Andrew and Sir Allen stayed up all night coming up with different scenarios and planning out their game plan. The best thing about it was that Andrew didn't have to go to work at eight in the morning since he now had the upper hand. Though going to his boss's house to plan was a bit of commute, but hey—who said the road to five million was easy?

One night when Andrew wore a shirt with particularly small sleeves. When he stretched out his body, his sleeve rode up and his grand piano tattoo peeked out for just a second. But it was enough for Sir Allen to take a glimpse of his tattoo. It gave Sir Allen some epiphany to also get one. And that's how they ended up in front of a renowned tattoo parlor.

"Are you sure 'bout this?" Andrew asked. "Tattoos are forever y'know. It ain't going away."

Even when the sun was high in the sky, Sir Allen chose to wear black. Sir Allen removed his sunglasses and slid them into his chest pocket. "This CEO position will hang around me for the rest of my life. So, I need something to remind my parents why I am not the best candidate for that role. Let's not keep the artist waiting and get this over with. Remember to take a photo."

Sir Allen went inside the parlor with confident strides. Andrew just sighed. Good thing he had a morning margarita.

Sir Allen was stoic while seated in the lobby. Emotionless and a man who just didn't care. Too bad his leg was bouncing up and down. From behind the curtain divider of the studio, came a muffled sob.

Sir Allen swallowed thickly. "I have always wanted a tattoo," he mumbled.

"You have? I didn't know that."

"Of course, I don't want a metal needle permanently injecting ink to my skin," he exclaimed. "Are you insane?"

Andrew rolled his eyes. "Hey, this was your idea. But y'know what. I was also freaking scared of those five-pointed needles jabbing into my skin." Andrew dotted his nails on Sir Allen's leg to replicate the feeling, but he swatted Andrew's hands away. "And the only way I got my tattoo was because I was knocked out of my mind."

Sir Allen was horrified. He inched away from Andrew. "I will not do drugs, Andrew. There have to be some limits to what we do to achieve our objectives. No, that is too hardcore."

Andrew rolled his eyes so dramatically that for a moment only the whites of his eyes were visible. "I meant alcohol."

"Oh." Sir Allen's tense shoulders drooped. "Alcohol is your answer to everything."

Andrew smiled at him. "And liquid courage has yet to fail me. Hey! Look at you, getting to know the real me. Fun fact about me is I love alcohol. But you already know that. That's one step closer to us being close, baby doll."

"You had me fooled. The first time I saw you consume any alcohol was that night at the club."

"Yeah, I was excellent in pretending I was sober in the office." Andrew cut off his boss before he could say anything else. "I knew you would wimp out, so why don't we do the clubbing photos first and see where it takes us." Andrew stood up and yelled at the receptionist. "Ms. Receptionist! Cancel our session. My honeybunch got' a drink!"

"But the plan is—" Sir Allen got cut off when Andrew grabbed him by the arm. Sir Allen yanked it back with annoyance. So, Andrew just took Sir Allen by the collar and dragged him out of the parlor and into the car.

Andrew drove them to Pride Alley where the nightclub scene was bursting. Sir Allen looked apprehensive, but it only encouraged Andrew to make his boss drunk and loosen up just for the night. Two birds with one stone and all that.

As soon as they got out of the car, a mixture of chatter and thumping music filled the night air. For a moment, Andrew just stared at Sir Allen as his eyes were filled with admiration at Pride Alley and its picturesque spectrum of colors. Pride flags were displayed in every streetlight and drag queens and other mesmerizing people colored the strip in a beautiful canvas of glitter and neon lights.

"I can't believe it's this noisy on a weekday, and it's past sunset," said Sir Allen.

"Well, weekdays are just a construct built by higher management to stop us from drinking on a Wednesday. Just around this corner and here we are."

A ginormous, oiled-up torso of a man posing as the storefront of the club. It was lit up in rainbow colors. Andrew jumped on Sir Allen and put his arm around his shoulder. He brought them down and Sir Allen stopped resisting when Andrew whipped out his phone and took a selfie. Andrew's gorgeous grin and Sir Allen's baffled face filled out the camera as the bright torso storefront was clear behind their heads. Sir Allen tried on a smile. It was ugly. So, Andrew said, "Say penis!" Sir Allen's horrified expression caused a peal of laughter to burst from Andrew.

