Chapter Text
Even with today’s Premier League match on replay on every screen in the pub, Louis still somehow finds himself lost in the colors of the Union Jack hanging behind the bar. His vision goes a bit out of focus, blurring into reds and whites and blues from the flag of his home country and the flag next to it — the land of microwaved tea water and millions of bars playing the wrong football games. Raucous cheering suddenly erupts from the sticky pub tables surrounding his, breaking him off his momentary dissociation. A quick glance to the nearest TV confirms his suspicions — Leicester City has taken the lead over Leeds United. From the few minutes he’s been here tonight, it’s no question that the crowd overwhelmingly supports the boys in the blue jerseys.
If he closes his eyes and tunes out the way that football terminology sounds wrong rolling off the tongue in a flat American accent, he could almost imagine it’s one of his usual pub nights back home across the Atlantic. Instead of the hustle and bustle of New York City, it’s the meandering pace of the locals in Doncaster, regulars catching up with friends in a small town, proper English pub.
Thunk.
He snaps out of it as soon as a sloshing pitcher of beer hits the table, the grinning Irishman holding it sliding onto the stool across from his. “So, Tommo, you’re a friend of Zayn’s?”
Louis picks at the chips (French fries) in front of him, nodding slightly. “Yeah, he’s my roommate. ‘Ve only known him a few months, but he’s my best mate here.”
Niall hums in understanding, a mutuality between them that only non-Americans living in the biggest American city can understand. “Got it. And you’re a PhD student?”
“In Education Leadership,” Louis answers, taking a sip from his glass that Niall so generously filled. “The idea is to teach people how to teach better or become a principal if that doesn’t work out.”
“I love it, mate,” Niall beams, shoveling a few nachos into his mouth. “Noble career and all, education. But you’re not at NYU like Zayn and I, are ya?”
“Nope, Columbia for me.”
Niall whistles, eyebrows rocketing up his forehead. “That’s the real deal!”
“Any grad degree is the real deal,” Louis argues, used to the fanfare but always wanting to rip the facade off of the shiny exterior of the Ivies. “I’m just passionate about my work, that’s all. It’s the right place for me even if it pays fucking next to nothing.”
“You can say that again,” Niall snorts. “Zayn probably told you, but I’m doing a dual Masters in Music Performance and Music Therapy. Talk about getting paid next to nothing.”
Louis winces. “Yeah, sorry, man. Didn’t mean to sound ungrateful for my stipend. I know Masters students don’t even get that, which is fucking insane.”
Niall shrugs, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I make it work. Which is why you’re here to talk, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Louis sighs after a moment’s hesitation, a split-second where he considers not saying the words aloud. “Zayn said you’ve… sugared ? In the past? And the present?”
“Yep, I’ve got a sugar mommy right now. I’ve had a sugar daddy or two in the past, too. The sugar bowl has options for whatever you like.”
“Sugar daddies,” Louis clarifies, clearing his throat. “Um, you said the sugar bowl? Is that like, the pool of sugar…ers?”
Niall laughs, not unkindly. “Yeah, basically. It’s just an industry term for anyone open to or actively sugaring.”
“How do you get involved with… the sugar bowl?”
“Some people have connections,” Niall explains, taking another sip of his beer. “And others start fresh via an app or a website. Lucky for you, you now have both. If you’re interested, that is. No pressure.”
Louis’ most recent paycheck flashes before his eyes in quick succession with his rent, phone bill, grocery needs, and utilities, and before he knows it, he’s nodding. “I’m open to it. I think I need to do it.”
“If you get the right person, it’s not that bad,” Niall assures him gently, sensing the apprehension. “Not all sugar daddies even want sex as part of the agreement — some are looking just for companionship or a pretty face at high-class events. You’ll just have to do some searching through profiles.”
Louis can’t help the blush that heats high on his cheeks. “I’m not opposed to… that. To sex. I just don’t want to feel like — I’m expected to act a certain way, ya know?”
“You can always leave an arrangement,” Niall reminds him gently. “I’m happy to help you look over a contract or draw up one of your own. And sugar daddies have their preferences, which they’re usually pretty clear about. You can typically tell which ones will make you uncomfortable just from their profiles.”
Niall slides his phone across the table, screen alight with the home page of an app. “This is where I’d recommend you start — it’s an app called SugarSearch, and I can get you past the paywall for premium membership with a referral. That way you’ll have more control over who you can message and who can message you.”
Louis pulls out his own phone, typing the name into the search bar of the App Store. “Is it like a dating app? I just make a profile and browse other peoples’?”
“Just like it. And don’t feel the need to post explicit pictures if you don’t want to — you’ll see them on some profiles, but they’re definitely not necessary. My biggest tip is to be proactive — message a daddy if you’re interested. They’re usually pretty eager to respond to most anyone.”
By the time Louis glances back down at his phone, the app’s finished downloading. He clears his throat and clicks off his phone, depositing it back in his pocket to revisit later. “Uh, thanks for the tips, mate. I’ll have to spend some time with it later.”
Niall smiles understandingly. “You have my number from Zayn, so feel free to text me with any questions. I get it — grad school is fucking hard.”
Louis exhales loudly. “You’re telling me. There’s a fine line between loving what you do and wanting to drop out on a moment’s notice.”
“And then there’s all the bullshit with funding, let alone living in New York City,” Niall adds emphatically. “On top of being so far away from home, you’ve got the most expensive cost of living in the country.”
“It’s fucking wild,” Louis chuckles wryly. “I’m glad you knew of the one pub that plays real football games. I’ve managed to drag Zayn here a few times, but apparently he’s not a big footie guy even back home.”
“Well, consider me a new friend,” Niall replies easily. “And friends have regular night pub nights, so I’ll grab my flatmate — Liam, I think you’ve met him — and we’ll make it a date! Zayn’s welcome to come if you can get him out of the house. Liam might be able to help convince him.”
“Cheers, mate. I could use a standing pub night.”
“Can’t we all?”
******
Almost exactly a year ago, Louis applied to Columbia University as a joke.
Well, not a joke, per se — as the school with the number one ranked PhD program in Education Leadership, Columbia wasn’t the joke, it was Louis.
Louis, with his nearly-there Masters in Education, certain to graduate with honors and an almost perfect GPA. He’s always considered himself to be intelligent, but never to Columbia’s standards — hard work and genuine passion are what propelled him to continue his schooling and complete it at the level he’s been accomplishing.
