Agree with Kevin and go with it
From Create Your Own Story
"Fantastic!" Mike's voice boomed with excitement as he gestured enthusiastically toward the sleek vehicle parked further down the street. "Studio time, boys—let's not waste another second!" His grin was infectious as he adjusted his sunglasses, already striding ahead with purposeful steps.
Mike's car—a jet-black BMW with heavily tinted windows—gleamed under the sunlight like something out of a high-end catalog. You exchanged a glance with Kevin before sliding into the plush backseat, while Mike settled into the driver's seat with the ease of someone who'd done it a thousand times before.
"You two allergic to shotgun or something?" Mike teased, twisting halfway around to smirk at you both. His laughter was light, almost playful, but there was something unreadable beneath it. Kevin shifted uncomfortably beside you, and you both stayed silent, unsure how to respond to the loaded question.
Mike chuckled again, shaking his head as he turned the key in the ignition. The engine purred to life, smooth and powerful. "Relax, kiddos," he said, adjusting the rearview mirror. "Studio's only ten minutes out. Plenty of time for you to unclench."
As the car pulled away from the curb, Mike kept the conversation flowing effortlessly. He asked about your ages, your majors, your dreams—small talk that somehow didn’t feel small at all. His questions were sharp, probing but never intrusive, like he genuinely cared about the answers. He even shared a few self-deprecating stories about his own college days, the kind that made you snort despite your nerves. By the time the city blocks blurred past, you found yourself loosening up, laughing at one of his dry jokes. Kevin, too, seemed to thaw, his shoulders losing some of their tension.
True to his word, ten minutes later, Mike smoothly guided the BMW into a parking spot outside a nondescript office complex. The building was unremarkable—beige walls, tinted windows, a faded sign you couldn’t quite read. You stepped out, the summer heat pressing down immediately, as Mike strode ahead and punched a code into the buzzer. A mechanical click echoed, followed by the heavy groan of the entrance door swinging open.
Inside, the space was utilitarian at best—fluorescent lighting buzzing overhead, scuffed linoleum floors, walls lined with outdated motivational posters. You trailed behind Mike as he led you down a narrow hallway, past a series of closed doors, before descending a short flight of stairs. The air smelled faintly of stale coffee and printer toner.
At last, he pushed open a door marked only by a peeling label, revealing a cramped office space—a couple of folding chairs, a desk cluttered with paperwork, and a dusty desktop monitor blinking lazily in the corner. "Make yourselves comfortable," Mike said, already halfway back out the door. "I’ll grab Rod—he’s our photographer. Shouldn’t take long to get you two set up for some shots."
With that, he was gone, leaving you and Kevin alone in the quiet, faintly humming room. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken questions. Do you sit and wait for him to come back
