He sits in the café, fingers nervously tapping on the tabletop, teeth chewing away at his bottom lip. This was a mistake, a massive, massive fuck-up and he has to get out of here before-
The door opens and in steps a man who definitely looks like he should be in a better part of town, what with the formal suit he's wearing and the umbrella he casually carries with him despite there not being even a single cloud in the sky.
Before that happens. "Oh, fuck me."
*****************************
Gary jerks awake as his phone goes off under his ear. Making a mental note to stop falling asleep with it on his pillow (the same mental note he's made quite a few nights before), he blinks blearily, scrubbing over his face with one hand while swiping to answer the call with the other. "Yeah, who is it?" he mumbles, voice still thick with sleep.
"Were you still asleep?" comes the disapproving and highly unamused voice of Roxy Morton, the only close friend he's managed to make in twenty-three years of life. "Don't you have to be at that ceremony in fifteen minutes? The one honoring your parents' highly generous donation to an otherwise floundering, friendless university."
Suddenly reminded of that, Gary's head whips up to look at his alarm clock. "Shit," he hisses, bolting straight up, phone still clutched to his ear. "Thanks for waking me up, Rox, but I've got to get ready. My parents are going to kill me if I miss another one of these." Even as he's speaking he's moving, throwing back his covers and rolling off the bed (king-sized, even though he's never had anyone to share it with).
For a second there's only the sound of static that he later realizes is a tired sigh on Roxy's part. "Another one? Someday I'll teach you about the magic of alarm clocks. Go on, then, get ready. I'll call again later. I do have something to talk to you about, you know." She's off the line before he has a chance to reply.
Gary lets the phone fall onto his mattress, already wiggling his way out of his trousers and tugging at the buttons on his pyjama shirt. As he stumbles his way to his closet to pull out the suit he's supposed to be in already he passes his laptop, sitting open on his desk in a small sea of empty medication bottles. "Oh, fuck." Silently thanking whatever higher power had kept anybody out of his room, he drops to his knees, tugging a duffel bag out from underneath his bed and sweeping the small bottles in to join the others.
His fingers brush against the trackpad, bringing the computer to life with a cheery ding. A flash of color catches Gary's eye and he pauses, attention captured by the screen.
A very pink banner bracketed by sparkling hearts informs him that 'Wanna be my sugar, baby?' is the Sugar Daddy Capital of the Internet.
"The hell'd I do last night?" Gary mutters to himself, moving to close the webpage. That's when he notices the mailbox in the corner has a little notification. A message. Presumably from a sugar daddy.
He has a ceremony to get to. He clicks on the mailbox.
*************************
They've left the café, have taken to simply wandering along the sidewalk. The day is nice enough for it, for once.
"Eggsy, I presume."
"Yeah. An' what should I call you?"
"Harry is fine." A pause. "Daddy on special occasions."
***************************
Harold Hart is, apparently, a man who has more money than he knows what to do with and nothing better to do with that money than spend it on young men and women he feels are worth his time. He's forty-eight years old. Multi-millionaire. Current status: available.
Gary clicks through every photo he has available multiple times, hardly even aware of the clock ticking up minute by minute, the ceremony getting closer to starting with each passing second. The man wears a suit like it was stitched onto his body and he thinks it might be even more erotic than if he had a bunch of nudes up, somehow.
It had taken him a second to put together the puzzle of last night, but he'd done it eventually. And, man, had he really done it. Even hazed up he'd recognized the kind of figure Harry cut and messaged him a plethora of lies designed to reel him in. It had worked like a charm. He'd be more impressed with himself if he could remember doing any of it.
'I'd be very interested in meeting you, Eggsy. Could you, perhaps, meet me at a time of your choosing in the Starbucks coffee shop on Savile Row?'
Eggsy. What the fuck kind of a name was Eggsy? And how the hell was he supposed to meet Harry when he technically didn't even exist?
But he can't pass up this opportunity, not with Harry looking like that and Eggsy's heart beating a million times a minute just from staring at his pictures. It's as his fingers grope for his phone that he realizes it's still on his bed and his duffel bag is sitting out in the open. He also realizes it's only five minutes until the ceremony starts.
*************************
"Special occasions? Like what?"
Harry comes to a halt, the easy pace he'd been setting allowing Eggsy to get a few steps further forward before realizing the older man was no longer walking. An almost predatory look had come over his face at the question and it sent shivers running down Eggsy's spine.
"You're an intelligent young man. I'm certain you can figure it out."
"Yes, Harry."
"Rox, I've got a problem," Gary states, digging through his closet frantically for something that looks casual, actually casual. Something a young man who'd never heard the name 'Armani' in connection with a suit would wear. So far he'd come up with a pair of dress pants faded enough to probably pass as slacks and not much else.
"The first is that you're calling me and not presenting your parents with their newest plaque," she says, a bit of an edge to her voice. "I told you I'd call you back because I expected you to actually try and get there, Gary."
Frustrated, Gary groans, rocking back onto his heels. He doesn't even have casual shoes, for crying out loud. "Yeah, well, sorry to disappoint. I need your help."
For a moment there is only silence and he can picture her with her phone pulled away from her ear, giving it a scandalized look as if it's the device's fault he's such a wanker and not his own. "Fine," he finally hears after a pause. "Fine, what do you need my help with?"
Despite the situation, Gary's mouth edges up into a bit of a grin. "I need you to take me shopping."
*****************************
"You said you were in the Marines."
Eggsy nods, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his black-and-gold hoodie. "Used to be, yeah."
"I'm very curious as to why you dropped out."
"Had to take care of my mum and little sister."
Harry gives him a bit of a nod. "Perhaps I could meet them someday."
Shit.