His advisor told him to apply to three tiers of PhD programs — safety schools, mid-tier universities, and a few “reach” programs. Columbia fell solidly at the top of the “reach” category, so Louis wrote it off almost from day one.
When he was extended an interview with the Teacher's College at Columbia, he was utterly baffled. Nonetheless, he wore the shock with humor, as he usually does, joking to his Masters colleagues that they must be giving everyone a chance at false hope just so that the Ivy League rejection stings more.
Just a few weeks later, an acceptance letter and stipend offer wound up in his inbox, correctly addressed to one Mr. Louis Tomlinson.
Education Leadership, while an important and necessary field, is not at the top of the list when it comes to easy job placement post-PhD, especially if your backup career is to become a principal instead of seeking that position outright. As someone who wants to teach other people how to teach… Louis needs every leg up he can get in the academic job market.
Thus, with its $41k, nine-month stipend in the most expensive U.S. city, an entire trip across the Atlantic away from home, Columbia University became the school Louis is going to spend the next five to six years of his life devoting his every waking second to.
But as he soon realized, $41k for nine months does not come close to cutting it when you’re living in New York. And while he’d just say fuck it to his sleep schedule and get a job while in grad school, the lovely clause in his PhD contract forbidding him to work a part time or full time job outside of his studies really puts a damper on that possibility.
He knows from student labor organizations that many students break their contracts in secret, risking their degrees just to survive. At this point, Louis’s concerned he might have to succumb to that reality, too. Even with a roommate in a small, somewhat dingy apartment, making ends meet is nearly impossible.
Hence, a joking conversation with Zayn over some pot noodle three nights ago.
“The only thing saving our asses is living in a rent controlled building,” Zayn had said, twirling his ramen onto his fork. “I’m already on copious amounts of student loans for my Masters.”
Louis grunted out a noise of sympathy. “You know, it’s shit that they punish us for wanting to get more of an education! It’s so unrealistic to live here unless you’re from a fucking legacy family or have a sugar daddy.”
Zayn snorted. “I’d get a sugar daddy if I wasn’t in this weird will-we-won’t-we phase with Liam. I can’t believe I have to set aside my financial well-being for a boy and some feelings, god.”
“Wait, really?” Louis had paused, clinging to the earliest words in his response. “You’d get a sugar daddy?”
“Yeah, why not?” Zayn shrugged. “Niall, Liam’s flatmate? He’s been sugaring for as long as I’ve known him, and he’s happy. Great guy — Irish, fucking hilarious, Masters student with me at NYU? I think I’ve mentioned him before.”
Louis had wracked his brain, digging up little slivers of mentions in his countless conversations with his roommate. “Yeah, I think I remember him. Does he really have a sugar daddy to get through grad school?”
“Sugar mommy at the moment, I think. But yeah, he sometimes spends the night with her during the week or jets off to Europe with her on business on the weekends. Think she’s a CEO of some high-end jewelry company that sources from Italy and Greece? He’s always over there, burning his pale arse to a crisp on the beach. And in return, she pays for his rent at a nice place and gives him a weekly allowance.”
“Fucking hell,” Louis hissed, mind already spiraling with thoughts. “Am I actually considering this?”
“You’ve been complaining about a dry spell,” Zayn had reminded him bluntly, pointing his fork in Louis’ direction. “Find a hot older guy to give you money and dick? A win-win.”
“Just don’t want to sacrifice what I like for what he would like, you know?” Louis explained, staring into his now-cold bowl of broth. “I’d probably be the worst sugar baby to walk the earth.”
“You never know until you try,” Zayn reasoned, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll send a text to Niall so you can meet — he’ll at least give you more information even if you don’t decide to go through with it.”
“I guess that can’t hurt.”
Now, Zayn’s holed himself up in his room to work on his latest painting, so Louis’s left alone and scrolling on the couch. He could be doing work — should be revising his essay on post-secondary pedagogy — but curiosity gets the better of him as he opens SugarSearch.
The app seems innocuous enough, with clean, unsuspecting aesthetics that echo the few dating apps Louis’s tried his hand at in the past. He registers his phone number to set up his account, inputting the referral code Niall sent him so that he can choose the “premium” option with no added cost. Before he knows it, he’s added his basic personal info, reaching the final few steps of preferences, photos, and a bio.
Some of the questions are easy — who are you looking for? Men only. How many miles away can they be? Louis figures that the city’s both big enough and small enough that twenty miles will garner him a large pool to choose from. He skips over height and body preferences, not really set on customizing his sugar daddy to that degree.
Minimum and maximum age range?
Louis picks at the cuticle of his thumb absentmindedly, rolling the possibilities around in his brain. He sets the low end to his own age — twenty-five — and wonders how many twenty-five-year-old sugar daddies can possibly exist. Stunningly, the age range goes up to 90+, and while there’s no shame in getting your bag, Louis quickly drags the age range to a max of sixty-five.
Hopefully that gives him some options. The next hurdle to jump is the bio, or the most difficult part of any dating profile.
Louis Tomlinson, 25
Just a PhD student looking to make ends meet while getting my degree. I love football (soccer), a good lad’s night at the pub, and rock music. I’ve been known to be a great conversationalist in spite of my thick northern accent — if you haven’t caught on, I’m British and proud of it. Happy to travel as long as you’re flexible with my school schedule, as my degree comes first. Message me to chat about details!
Reading over it, it strikes him that there’s probably too much information shared out of the gate with this one. He’s not hiring the sugar daddy — the sugar daddy’s hiring him, in a way.
Louis Tomlinson, 25
Laid back and friendly, thoughtful and affectionate —
He stops, re-reads, and immediately retreats. He is not a dog up for adoption.
For shits and giggles, Louis opens up his emoji keyboard and has caps lock at the ready.
Louis Tomlinson, 25
New sugar baby with a HUGE cock 🍆🍆 and a FAT ass 🍑🍑 who can take it OR give it 🤤 !! Looking for a daddy who will treat me RIGHT and keep me satisfied in every way 💸🤑🥵🔥
Hysterical giggles wrack his body as he types it out, and he’s half-tempted to send it to Niall for his opinion as a joke. Tears stream down his face as he rereads his own handiwork, screen-shotting it to save for when he needs a laugh down the line. Nonetheless, he backspaces as his laughter fades, determined to get something written tonight.