Snap!

Andrew slid his phone into his pocket and pulled Sir Allen into the club, though he was met with opposing resistance. Inside the dim club, arrays of strobe lights pulsed. Bodies danced in vague motions of popular dance moves to the heavy bass that rocked the club. A DJ controlled the music atop a stage with a mesmerizing LED display behind him. But most importantly, there was the intoxicating smell of alcohol that lingered in the air. Andrew glanced back at Sir Allen's scowl, who was adamant in not letting a single hair from anyone touch him, as they slithered around the crowd as they made their way to the bar.

"Two margaritas, please," Andrew ordered from the bartender. "How 'bout you?"

Sir Allen raised his eyebrows and pointed at himself. "Me? Didn't you just order two margaritas?"

Andrew slapped him on the shoulders and chuckled. "That's for me, silly. Those are just to get my throat all warmed up. Remember we're here to get drunk."

"Coming right up, sweethearts." The bartender winked at Sir Allen and mixed their drinks with a little too much flair than Andrew usually sees him do. Andrew eyed Sir Allen from his dark blue button-down and his fitted dark slacks down to his brown leather shoes. I guess some people would find Sir Allen easy on the eyes.

The drinks arrived with another wink.

"How's your first time receiving a wink inside a gay club?" Andrew mumbled close to Sir Allen's ear. He just grunted like the incorrigible brat that he was and took a sip of his drink. A sour expression crinkled his face and he held back a cough. "This is—um—a drink. Yeah. Kind of strong. A strong drink." The bartender walked away with a roll of his eyes.

"You don't like it?" Asked Andrew.

After clearing his throat, Sir Allen propped his elbow on the countertop and turned to face Andrew. "I quite like it. I just didn't want to give you the satisfaction. This begs the question, as we are also fake dating, don't you think I should get to know you better? Seeing as you know everything about me. You even know what alcohol I would like."

"That's because I'm your secretary. I've been catering to your every need for six years, so give me some credit. I would probably guess that you are very uncomfortable right now."

"I am," said Sir Allen, taking another sip of his drink. "I'm not exactly the club and dance person. But we're here and we need to take those photos and that tattoo no matter what. I just don't know where to start."

"You can start by downing that drink."

"I can't believe alcohol is the answer."

"You know how mama birds push their chicks off the nest. I can sympathize with the mama bird. But where do I push you?"

Sir Allen crossed his arms across his chest. "Absolutely no pushing."

"That's what the baby chicks always say." Andrew downed his second margarita, and he noticed the way Sir Allen scanned the club. "I can't believe you're thinking about the figures of this club!"

Sir Allen's eyebrows skyrocketed to his forehead. He stuttered out a response. "I was just—I kind of wanted to see the figures of the place!"

"Nerd," Andrew mumbled. He then noticed a drag queen come up the stage and introduce herself as Louis Button. The LED screen behind her flashed the words 'Trivia Night' in bright rainbow colors.

"Welcome to our monthly Trivia Night, whores!" She shouted to her microphone. "This is the night where we test those skimpy brains of yours and prove once and for all that not all gays are stupid sluts. We're just regular sluts. And this is not at all a ploy to bring in more money on a Wednesday night."

Andrew loved trivia night, but he hasn't had the free time to pop in even once this whole year. His only memory of it was through social media posts. He glared at the cause of his lack of drunk Wednesdays.

"Why are you glaring at me?" Sir Allen asked with a quizzical face. "Tell me what's with this trivia night situation? Seems like an out-of-place theme for a club."

Andrew sighed. He would have loved to participate, but he has to get Sir Allen wasted tonight for his beloved five million. "You're right. It didn't have the warmest reception at first, but it all became fun when drag queens started to host it. And on the rare occasion, someone does win—the rewards are hella gold. I mean look at the sea of people here on a weekday."

Sir Allen nodded and watched the spectacle on stage with a drink in hand. And Andrew realized that this must be Sir Allen's first drag show—well minus the lip-syncing—and Andrew has been racking up in taking Sir Allen's firsts. He has contemplated murdering Sir Allen on past occasions, but he held himself back as it was considered illegal. And good thing he did 'cause now he's seeing five million in his near future. Now...how to get him drunk, wasted, and commit embarrassing mistakes all to be photographed and shown to his parents.

