is a little confused. But he’s still filming, and it's definitely still good content, so he keeps going with it. Wrapping his free arm around the man's shoulders, Mike tugs him closer, “That sounds like the perfect plan to me, baby.”
The man smiles wider, an arm coming up to snake around Mike’s waist. As they begin to walk down the street, Mike thinks he could easily be being kidnapped right now, and he would have totally walked into it, arms embracing.
Anything for the content, though, as Trevor would say.
Putting his phone away and tucking it into his back pocket, Mike glances at the man he’s walking with as he starts to speak, “Are you alright?” He asks.
Mike’s head tilts and his face twitches in confusion, “What?” He asks, dumbly.
The man looks at him intently, “I asked if you’re alright. As in: are you okay? I saw that guy looking at you, the one across the street? I figured you were in some sort of... we’ll say unpleasant situation.”
Mike blinks. Then blinks again. He’s doing a lot of blinking.
“Hello? You haven’t been drugged or anything and it’s only just kicking in now, right?” The very surprising, very concerned looking stranger asks.
Mike shakes his head, brings himself back to reality, “No, no, I'm fine. And I’m not in any trouble, don’t worry,” he assures.
The man squints, “Then what was that about?”
Mike’s arm slips off the man’s shoulder and runs down his arm as they stop in the middle of the sidewalk. Turning to face him properly, Mike explains: “Oh, It’s just a stupid thing. Idea. Me and that guy, Trevor, we’re short on cash, right? But there’s this thing online that makes you money if you post videos. This whole... thing was for that- I’m sorry?”
The man looks lost. Mike’s not making much sense.
“It’s just something we started doing a little bit ago, I needed twenty-five thousand for my grandmother’s healthcare,” Mike pauses, wincing as the man's face stays clouded over with confusion. Mike flounders, “It was this or drug dealing,” he says.
That seems to get through to the guy, “Ah.”
Mike looks around, exhaling and trying not to look at the guy, “Yeah.”
“Well,” the stranger starts, “As long as you’re okay.”
Mike laughs, turning to look at him again and feeling more than a little awkward, “Yeah, I’m okay. Just glad you didn’t punch me.”
The man catches his eye, “Punch you? I couldn’t, it would ruin that face, and we can’t have that, can we?” He teases, that smug smile from earlier reprising it’s role. “Not when it’s so nice to look at.”
Not for the first time, Mike’s brain shuts off, however briefly. When it comes back online, he realises that he is in fact just blankly staring at this man.
“Um,” he starts, intelligently, “What’s your name again?”
“Again? You never asked a first time, but I’ll let you off.”
A silent moment passes between them, Mike makes a gesture, “So are you like- gonna tell me, or?”
“Harvey.”
“Nice,” Mike says, “I see it. You look like a Harvey.”
Harvey squints, then furrows his brows, “That a good thing?”
Mike’s eyes snap to Harvey’s, panicked, “Yes! Sorry, yeah. Yeah, it’s a good thing. A really good thing, actually,” he stutters.
Harvey smirks, all confidence, “I know,” he preens.
Mike jabs him with a finger, scrunching up his face, “Then why’d you say it like that!? You made it sound like you thought that I thought that you were- like- an ugly ‘Harvey’ or something,” he says, “Which I definitely do not think, by the way.”
“It’s funny,” Harvey shrugs, an easy smile on his face as he watches Mike.
“Funny. What? Watching me panic?”
“Yes, exactly. Incredibly funny. The most funny, I think.”
Mike glares, “You’re a bit of a dick, aren’t you?”
Harvey snorts, “I won’t disagree.”
Mike hums, making to turn and continue walking with Harvey when he realises that Trevor is still standing by that trashcan waiting for him. “Oh,” he starts, “I have to go, my friend is waiting.”
“By all means,” Harvey acquiesces.
“I’m Mike, by the way,” he adds, then grimaces. Shuffling his feet, he asks, tentatively, “Do you, um. Maybe- y'know, just if you’re not busy- Would you want to... go out for a drink some time? I can give you my number- If you want it that is, no pressure- cause you’re like- wow- and I’m... not wow... Jesus Christ.”