Louis Tomlinson, 25
Easy-going lad who loves a good conversation over some drinks! British transplant new to the city who would love some company while exploring the area. I’m generally pretty casual, but I clean up nicely when necessary. Open to any offers and we can negotiate from there!
He reads it over once, twice, then promptly hits submit. His bio is nothing special, nothing purposefully enticing, but it’s true to himself. For all Louis is willing to do for a more stable financial state, sacrificing his authenticity or his integrity is not on his list.
Finally, the pictures. Louis’s never been one to hoard a collection of photos just featuring himself — his camera roll is bursting with blurry snapshots of nights out with friends, candid captures of his younger siblings, and little pieces of his everyday life: a rat carrying half a donut down the street, funky graffiti on the inside of the nearby subway stop that he sent to Zayn. He has hundreds of images to scroll through, a handful of profile-worthy shots scattered throughout. Although he doesn’t seek out the camera at every turn, he knows when he looks good, and he’s not afraid to take a few pictures to capture it.
He tries to choose pictures that would make a sugar daddy want to reach out to him — he’s talking himself through building the profile like he’s prepping for a job interview. Put your best foot forward, Louis. Smile, dress well, and don’t be afraid to show a little personality.
He abides by most of his rules for the first four photos: a sunny, casual picture of him smiling in an artsy t-shirt that shows off his forearm tattoos, a particularly cuddly photo of him from last winter in the warm, red-and-black jumper his sister gave him for Christmas, a picture of him laughing in front of the colorful, grungy wall of one of his favorite bars, and a true-to-character snapshot of him watching football with his mates back home.
For the final choice, he makes the executive decision to throw out one of his job interview rules, replacing smile with smirk .
The image is from the most recent time he and Zayn hung out beyond the confines of their apartment — taken against the wall of a small, slightly dingy music venue in the heart of their neighborhood. He was initially testing the photo location for Zayn, who had done himself up with some eyeliner and light makeup and wanted a picture to capture the badass look. His roommate had singled out this wall immediately, beckoning Louis to stand in front of it so he could take a few test photos to gauge the lighting.
Coaxing Louis to look into the camera just as he was adjusting the sleeves of his sweater, Zayn snapped a few shots and immediately took to checking the results in his phone.
“Holy shit, Lou,” Zayn had laughed, eyebrows shooting up to his forehead. “You look fucking hot.”
And thus, Louis’ number-one I-look-hot-and -other-people-should-see photo was born.
He has to include it. It definitely doesn’t scream traditional sugar baby , but it’s Louis at his (most seductive) core.
Without thinking too hard about the order of the photos or if they’re the right ones to begin with, he presses the “finish” button in the top right-hand corner of the screen. A quick review of his profile and he’s sent it out into the sugaring world, finally able to access the pool of daddies on the “explore” tab.
“Oh, what the fuck?” He murmurs to himself, swiping through the first profile that pops up. Kenneth is apparently 59 years old, a world-traveler, and very ready to fuck. It’s been about ten seconds since Louis was introduced to Kenneth, and he’s already seen ninety-percent of his hairy body.
An immediate swipe left.
As Louis quickly discovers, looking through the pool of sugar daddies is exhausting and mildly horrifying. In the twenty minutes he spends scrolling, he’s seen more dicks and drooling emojis than he ever has before — and Louis is very unashamed of his slag years in uni.
The process is so mind-numbing, in fact, that he forgoes the search and curls up on the couch for a nap. He’s not going to miss out on the daddy of his dreams in the next hour of rest.
“Hey, Tommo, I got us dinner, bro. Wake up before it gets cold. Or before I eat yours.”
“Fucking hell,” Louis hisses as he peels his eyes open, curling his legs up instinctively as Zayn plops down onto the end of the couch next to him. “What time is it?”
“Like seven-thirty. I ordered Indian from that place two blocks down.”
Sighing as he rights himself, he reaches for the takeaway container Zayn sat on their beat-up coffee table. It was a gift from the neighbors across the street — well, if you can call a broken coffee table put out for the trash service “a gift.” Louis had a few nails, a hammer, and a dream, and now it sits — minimally wobbly — in their living room.
“I fell asleep after making my SugarSearch profile,” Louis comments as he unwraps his garlic naan. God, there’s literally nothing better. “Took a look through some of the sugar daddy profiles and almost lost my appetite altogether.”
“What, are they all wrinkly-dicked, slimy old men?”
“I’m sure not all of them are,” Louis amends. “But I didn’t even choose pictures that showed below my waist and that’s all they were concerned about.”
“Oh babes, I’d be concerned about what’s below your waist if I had an ass like yours.”
Louis throws his plastic spoon at his roommate, only slightly vindicated when it bounces off his head and into his curry. “Did you not listen to anything I just said? They can’t even see my ass and that’s all they care about.”
Zayn hums sympathetically. “Louis. You know I think you’re worth more than your ass — that’s just fucking basic human decency. But the vast majority of sugaring is sex work, so. I have a feeling you’ll run into this a lot.”
“Just because it’s sex work doesn’t mean it has to be degrading,” Louis argues, swallowing a bite of chicken tikka. “Or objectifying. Just because they’re paying me doesn’t mean I don’t have preferences or — god forbid — feelings.”
“You’re right, Lou. It’s shitty. Has anyone sent you messages?”
Louis wrinkles his nose. “I haven’t checked since my nap, to be fair. I’ll look.”
“Screen share to the TV; I want to see.”
“Shit, I do have messages,” Louis mutters as he casts his phone’s screen to the TV, watching as his display is mirrored for Zayn to see. “Thirteen people messaged me in the two hours I slept.”
“You’re a hit!” Zayn teases, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. “Let’s see ‘em.”
The first man — Marshall — has a profile that seems innocuous enough. His first message, a simple “Hi, how are you?” is enough to give enough of a false sense of security for Louis to reply.
He sends back a “Good, just relaxing before the work day tomorrow!” before opening the next daddy’s message.
“Oh shit, Howard.” Zayn breaks into peals of laughter as Louis sighs exasperatedly and clicks out of the dm’s, leaving the man’s flaccid penis behind.