*******************************
Roxy looks as unamused as Gary's ever seen her, eyes narrowed, arms folded over her chest, legs spread a bit apart as if his stupidity is a physical force she has to brace herself against. "I'm sorry, didn't quite get that the first time. Run it by me again. Last night you, one: practically drugged yourself into oblivion-"
"-might have taken a little something-"
"Two: made an account on a sugar daddy website despite being rich enough to buy half of England's largest companies without blinking an eye-"
"-don't need to be dirt poor to have a sugar daddy-"
"Three: made up a person who would actually find a use for something like this so you could message a man over twice your age and solicit him for gifts you don't need-"
"-he's fucking gorgeous, did you see his-"
"And four: are now blowing off a ceremony honoring your own parents, where you're supposed to be presenting them with an award, in favor of dragging me on a shopping trip so you can buy clothes that will help you trick some unsuspecting man into buying you things you can afford perfectly well, just so you can sleep with him. Is that about right?"
Gary rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, his cheeks going perhaps a shade or two pinker than they had been before. "Yeah, that's… pretty much it," he mutters. Silence stretches between them, Roxy's eyes drilling holes into his head. "So are you going to help me or not?" he finally asks, looking up at her.
She closes her eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of her nose, before letting out a long, slow sigh. "Against all my better judgment, yes. Yes, I'm going to help you. But only because I think this is never going to work."
Gary's face brightens and he sweeps her into a hug, lifting her feet off the ground and spinning her around in a circle before setting her back down and dropping a quick kiss on her forehead. "You're the best, Roxy, you really are. I owe you one." He doesn't wait for a response, just heads out the door, waving at her to follow after him.
"You owe me far more than one for this, Gary Unwin," she mutters, but catches up to him anyways.
*************************
"Think that's a good idea, you meetin' my parents?" Eggsy asks, struggling to keep his voice as light and airy as it's been up until that point.
"I don't see why I shouldn't."
"Ain't every day someone brings home a sugar daddy to meet with mum," he points out.
Harry snorts, giving him a look that seems to chastise him for the comment. "Of course you wouldn't be introducing me with such a title. All I would be to them is Harry Hart, the tailor who has so graciously agreed to take you under my wing and tutor you in the art of suit-making."
Eggsy's mouth is empty, no excuse welling up to fill it, even though he desperately needs one. "Yeah… yeah, alright."
Shit.
*************************
He doesn't quite know who he is, but the guy staring back at him in the mirror isn't Gary. Gary would never wear anything like this, or look so at ease in it either. Gary would never have adopted the ridiculous accent he has when he asks Roxy if he looks like a proper chav, and Gary would certainly never think that he feels far more comfortable in street clothes than he ever did in a suit.
"You sound like one, too," Roxy assures him, taking a step back to admire him. She has to admit, they've done a hell of a job at making him look like he mixes in with those sitting at the feet of luxury rather than in its lap. She wonders what it is that makes him look the most like a 'proper chav.' Her money is on the oversized hoodie.
His is on the baseball cap. "Time to go meet Harry," he tells the reflection, nerves making his voice a little tighter than usual.
Roxy just sighs. She'd been holding out hope that maybe, just maybe, a few hours would have cleared his head and made him change his mind about actually pursuing this course of action, but it seems she'd had too much faith in him. "You know this is a bad idea." The tone of her voice makes it very clear that she, at least, knows it's a bad idea.
"I've had worse ones," he replies, shrugging one shoulder, and turning to face her. A cocky grin slides onto his face and his hands go to the pockets of his new hoodie, fitting easily inside them. "I told you how great you are, yeah? But I gotta go. Don't wanna be late for my first date."
Rolling her eyes, Roxy just folds her arms over her chest and shakes her head slowly. "It isn't a date. Right? Don't you have to make some sort of agreement before he gives you anything? Or… you give him anything," she adds, brow furrowing slightly.
He nods. "Relax, Rox, it ain't like we're gonna just get straight into it. Least I don't think so, anyways. All he said was he wanted to meet me. It's just coffee. Nothin' kinky. Yet." He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, trying to take his mind off of how nervous he is.
"No, stop, I do not need to hear about that right now," Roxy says, putting her hand up as if it can prevent him from saying anything more. "Or ever," she amends. "Just go if you have to, yeah? I'll tell your parents you're sick or something."
He reaches out to grab her wrist, tugging her in for a quick kiss to her cheek. "Thanks. You're the best, love you forever, an' all that, but I really should get goin'. See you later." With a wave of farewell he strides off, headed for Savile Row.
************************
"Well?"
"Well what?" Harry looks over at him curiously.
"We gonna do this, then? Make it all official and shit."
Harry casts a deliberate look down at Eggsy's trainers, wings and all. "If shoes such as those are the type of purchases you plan to make with my money I'm afraid I might have to reconsider," he says wryly.
Eggsy smirks, sticking one foot out and tilting it back and forth to really show the shoe off. "You're just pissed you can't pull 'em off."
Harry's mouth quirks up into a small smile and his eyes soften. "Yes, well, perhaps I could have twenty years ago. I suppose we'll never know." He lets a bit of a pause settle in before nodding decisively. "But, yes, I would like to make this official. If you'll have me."
"Course I'll have you, Harry," Eggsy says, sounding a bit scandalized by the insinuation that anyone wouldn't.
"Good." Harry holds out his hand for a handshake.
Eggsy's hand curls around Harry's tie, tugging him down until he can brush his lips against the older man's. It's a fast kiss, barely there, but he winks when he releases him. "Wanted somethin' more official than a handshake. Later, Harry." He saunters off, feeling as if the ridiculous winged trainers have actually succeeded in lifting him off the ground.
There isn't any idea of going back.