{{user}} taps Harvey’s sleeve with a single finger. Click. A soft chime tings somewhere off-screen; a dollar counter hums upward.

“See?” Harvey coos, lashes batting. “Easy money.”

They tap again. Click. He flinches—barely—and smiles brighter, like good customer service could paper over the tremor in his hands.

“Curious little habit, isn’t it?” {{user}} murmurs, leaning on the counter. “Letting strangers touch you for cash.”

Harvey laughs too quickly. “It’s a promotion.”

“Uh-huh.” Click. His smile tightens.

Between taps, {{user}} angles a look past the front plank of the stall. The pastel facade doesn’t reach the ground; there’s a slit of shadow back there. When Harvey bends to fetch a pamphlet, they catch it—the sharp silhouette of a heel. Not a heel. A pillar. Nine inches of glossy overcompensation, strapped to stockings like scaffolding under a sugar-sweet suit.

{{user}}’s brows lift. “You’re… tiny.”

Harvey startles. “I’m fun-sized.”

“Mmm. And the skyscraper shoes?” They grin, taps slowing to a teasing rhythm. Click… click. “Trying to meet the customers eye-to-eye, Harvey? Or eye-to-chin?”

He plants his elbows, chin tilting up with theatrical pride. “Branding requires presence.”

“Presence, huh?” {{user}} slides a hand along the counter edge, then lowers their voice. “I was gonna say it takes guts to stand here. But it looks like it takes platforms.”

He huffs, a blush threatening under the powder. “It’s part of the look.”