“Who even wants to see that?” Zayn asks, wiping tears from his eyes as Louis refuses to answer. Honestly, it’s a rhetorical question.
The next three daddies’ messages all feature pet names that make Louis’ insides churn uncomfortably — “baby doll,” “sweet pea,” and, most unceremoniously, “my little slut.” The non-consensual degradation is an immediate block and delete, Louis banishing these men back to whatever sugar daddy hell they crawled out of.
Listen. Louis loves a good pet name. Expects them, even. But… he’s usually the one saying these terms, and always with consent at the forefront. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with enjoying a “good boy” or a “baby girl” in the bedroom, but they’re supposed to make you feel something good . Bestowing them upon a consenting partner makes him feel good. Having them directed towards him? At best, it feels like trying on clothes that are tailored for someone else. At worst, it feels nauseating.
Just as he’s about to move on to the next suitor, his phone dings and a message from Marshall. Zayn giggles gleefully like it’s a hand-delivered gift for him, and Louis rolls his eyes amusedly as he opens the chat.
“Want to come over to mine to relax tomorrow night? I’ve got a big surprise for you, and I don’t just mean your payment,” Louis reads aloud, dropping his head to the back of the couch with a groan. “I need to ask Niall if this is what I should expect, honestly.”
“Just see what the other messages say and then we’ll call him for a chat about expectations.”
“Fine, but it’s your fault if we get jumpscared by any more unsolicited dick pics,” Louis threatens, swiping back out to his dms. “Alright, here’s one from Harry.”
Hi, I read your profile and was excited to see that you’re a Brit! I am too :)
“See, that’s normal!” Zayn exclaims, gesturing to the TV. “It’s at least the friendliest introduction you’ve gotten so far.”
Louis nods, clicking on the man’s profile picture. The instant Harry's smiling face fills his screen, Louis’ jaw drops. For the first time all evening, his stomach flutters with something so far from disgust. “Oh shit, Z, he’s hot.”
“Damn, he is! Lou, he’s only thirty-five,” he points out, reaching over to slap his arm excitedly. “That’s basically the top end of your Tinder range.”
Harry’s profile is sweet, all pastel sweaters, fun patterns, and a few photo backgrounds that betray how well-traveled he is. Every photo features a soft, bright smile and short curls that beg for Louis to run his hands through them, falling delicately across his forehead or clipped up in a little sprout-like style.
“What the fuck is he doing on SugarSearch?” Louis wonders aloud, immediately typing back a response.
Hi :) Love that! How long have you been in the States?
“I don’t know, there’s got to be a huge red flag somewhere,” Zayn reasons. “Maybe he’s into something super kinky and needs to pay people to satisfy what he needs.”
“If that’s the case, I think I could be fucking persuaded,” Louis remarks, flipping through Harry’s photos again. “He’s like… he’s really cute, mate.”
I’ve been here for a little over a decade now. I went to school at FIT and then stayed in the fashion industry in New York, although I split my time between Italy and home as well! What brings you here?
“Ooh, so his money’s in fashion,” Zayn discerns. “That’s sick. It’s way more exciting than your average millionaire CEO.”
Louis snorts. “He might be your average millionaire CEO of a fashion brand; don’t speak so soon.”
I just moved here to do my PhD in Education! I go to Columbia :) and that’s amazing! Do you design clothes or are you on the more administrative side of things?
“Nah, he’s at least doing something creative, Lou. He doesn’t look the type to be boring.”
“Hey, admin isn’t always boring!”
Harry’s response comes almost immediately.
I’m a designer haha :) and wow, Columbia! That’s amazing, Louis! I’d love to hear more about what your PhD entails. If I didn’t get involved in the fashion industry so quickly I definitely would’ve gone back to school, so I really admire you.
“See, I told you! He’s dressed too well in his profile to not be a designer. He seems pretty interested in you,” Zayn comments, and Louis nods.
“He… does, yeah. I’m not even gonna look at the other messages, to be honest. I’ll just wait for the other shoe to drop with Harry and then go from there.”
Zayn smiles knowingly across the couch at Louis. “And what if it never does?”
Louis can’t help the quirk of his lips as he watches Harry’s chat bubble pop up to show that he’s typing. “Then… I’ll need to call and thank Niall, I guess.”
******
“Remember, I’ll be on standby all night if he’s a creep,” Zayn says from the couch, giving Louis’ outfit an approving once-over. “Love the shirt, mate. It’s not supposed to be too cold out tonight.”
“Yeah, I think this is the last of the warmth before autumn finally tries to creep in.” Louis fidgets with the buttons running down the front of his shirt, trimmed with a design of red lines running parallel down either side.. “It’ll probably be fucking sweltering next week, though. Think this is fancy enough for high-end pasta?”
Zayn nods. “Definitely. How are you feeling? Nervous?”
Louis shrugs a shoulder, picturing Harry’s smiling face from his profile and the equally adorable emoji smileys that adorn the end of most of his messages. Not an ounce of concern crosses his mind at the thought of the man whose last text confirming their meeting was “Yayyyyyyyy!!!!!!” with a dozen y’s and equally as many exclamation points. Strangely, what he’s most worried about is timing the train well enough to arrive with a few minutes to spare. “Not really. It’s somewhere between a date and a job interview, right? I can handle both of those things.”
“You’ve got this, Lou. Go get him.”
He swipes open his phone, sending Harry a quick “leaving now” message. “Shit. I’m really about to go get a sugar daddy.”
“You’re about to go get rent . And an end to your dry spell. Wins all around, I’d say.”
Louis wrinkles his nose, mulling over if Harry would expect him to put out on the first night. As long as they have a clear contract, Louis’s not opposed , and the condom and packet of lube he habitually carries in his wallet suddenly seem more like preparation than wishful thinking. Whatever happens, happens. As long as there’s plenty of consent and a promise of increased financial security, he really can’t be bothered to stress about how the night will play out.
“Yeah, maybe. This could be the best idea of my fucking life.”
******
The first thing that Louis notices about Scarpetta is the warmth emanating from within the restaurant. Less of a temperature and more of a feeling, the dim lighting accents the cozy, upscale accents of wood and leather scattered throughout the minimalist Italian architecture of the room. The elegance of the space screams expensive , much like the swanky hotel restaurant that the Columbia recruiters took their admitted graduate students to dinner at in hopes of winning them over via alcohol and comped forty-dollar entrees.