Andrew turned around to order another round of drinks, but he almost choked on air when he saw Oliver, the bar owner, marching down from the staff's office with a murderous glare trained on Andrew. Shit! Not now, not now, not now when Sir Allen's here. His eyes kept switching from Oliver, to Sir Allen, and back to Oliver. Andrew flinched as Oliver made a slicing motion on his neck.

"We're looking for our first participant of the night! If you're interested in winning this bottle of Merlot, our Miss Universe crown replica, and this certificate that says 'Smartest Homo' lift your shirts up and show me your chiseled waists!"

Louis Button scanned the crowd for a willing participant. Andrew's ears picked up this information and everything played in slow motion. Oliver's presence got closer and closer. Louis Button's trained eyes almost on them, and Sir Allen was shoving his hand into his pocket. This was the chance he was waiting for.

Andrew bent to his side to place himself behind Sir Allen, circled his hands around Sir Allen, and ripped his shirt from its tuck. A button popped out and hit someone's forehead.

Louis Button gasped loudly on her mic for everyone to hear, their eyes followed her sight and the whole club gasped. In effect, lowering the oxygen level of the room. The DJ stilled and so did the music. Everything screeched to a halt. Even Oliver stopped in his tracks. The spotlight swiveled and shone on their spot. A flustered Sir Allen quickly grasped Andrew's hand pushed them away.

"We have our first participant!"

The crowd bellowed with a cacophony of cheers. Two shirtless men approached them, and Sir Allen stopped with his feeble attempt to tuck his shirt back in. He glowered at the two men. He didn't budge at first, but Sir Allen cleared his throat and went willingly in the arms of his escort. The crowd parted in half to make way for him. The words Handsome, Rich, and Did you see that v-cut? Were tossed around.

A furious Oliver, on the other hand, came marching down to him with his jaw all set and tense. "Little unpaid hoe. You better be here to pay your tab—" Andrew cut him off when he brandished Sir Allen's black credit card. Furious eyes glistened with joy. The frown turned upside down into a smirk. Oliver winked at him, and with a little wave of his finger, a bartender holding a card terminal came running. Oliver dipped the card. The machine flashed a Transaction Successful message.

Oliver returned the card and said, "Give this man a drink and spill the tea on that arm candy you've brought."

Andrew watched Sir Allen go up on stage. He stood with his hands behind him, and his stance as dignified as one could possibly muster with half his shirt untucked, missing a button, and the club getting a glimpse of this supposed v-cut that Andrew hasn't been privy to. He was tight-lipped and replying only with grunts. The man had the talent to bring down a room.

"These kinds of places aren't my thing," Sir Allen replied to Louis Button.

"These kinds of places?" asked Louis Button. "What's wrong with these kinds of places?"

"Ah, no—um. It's."

This was going worse than Andrew expected. He needed to fix it. So, he downed his drink and shouted for the whole club to hear. "He's nervous because he just came out!"

Louis Button's face lit up with happiness same as the crowd who yelled Congratulations! Coupled with resounding applause.

"You go, bitch!" said someone from the crowd. "Don't be nervous!"

"We love your energy. Give us nothing!" The crowd laughed whole-heartedly as Sir Allen's only was to stay still, hands still behind his back, and reply with, "Oh, thank you. It was a pleasant coming out."

"Oh, I didn't realize this was such a big moment. No wonder you look like a cruel vice president or something," said Louis Button, flustered. "Congratulations, dear. Welcome to the land of the free."

Andrew wasn't done. "He also came out to his parents!" The club gasped again. Louis Button's eyes popped out. Heads turned towards Andrew, and he paused just for a moment in suspense. He regarded the crowd, then Oliver, who groaned in annoyance and said, "Come on. Tell us what happened, already!"

Andrew grinned. He bellowed from the top of his lungs, "And they accepted him!" The DJ played horn noises. Diana Ross' Coming Out started playing. The crowd sang along. And Louis Button enveloped Sir Allen in a warm embrace and patted his head. From afar, Andrew couldn't hear what she said but it looked like: "It must have been hard, huh?" Sir Allen stiffly returned the embrace and everyone found it amusing.