Harvey chuckles, “Are you always stumbling through every conversation you have? Or am I just special?”
Mike winces, “I’d really like to say you’re special, but no, I’m just a mess.”
“You make a pretty cute mess, Mike.”
“Thanks. So- is that a yes, then? Drinks?”
“Drinks,” Harvey agrees.
Mike exhales sharply, grinning wide, “Perfect, do you have a pen? Or, actually,” he starts, “Just show me your number. I’ll remember it.”
Harvey raises an eyebrow, “You’ll remember it?”
Mike nods, “I’ll remember it.”
“You’re sure about that, Mike?” Harvey asks, the doubt in his eyes potent and obvious.
Mike puffs his chest out, his memory always impresses people, Harvey will be no different once he believes him, “I have an eidetic memory. Once I read something, I understand it. And once I understand it, I never forget it.”
Harvey hums, suitably impressed, “Okay sailor, let’s say I believe in your little magic trick. What have I got to convince me that you’re not gonna stand me up?”
Mike chuckles, he settles a hand on Harvey’s elbow and squeezes lightly, “Well, someone who looks like you doesn’t get stood up, does he? Trust me,” he assures, “I won’t be the first. No one’s that stupid.”
Harvey smiles: it’s a small thing, quiet, and just for Mike. “Alright, fine. You win,” he says, “But if I don’t get a text in the next...” he checks his watch, it looks expensive and Mike eyes it up appreciatively, talk about dating above your tax bracket, “I’ll give you until ten o’clock tonight, and if I don’t get a text from you by then, well... I’ll pine for the rest of my life, dreaming about what could’ve been,” Harvey finishes, dry in his delivery.
Mike grins, sheepish and a little red in the face, “Don’t worry, you won’t have to pine for long, Harvey. I won’t let you down.”
Harvey looks away, pulling his phone number up for Mike to memorise. He snorts, “I sure as shit hope you don’t, kid. Especially if that mind of yours is as good as you say it is. I’ve always liked a smart guy.”
After making absolutely sure he remembers Harvey’s number for later, even going so far as to triple-check he’s got it safely tucked into the deep expanses of his mind, (closing his eyes and rattling it off a few times) Mike gives one last look at Harvey, “Drinks,” he says.
“Drinks,” Harvey affirms, “Ten o’clock tonight. Text me.”
Mike nods sharply, “Yes, sir,” he says, mock salute and all.
Harvey huffs out a laugh and Mike turns to leave before realising something.
“Oh, Harvey?” he asks, “Is it okay with you if I post that dumb video?”
Harvey smirks, “Sure, kid. Whatever you want,” he says, and walks off leaving Mike standing alone in the street. Mike watches him leave, and before he can walk back over to Trevor, the man appears behind him.
“So, I was right as usual then, yeah?”
Mike turns to look at him, “You? ‘Right as usual’? Sure man, whatever helps you sleep at night.”
Trevor punches him in the shoulder, “Hey!” he protests, “He didn’t hit you, did he? So, I was right. I win the bet; you owe me twenty dollars.”
Mike hums, “Well, technically you didn’t win,” he says.
“What? He didn’t sock you in the jaw dude, that’s an obvious win.”
Mike shakes his head, “The terms of the bet were never clearly stated, Trev. He didn’t punch me, sure, I’ll agree to that...”
“...Yeah, exactly, so I win.”
Mike tuts, wagging his finger at the other man, “Ah, but my dear Trevor, he did hit on me. Thus, I win. He hit me so you owe me that twenty bucks.”
Trevor’s face scrunches up in confusion, “How the fuck does that make any sense, Mike?”
Mike raises his hands up to his head in mock surrender, “You said it, Trevor, I got accepted into Harvard Law.”
“And how exactly does that matter here?”
“I know the law, and the law of the bet says that I win, so... I win. And you owe me twenty bucks.”
A moment of silence passes between the two of them, interrupted only by the general bustle of the city, and then:
“Shut the fuck up, Mike.”