Once Louis had made it back above ground post-train ride, a message from Harry letting him know that he’d already gotten their table popped onto his phone with the rediscovery of cell service. Thus, he makes his way to the host’s stand, feeling more than a little out of his depth but leaning into the “fake it ‘til you make it” gene that he has in spades.
“Good evening, Sir. How can I help you?” The hostess asks, flashing her most polite smile.
“I believe the other half of my table is already here – the reservation is under Styles?”
She nods immediately, stepping around the stand. “Yes, he arrived a few minutes ago. You can follow me.”
The hostess leads him to a table in the back of the restaurant, and Louis instantly zeroes in on the broad shoulders encased in a deep teal blue jacket, fitted enough that the taper of his back into a trim waist is apparent even through the back of the chair. With a little flourish towards the place setting left open for him, the hostess departs before he even has a chance to thank her, too busy studying the gentle tilt of Harry’s head as he peruses the menu held out in front of him. Not wanting to spook him, Louis clears his throat as he strolls up to the table, lifting his hand in a slight wave. “Uh, Harry?”
“Hi,” Harry sputters out in a rush, standing suddenly from the table and almost knocking over his chair in the process. He’s tall and all lean muscle, soft cropped curls swept back in a way that inevitably lets the style slowly come undone throughout the day. One rogue curl’s already falling across his forehead, and Louis shocks himself by having to resist reaching out to fix it already. “Shit, sorry —“
A large — but strikingly delicate — hand darts out to grab his teetering wine glass, the rings adorning his fingers clinking against the glass. The quick movement reveals at least one tattooed wrist as his suit jacket rides up on his arm, and Louis is immediately propelled into his own game of emotional tug-of-war — he’s stunningly endeared for having only known Harry for a few seconds, but also undoubtedly attracted to this doe-eyed, dimpled clutz of a man.
“Hi,” Harry repeats once he’s righted himself and his glass, cheeks tinged pink as he holds out his hand for Louis to shake. “I’m Harry, and — god — I just made a complete fool of myself.”
Louis decides to lean into the heat that sparks in the pit of his stomach, feeling more and more like he’s on a date rather than potentially setting up a sugaring contract. “Honestly, love, you’re making a great first impression so far.”
Harry huffs out a disbelieving laugh as they sit down across from each other, ducking his chin bashfully. “You don’t have to say that, you know. I should be wooing you.”
“Oh, am I wooing you ?” Louis retorts cheekily, reveling in the sweet smile his comment pulls onto Harry’s lips. He really is gorgeous, and Louis’ even more confused as to why his profile was on SugarSearch and not on a traditional dating app. He’d have copious amounts of luck, Louis’s sure of it.
“You’ve been wooing me since I saw your profile,” Harry admits, admirably honest even despite his obvious embarrassment. “Um, I’m really happy you agreed to meet with me.”
“The feeling’s mutual,” Louis smiles, sipping at the wine Harry set out for him. “You genuinely seem lovely, and it’s always good to meet another Brit in the city.”
“Oh my god, isn’t it?” Harry gushes, groaning in agreement. “It’s part of what drew me to you — I wanted to hear a good northern accent in person again.”
“How’s it living up to your expectations?”
“Surpassing them,” Harry answers easily, flushing up to his ears again. “You have a nice voice.”
“Thank you, darling,” Louis smirks, unable to stop himself from teasing him further. “So do you. Your mouth is even prettier, though.“
Harry’s cheeks warm even more, bright red as he subconsciously covers said pretty mouth with his hand as he giggles. “ Louis , I — thank you. I — I almost decided against the lip gloss, but I ended up throwing it in my purse and putting it on in the parking lot. I hope… I hope that’s okay.”
When Harry finally drops his hand, Louis lets his eyes roam over the gentle curves of Harry’s lips, pink and shiny with the now-noticeable application of makeup. His insides churn with the desire to kiss the smooth gloss off of his lips, to see if it tastes as sweet as it looks.
“Of course it’s okay,” Louis responds, still a bit transfixed by the slopes of his Cupid’s bow and the way his teeth rake over his bottom lip between comments. “You look gorgeous, Harry. You deserve to feel and look pretty, whatever that means to you.”
“How did you end up on SugarSearch?” Harry asks suddenly, awed disbelief tinging his tone. “I mean, that sounds judgmental. I just — I haven’t been on there for long, but I’ve never met anyone like you. And I can say that with certainty after only having met you five minutes ago.”
Louis chuckles, nodding. “I could say the same to you. You have no idea how many sleazy old men messaged me about wanting to destroy my ‘pretty little hole.’”
Harry squeaks out a surprised noise, eyes wide for a split second. “As conversation openers?”
“Think they wanted it to be a leg-opener more than a conversation-opener, but yeah. That was their lead-in.”
“Jesus Christ,” Harry mutters, shaking his head. “I’m — I’m not like that, uh, if you were wondering. I promise.”
“I know, darling,” Louis smiles gently. “Wouldn’t have met up with you if I thought you were. But we are here because of a sugaring arrangement, so I’m up for negotiating if we get to that point, yeah?”
Reaching quickly for his wine, Harry’s flush somehow extends up his entire face as he takes a sip, nodding rapidly. “Of course, yeah. Um, we can — we can talk about it then.”
Harry’s quiet as he sets down his drink, eyes immediately ducking to the table as he fiddles with his silverware. It’s both curious and encouraging in the way he reacts to Louis — he’s obviously interested, Louis grants himself that. The chemistry is overflowing, sparking so hotly that Louis could almost see himself walking out of here with Harry and without a sugaring contract. Although, Harry’s shy — and while that’s not at all a problem (Louis actually finds it overwhelmingly endearing), it’s everything he expected a sugar daddy not to be.
“So,” Louis restarts. “I do want to hear how you ended up on SugarSearch, love. If you feel comfortable telling me.”
The corner of Harry’s mouth twitches up, and he raises his head to look at Louis. “I believe I asked you that first.”
“Ooh, cheeky,” Louis counters, chuckling. “Alright, darling, fair play. You know most of it from my profile — I’m a PhD student —“
“Which is so incredible,” Harry blurts out, stumbling over his words. “Sorry.”
