| Chapter 1 |

Mike was in some deep shit. How he had even gotten into such a situation was absolutely mind fuckery considering never in his life had he dabbled in illegal activities. Well… okay. So he'd done some minor illegalities like underage drinking and pot and maybe even steal a few candy bars from the 7-11, but that was beside the point. Right now, he was currently sitting in a flooded arsenal being questioned by the Russian mafia and having the living shit beat out of him. How he had gotten into the situation was easy. Trevor. Trevor fucking Evans. Didn't everything revolve around Trevor?

~ Two Weeks Before ~

Mike and Trevor were somewhat of a dynamic duo. They'd been best friends since kids and had grown up through trial and error. What had created this unbreakable bond between the two men were probably growing up with not much in their lives, and having to force themselves to become dependent on nobody but a blood pact they made to each other in the 3rd grade. Despite them being best friends with an irrevocable and unshakable hold to each other, they had quite different personalities. Trevor was bold. He liked to push boundaries and see how far he could get without getting caught. He was also extremely handsome and could probably get away for murder if he batted his eyes and showed off his pearly whites. While Mike was a bit meek and doe eyed in the comparison to his friend, what he had that Trevor didn't was smarts. Mike was somewhat notorious for the Mac fast brain of his. He had this uncanny ability to remember things. In doing such, he could remember dates and numbers and all sorts of things that would classify him as a genius. Girls that Mike would date would say his best attribute was his brain. Trevor and his other good friend Jenny told him that women liked that in a man. Of course this made Mike feel he was nothing but a brain. He never said this aloud, but he wished he could also have a different attribute that didn't revolve around his brain, like perhaps his wit and charm?

Currently, Mike was waiting for Trevor outside his work place in central Manhattan. Time was seemingly slow, and like usual, Trevor was late on their meet up. It was 11:45, and Trevor was late by an hour. Mike hadn't eaten since noon, so he was pretty much ready to eat his arm off if he didn't see Trevor in the next 10 minutes.

Trevor was working for a law firm. Trevor was far from a lawyer, but he was like a lackey or whatever that worked for the assistants' assistant… Mike was still a bit unsure what Trevor did that required such shitty and arbitrary hours.

After ten minutes and still no sign of Trevor, Mike got up from the squares garden curb and decided he would go and search for his lousy excuse of a friend rather than eat his arm. He barely made it to the door when someone bumped into him from behind. Mike went to excuse himself, but before he could, two cold eyes met his. He vaguely noted the man's expensive suit and pricey peppermint cologne waft around him.

With a frustrated purse of the lips, the man stepped aside and motioned to the door. "After you." It was then he smelled alcohol from the man's breath and came to the conclusion this man was completely car parked, and even though this man looked like a presidential candidate, if this man didn't sober up soon, he would be monkey in a spinning chair.

"Uh, sir? I don't mean to pry but… you okay? You look"—

The man just huffed at him and ambled through the door way, tripping on the threshold. It was clear to Mike this man was usually a dignified and proper type of man. But with whatever amount of alcohol in his system, he wasn't doing so decent. Mike followed him into the building. Bright white lights made Mike squint and the man before him stumble into a bench. Mike sat down with him. But before he could speak, he noticed a fairly large bruise blooming on the man's left temple. So it wasn't just intoxication.

"You know, you could have a concussion. Trauma to the brain is a serious matter. It'll make you less alert and leave you unconscious and in serious cases leave you dead on your feet. You should seriously have that checked out. I know a friend who works in the ER and can definitely fit you in first so you don't have to wait in that awful waiting line. Trust me; I am making you a fantastic offer."

The man just shook his head. "Enough deals for a day. Where's Donna?"

Donna? Mike looked around the lobby and made eye contact with the security guard at the check in point booth sandwiched between the elevators on either side. "Excuse me. Do you know a Donna?"

The man snorted. "Everyone knows Donna."

"Well is Donna in this building? I think her friend here"—

"Donna is currently at the Nantucket Ballet. She doesn't leave her ringer on in the ballet."

"Right... Well, do you know this man?"

The security guard just nodded his head in recognition. "Everyone knows Harvey. However, this be the first time I'm seeing him like"—

The man before Mike got up quickly, almost knocking Mike over with an elbow. The man, now known as Harvey, stumbled out of the building, obviously trying not to keel over. Unable to leave the man, Mike chased after him.

"Hey!" The New York night was cold. Mike had started to warm up within the building but the harsh winter night hit him like a brick. The man, Harvey, looked unaffected. Mike caught up with him.

"How about I take you home." The man glared at him, and started to walk away. Fast. For a drunk, he was sure determined.

Groaning, Mike caught up with him, panting as he did. Mike was not someone who ran a lot. "Please, you are really not okay. You should lie down. Doesn't that sound great right now?" Mike looked around them and figured that man was probably far from home. They were entering his neighborhood. The Not So Great Neighborhood.

"Well," Mike tried to reason. "How about we head to my place? It's a block from here. I have a cooling pad for your head… your head is pounding right? I've gotten hit in the same spot before… well, in many places. But it was not a big deal. I was—huh?"

Mike had kept walking but realized Harvey had stopped. He'd paused to rest against a building. Mike rejoined him.

"You know," commented the man with a faintly miffed expression, "you talk…a lot."

Mike laughed. "Yeah, I'm sorry. I'm just really cold and hungry and I would kind of like to get home right about now." The man closed his eyes and then leaned into Mike. For a second Mike thought the man would embrace him… but all he did was sniff his neck. The sensation was odd and Mike turned his head away. But when he looked back at Harvey, he was met with different eyes. They were still the same cold eyes as before, but this time they were… curious?

"Fine," said Harvey. "Take me to your place. But I expect a fine policy of no weed being smoked within your premise. Understood?"

Mike couldn't help but laugh. He had smelled weed on his jacket from a late afternoon puff. This man was different from the type of people he knew and hung out with. And for some reason, he couldn't wait to show the man his apartment. Though, he didn't know why. His apartment was shit.