Louis Button continued with the trivia night with a more relaxed Sir Allen. Oliver sighed and sat beside him. "Why are you so extra?" he asked.

Andrew shrugged. "I'm gay. I was born extra under the full moon."

Oliver puffed out a breath through his nose. "Good point," he said as he brought up his drink and clinked it with Andrews.

"We have two very difficult questions," said Louis Button. "Allen, you'll be given 10 seconds to answer. Are you ready?"

Sir Allen nodded, determined.

"Alright, DJ give me some suspenseful music." The soundtrack of Legally Blonde's courtroom scene blasted throughout the club. "How many islands are there in the Philippines? Timer stars no—"

"7,614." Sir Allen's answer was concise and immediate.

"Um, okay," Louis Button was baffled. "Last question. 9,100 is what percent of 400,000?"

"How many decimal places?" Came Sir Allen's response.

Crickets. Even from the crowd. Not a word. Louis Button glanced at Andrew. He chuckled and raised two fingers. Louis Button laughed awkwardly and said, "How 'bout two? Um, yeah, two decimal places?"

Sir Allen nodded and raised a hand in a dignified manner like the nerd he was. He said, "9,100 is 2.25% of 400,000."

Louis Button blinked and peeked at her cue cards. Her eyes popped out. "Wow. I can't believe this. Handsome and smart because your answers are all correct!"

Confetti popped and rained from the ceiling. Andrew jumped out from his seat and dashed towards the front of the stage, where he took burst shots of Sir Allen receiving a placard that read Smartest Homo in the Building.

Sir Allen was asked to smile for the audience. And Andrew was fascinated at how Sir Allen individually instructed each of his facial muscles to muster up a smile. Sir Allen went down, and Andrew made to give him congratulatory hug, but he was glared down by Sir Allen, so he opted for a clap on the shoulder. As they made their way back to their seats, Sir Allen was pressured to drink several shots of alcohol that were given to him, and he never failed to grimace after each one. Everyone found it hilarious.

"How are you feeling?" Andrew asked Sir Allen who had a glazed look.

"It's weird how everyone was so...open about a stranger's coming out experience."

Andrew nudged him with his shoulder. "That's because coming out takes guts, courage, and a little desperation. And all of us here know the risk of coming out, especially coming out to their parents. That's why we celebrate the person owning their freedom. No more hiding, no more secrets. That's the one thing these strangers and us have in common. Pride in our sexuality and the experience of coming out."

Sir Allen nodded. "Then I respect everyone here for their courage."

Andrew lets out a surprised chuckle. "Now that you've been accepted by the pack. Why don't we do what we're supposed to do here."

Sir Allen swiveled in his seat, called the bartender, and nodded at Andrew. He was determined to get wasted and take photos of it. Though, those photos Andrew took would already suffice, but hey, Sir Allen's buying.

Sir Allen passed a Bombay Gin to Andrew and raised his glass. "To fake dating," he said. "And to you, my secretary and my friend, Andrew."

Andrew clinks his glass with Sir Allen's. "To us. Let's get drunk!"

When Allen exclaimed that they would be drunk as hell. He did not mean after four glasses of high-alcohol content liquor.

Beads of sweat were flowing down Andrew's face as he carried a passed-out Sir Allen on his back. His feet kept dragging along on the ground making an irritating sound like chalk being scratched down a blackboard. Aside from Andrew's lack of height and Sir Allen's body heat covering Andrew's whole back, the man weighed like a ton of cement. It must be all the pent-up gayness he's kept hidden all these years. And the unlimited rage that he hasn't had the opportunity to tap in a while. That's what happens when you're on indefinite leave, there's no coworker you can yell at.

Once they reached the side road, Andrew flagged down a taxi and slumped the giant devil on the back seat. He couldn't resist taking a photo...and a selfie. He also asked the driver if he could take a photo of us. He gave Andrew a weird look.

"Oh, oh, no, this isn't some kind of scandal for ransom kind of photo," said Andrew, defensively. "It's more of a 'Rare photo of your boss getting wasted' kind of moment." He smiled to prove a point. The bald driver extended an open palm in response. Andrew couldn't help but sigh. Though he respected the hussle.