“No apologies, it’s alright,” Louis replies warmly. “And thank you — it’s what I love to do, so the work is worth it. But — not to sound like an ungrateful little shit — the pay is fucking miserable.”
Harry makes a sympathetic noise at that, lips pursing into a little pout. Louis has to recollect his breath and not lunge across the table to kiss him before he can talk again. “And, well, you live in New York, so you know. Cost of living is brutal. So, my roommate’s friend sugars to get through grad school, and he recommended the app to me. I thought I’d try my luck and see what happens. That’s pretty much the lot of it.”
“I’m sorry that you’ve had to… resort to this,” Harry answers, and Louis immediately shakes his head.
“No, no, there’s no shame here,” Louis assures him. “It wasn’t my first thought, sure, but I’m not uncomfortable with this decision, okay? And I hope you aren’t, either. We might be motivated by different things, but there’s no shame in being on this app.”
Harry nods, opening his mouth to respond when the waiter stops by their table to take their orders. By the time he’s stepped away again, Harry’s eyes are back in his lap, fiddling with his rings.
“Harry?” Louis prompts after another long moment of silence, extending his leg under the table so that his foot taps into Harry’s. The older man jolts, eyes darting back up to meet Louis’ with a bashful smile. “It’s okay if you don’t want to, but it’s your turn.”
Harry spits out a self-deprecating laugh, tone suddenly devoid of the warmth it’s embodied all night. “Honestly? I’m just really fucking lonely and I’m — I’m nervous about being in a real relationship, so I’d rather pay someone to fake it. That’s my motivation.”
“Oh,” Louis responds, reaching out a hand to stop Harry from forcefully picking at his cuticle, instead interlocking their fingers on top of the table. “There’s no shame in that either, love. Not at all.”
“Yeah, well,” Harry huffs. “I worked my ass off for a decade to be where I am but sacrificed my entire personal life for it. I don’t — I don’t know how to be a partner. I can’t give myself to someone without learning how to be one first — that’s just unfair. I’d never forgive myself if I broke someone’s heart because I don’t know how to be a good boyfriend.”
“The right person will help you learn, H,” Louis comforts, squeezing his hand. Harry’s eyes are so green — so mesmerizingly kind and gentle — but they’re filled to the brim with tears. “I’m — I’m not saying no, not at all. If you want me to be that person, I can be. If our arrangement is what feels safest to you, then I’m honored to help. But don’t feel like you have to, because there will be people who love you for you no matter what experience you have with dating.”
“I — I do believe that,” Harry murmurs. “I just — this is what feels safe to me. For right now.”
“Okay, Harry. That’s alright,” Louis says softly. “I’m really interested in doing this with you, if you’ll have me. I mean it. You seem like a really great guy.”
“We’ll have to talk a lot more about specifics,” Harry says, a small smile creeping back onto his lips. “But I’d prefer to do that somewhere more private, if that’s okay. Maybe at my place? I’ll — I’ll pay you for your time, of course.”
Louis waves him off, leaning back in his chair. “We can talk about that when I come over, yeah? Are you thinking about going back to yours after we eat?”
Visible heat spreads up to the tips of Harry’s ears. “Uh – um – yes, but – not like that, I promise! I just think… well, this conversation lends itself to a bit of privacy, don’t you think?”
Sliding the menu off the table, Louis glances over it with a smile. “I think you’re right. Now, what do you recommend? I’m all for the twirly pastas.”
Harry giggles. “Their twirly pasta is their specialty. Right behind their straight pasta and their curved pasta. Oh, and their stuffed round pasta is especially delicious.”
Louis rolls his eyes, amused. “Yeah, yeah. If you’re gonna make it in this arrangement with me, you’ve gotta get used to a bit of common speech.”
“I’m not a snob, Louis,” Harry bites back, his tone making it clear that he’s still only teasing. “Oh, look. The spaghetti might be more your speed.”
“Hey, I have a more diverse palette than –” He scans the menu, stomach rumbling when his eyes drift back to the spaghetti and away from the ingredients he has no idea how to pronounce. “Yeah, alright. I think I might get the spaghetti.”
“It was either that or the charred leek.”
“What the hell is a leek and why would I want it charred?”
“It’s somewhere between garlic and onions. But I do think all chefs might just be pyromaniacs, honestly.”
Louis hums, nodding. “That seems logical. What’s that dessert that you set on fire, the giant mountain of whipped cream?”
“...Baked Alaska?”
“Yeah! And every cooking show has the contestants break out a blowtorch at least once. It’s unnecessary! I think we’re on to something, Haz.”
Harry sighs, biting back a laugh. “I feel the need to inform you that baked Alaska is made out of meringue, not whipped cream.”
Louis raises his eyebrows. “Meringue, huh? Hm. Learn something new every day.”
“The world is full of wonders,” Harry jokes, lifting his glass in faux-cheers.
“That it is,” Louis agrees, waiting for Harry to take a sip of his wine before continuing. “And you, darling, are one of them.”
Louis can’t hold back a loud laugh as Harry nearly snorts wine up his nose. Numerous patrons around them turn to glare at their table, but Louis can’t be bothered. Making Harry a blushing, grinning mess is much more important than pretending like life is better without the human moments. Eating pasta and drinking wine in good company should be cause for joy, not for stuffiness.
Not to mention flirting with cute, rich boys. Like Harry said, the world is full of wonders. They never cease.
******
Even in his own space, Harry is just as skittish as he was in the restaurant.
Louis has a hunch that this behavior isn’t Harry’s normal — he’s shy, yes, but there’s a quiet confidence that peeks out from under the surface every now and again that Louis assumes helped him gain the success that he has. Now, within the walls of his jaw-droppingly stunning New York brownstone, he darts between the surprisingly spacious kitchen and living room like he forgets where the couch is located.
“Can I — oh —“ Harry nearly knocks an expensive-looking bottle of olive oil off of his counter. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Whatever you’re having is fine, love,” Louis settles onto the couch where Harry dropped his purse before bustling into the kitchen. “Gorgeous place you have, Harry. It’s very homey in here.”
Dotted along the walls of the house are frames upon frames of art and family photos, just cluttered enough to seem lived-in but not overwhelming. His decor features pops of pinks, blues, and yellows, plush patterned throws and a show-stopping rug accenting the space.
