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To be fair, it’s really not a date. Not in the traditional sense anyways. If it was, than any and all dates would have to start with a murder and end with an explosion (but really, both Michael and Gavin would prefer that).
It started like this - a bigass fancy hotel was the place in Los Santos to go for Valentines’ Day. It was the fanciest place in town, right? Everyone wanted to go. but the thing was, it was sold out since fucking last February and there was no way in gods green earth any of the Fakes were getting a room.
Except that, they were the Fakes and no one was really going to tell them no.
Just on principle, Gavin wanted a room - wanted not just any room but the Honeymoon Suite. Michael was fully on board and so, dressing his boi up in suits and ties until they were both fucking glamorous as can be, they went to the hotel on Valentines’ Day night.
Ten minutes later, they had a room. The sequence of events went a little bit like this:
10:01PM: Approach the hotel manager. Gavin plays all wits and charms, seducing the man into considering evicting the couple paying for the Honeymoon Suite.
10:05PM: Go upstairs, kill the man already in the honeymoon suite, and dispose of the body (shove him in a closet).
10:07PM: Return to the front lobby, convince the hotel manager that the room was vacant, get said room for themselves.
10:10PM: Kill hotel manager, just for funsies. Dispose of said body next to other body.
10:11PM: Profit.
Having the honeymoon suite, though, wasn’t as good as getting the honeymoon suite. Yeah, the sex on the bigass bed was fantastic. And the sex on the coffee table (which broke). And the sex on the counters in the little built in kitchen.
They trashed the room, of course, but by about 3AM they were bored. The minifridge was empty of all its bevs.
It was michael’s idea, in the end, to blow the room up. A tiny bomb - no need to destroy the entire hotel. They liked it. Some of the people in it, too, could be future robbery targets and it was really no good if they were dead and their shit started getting repossessed by banks and whatever.
Michael never traveled without his bombs so by 3:15 the room was strapped up in small explosive putty. By 3:30AM, they were a block and a half away, sitting in Gavin’s fucking purple Blista, watching the fireworks of the roof explode.
They ended up having sex in the back of the car, too, while sirens raged through the night. Why? It was rather fucking romantic.
They thought so anyways.