Harry returns with two glasses of red wine in hand, passing one to Louis as he sits next to his discarded handbag. The drinks they shared at the restaurant must not have been enough to calm his nerves. “Thank you. I like my living areas to feel like me since I travel between them a decent amount.”
Louis nods, sipping his drink. “How long do you usually stay in one place?”
“Well, it’s not always consistent,” Harry replies. “My brand, Eroda, is based both in New York and in Italy, so I try to stay for a few weeks at a time if I’m making a trip out to either place.”
“Shit, Eroda?” Visions of Louis’ sisters squealing over Eroda’s new drops and Eroda’s runway shows flood his memory. “Harry, you didn’t tell me you were the lead designer of Eroda!”
“Yeah, well,” Harry curls inward, cheeks dusted red. “It might seem silly to say this considering I know what we’re getting ourselves into, but I wanted you to like me for me. Not because my brand is a ‘household name,’ whatever the fuck that means.”
Louis softens, reaching out to rest his hand on Harry’s knee. “I get it, love. I promise, nothing changes for me. Tell me more about Eroda – I’ll be honest, I’m not too up-to-date on the fashion industry, but I know that you design gender-neutral clothing, yeah?”
“We do! Not to sound too much like a sales pitch, but the goal of Eroda is to create elegant looks on the avant-garde side of ready-to-wear formal pieces fit for every body and every gender expression. When I really started working on building my brand, that was a gap I saw in the grand scheme of high-end designers. So… I intervened.”
“You did,” Louis agrees, nodding. “That’s so fucking sick, babe. Can I see some of your designs?”
Pulling his phone out of his purse, Harry can’t hide the proud, excited smile that he attempts to bite back, bunny teeth poking out adorably into his bottom lip. “These are a few pieces from our most recent collection. We just brought on an up-and-coming designer as a new partner to our team – his name’s Harris Reed, and he’s got the best eye for gender-fluid fashion – and this was his first runway project with us. These are a few of my favorite looks.”
“Holy shit, Harry,” Louis breathes, swiping through the editorial images filled with lacy, artfully sequined pieces featuring billowy yet tailored silhouettes. Pastel purples and pinks contrast with black and white-forward designs, each look assuming its own degree of dramatic flair. “These are unbelievable, darling! You were made to be doing this.”
“That was what my mum said when I made her an apron out of scrap fabric with my first sewing machine,” Harry murmurs, peering over to look at the images lit up on his phone. “I’m lucky, I guess, to have found my passion at such a young age and to have people in my life who have always encouraged it.”
“I feel the same,” Louis says. “Grad degrees aren’t as glamorous as people make them out to be, let alone ones that make you move across an entire ocean. But it’s what I truly want to do, you know? So it’s worth it, even in the moments where I fucking hate my life.”
Harry chuckles. “I know the feeling. I miss home a lot too – I tend to spend more time in New York right now, but I always give myself a month back home around the holidays. I’d also love to take a longer trip to Italy sometime soon.”
Louis smiles. “I have a month at home for the holidays, too. That’s one of the few perks of a grad student’s schedule — off for most of December into January and I’m definitely traveling home.”
“Are you close with your family?”
Louis nods. “Yeah, definitely. My mum passed away recently, and she – she was my best friend, honestly. I almost didn’t go to grad school because of that, but I know she would’ve wanted me to go. Just made it harder to leave my siblings.”
“I’m really sorry to hear that, Louis,” Harry replies, hushed. “She sounds wonderful. I can hear her love in your voice.”
“Yeah,” Louis swallows around a lump in his throat, mustering up a shaky smile. “That’s her, alright. Raised all seven of us right.”
Harry’s eyebrows skyrocket. “Seven?”
“Yep, and I’m the oldest. And one of two boys.”
“Jesus! I’m the youngest of two – I have an older sister. We were enough of a handful for our mum. I can’t imagine!”
“There was never a dull moment at home, that’s for sure.” Louis chuckles. “But I loved it. Still do, of course, and I miss it all the time.”
“I often dream about moving back in with my mum and my sister – my stepdad passed away a few years ago as well, but in my little mental utopia, he’s there too. But then I remember that we’re not kids anymore and our adult lives don’t fit into one another’s as seamlessly as they once did. They’ve become beautiful things in their own rights, but I still mourn the fact that I’ve outgrown my twin bed and hearing my sister knock on my wall late at night because I was up sewing and the noise of my machine traveled through our shared wall.”
Louis hums, passing back Harry’s phone as he nods. “My youngest siblings are only little, and I’m still a good couple years older than the second oldest out of all of us. When I’m here, I feel a bit like I’m missing out, I guess. I know that they know how much I love them, but I get in my head about not being present for their daily lives, let alone some of their milestones.”
“They’ll always remember, Lou,” Harry replies, sliding his hand over Louis’ as they rest on the couch between them. “I’ve known you for a few hours and can already tell that you’re made of love. I can’t imagine knowing you for a lifetime – it has to be the most special feeling, and by the sound of it, they don’t take it for granted.”
Louis ignores the pangs of feeling seen in favor of letting out an amused snort. “They don’t… unless they need something from Sephora. There’s only one store in the UK and they’ve made me swear to bring back a fucking extensive list of products when I come home next.”
Harry laughs, honking and unabashed. “Oh my god. Gonna need a suitcase just for skincare?”
Louis wrinkles his nose. “Probably. And I don’t even do skincare.”
That appears to be the wrong thing to say, the catalyst for Harry’s jaw to unhinge from his face. “ Louis . Oh my god, honey, no . You’re such a man.”
“I think those are the exact words Lottie used to chew me out for my lack of routine last time we spoke about it.”
“Well,” Harry sighs definitively. “Your first paycheck will be accompanied with a skincare starter kit, and I have half a mind to write into your contract that you have to commit to trying a routine – so don’t test me.”
Arching an eyebrow, Louis grins. “Alright, I won’t. That does lead me into my next question, though – can we talk about the contract?”
“Probably should,” Harry mumbles, ducking his eyes away from Louis’ face. “I’m not… I’m not sure how to do this.”
“Me neither, babe,” Louis soothes, interlocking their fingers between them and squeezing. “Why don’t you list what you want in our arrangement, and I’ll respond with my thoughts?”
“I can do that.” Harry swallows, picking nervously at his cuticle. “Um, I was thinking… you’d come over every weekend? Within reason, of course – if you have plans, or – or aren’t feeling good, or… I don’t know, need a mental health day away from me… we can work it out! But I… I feel the most lonely on the weekends, so I was hoping that this could help with that.”
“That sounds perfectly reasonable to me, love. Keep going.”
“Okay, uh… like I said, I’m interested in –” Harry cringes at his own words. “ – practicing a real relationship, so I think I’d like… everything.”
“Everything?”
“Jesus, Louis, you’re gonna make me say it out loud?” Harry half-laughs, half-whines. Louis squeezes their hands again, nodding.
“Babe, I personally won’t feel comfortable doing anything until I hear you say it explicitly, so… expect this to be a trend in our arrangement.”
“Shit, yeah, that makes sense, sorry. Consent is important. Alright.” Harry exhales a long breath, steeling himself. “I want to go on dates that we take turns planning, and I want all of the flirting and texting and pet names that come with a relationship. I want the physical, too – holding hands, and cuddling, and kissing, if you’re on board.”
Louis’ gaze falls helplessly to Harry’s lush pink lips. “ Definitely on board with that.”
“Okay. Yeah. Um, sex. I do – I do want that, if you want that.”
“I would be happy to make that part of the contract,” Louis agrees easily. “At your pace, of course, unless you say otherwise.”
“That’s perfect,” Harry sighs, almost in relief. “Also, I don’t think I fit the sugar daddy stereotype very well, so I’m sorry if that’s disappointing. I quite like… being taken care of, I guess. I’m pretty positive that transfers to the bedroom.”
“Well, darling, you’re in luck,” Louis winks, his mind turning over the uncertain qualifier of ‘pretty positive’ before casting it aside. “I think that suits my personal preferences very well.”
“God, I guess that’s out of the way, then!” Harry laughs, a bit too tightly to be entirely carefree. “Payment, then? Do you use Venmo?”
“I do.”
“Is a bi-weekly payout okay? Did you have an idea for what you imagined it would look like?”
“Um.” Now it’s Louis’ turn to get nervous. He genuinely likes Harry, thinks that they might’ve hit it off as good mates if they met somewhere else under different circumstances. The idea of him paying Louis for his services thus makes him slightly uncomfortable, but… rent is a major bank account killer, and it’s no secret why they’re both here. “I have no fucking clue, honestly. I’m just as new to this as you are.”
“Right.” Harry chews his lip thoughtfully. “May I ask… what do you pay for rent?”
“Well, Zayn and I split a flat,” Louis explains. “We each pay $1500.”
“Okay, great,” Harry beams suddenly, as if all's right with the world. “I was thinking $1500 every two weeks – that’ll cover your rent and then give you a good amount for other expenses each month, not to mention a bit of wiggle room for some fun money if you add in your stipend. But you – you don’t have to take my advice, shit. That was just… $1500 is well within the range I was envisioning for bi-weekly payments, and I –”
“Harry,” Louis cuts him off, dumbstruck. “Fuck, that’s so much money, babe. Are you sure?”
“I did know what I was getting myself into when I signed up for SugarSearch,” Harry teases, a bit of color dotting his cheeks. “I promise, Lou, it’s what I’d consider fair compensation.”
“Only if you’re sure.” Louis meets his eyes dead-on, receiving only certainty and amusement in return. “Alright, shit. That sounds great to me.”
“Fantastic. Um, one last thing – contract duration? How long should we make it for? We can always renew, and I’ll make sure to add a clause that allows either one of us to break the contract pretty painlessly should we need to.”
“Well, I was definitely picturing at least a couple months,” Louis answers. “Do we want to say… start with six months and go from there?”
“That works for me. Can you think of anything else?”
“Well, considering my wealth of knowledge about sugaring contracts…”
“Very funny.” Harry rolls his eyes. “I’ll draw this up and send it to you to review and sign in the next few days.”
Louis raises his hand, holding it out in front of him for Harry to shake. “An honor to do business with you, Sir.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Harry huffs, but shakes his hand nonetheless. “Just… one last thing. I know a lot of sugaring relationships are meant for public appearances – you know, wealthy people wanting a bit of arm candy at events.”
“Ooh, I’m arm candy now?” Louis wiggles his eyebrows, and Harry doesn’t hesitate to slap his bicep.
“Let me finish! I’m not interested in our arrangement being primarily for the purpose of public appearances. If there’s an event I want company at, then sure, but it’s really more for… for me. For private reasons.”
By the time he finishes speaking, Harry looks sufficiently embarrassed. If only he could see how endearing his care is, how thoughtful it is that he puts everything on the table for Louis upfront. Louis smiles, nodding in understanding. “It’s alright, Haz. I get it, and I’m fine with that. I’m a little peeved you don’t think I’m good enough to be your arm candy, but…”
“That’s so not the case,” Harry squeaks out in a rush, back to blushing prettily. “I think you’re gorgeous.”
“Well,” Louis says, a fluttery warmth knocking around in the pit of his stomach. “Guess we’re a good match, then. Two gorgeous people.”
“Lou,” Harry breathes, obviously affected and trying to hide his smile. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“It’s all part of the romance, isn’t it?” Louis reasons, reaching out to take both of Harry’s hands in his. “Darling. May I ask you out on our first date?”
A stifled noise bleats from behind Harry’s lips. “Um, yeah. If you – if you want.”
“Next Friday night, let’s go see a show. You like theater, yeah?”
“Love it, actually.”
“Perfect. Why don’t you look through the shows that are running and pick one that you like and I’ll grab us tickets?”
“Louis, I-I can get the tickets,” Harry stammers. “Um, Broadway isn’t… it’s not the cheapest –”
Louis hums consideringly. Harry’s not wrong. “How about you find the tickets you want, send me the money, and I’ll still buy them?”
“... Isn’t it easier for me to buy them?”
Louis sighs. “Harold. I’m asking if I can woo you within the boundaries of our unconventional relationship. Will you let me?”
Harry’s face softens into a giggle, shoulders dropping in welcome defeat. “Alright. Yeah. I’ll let you take me to dinner and a show.”
“Ooh, okay, dinner too,” Louis muses. “I see how it is. Now that one can be all me.”
“You’re going proper all out,” Harry murmurs, tender and sweet with a hint of disbelief. “Where did you come from?”
“‘S what you deserve, babe. Simple as that.”