Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Harry felt nothing towards John when he first met him. At most, it was a forced tolerance because he was a friend of Lucy’s, but nothing more. He had won the game, and John had clearly lost his chance with Lucy. Harry himself was rich, whilst John was as broke as it came, judging by his smell, clothes and the place where the play was held.

What was there to care about or be threatened by? He was a subpar person with looks that could be nothing more than natural due to his obvious lack of wealth. It must’ve been years of labour-intensive low-wage jobs that had led to the man’s built and healthy body, whilst Harry’s was from years and years of dieting, exercise and surgeries. Naturally tall people always pissed off Harry. It wasn’t fair that he had to put so much effort in and still present this facade that it was natural when the man in front of him could simply achieve it naturally.

When Lucy broke it off, he was upset, not because he truly cared for her, but what she represented. Her leaving represented Harry’s inability to find love. He just couldn’t love, and he finally found someone who shared the same sentiment. But, in the end, she cared for something that seemed so trivial and… stupid to him. Something that he disregarded because it didn’t seem applicable to him, why would he give up everything to something that he couldn’t see, feel or taste? It was intangible. In the end, he didn’t understand love further than that of status, wealth and sexual purposes. Because what more could you gain?

That’s where John came back into the picture.

At another beige and boring wedding venue that had more zeros in its budget than there were colours, Harry saw John again. 

He needed a break from the drab setting. He hated it here. Whoever convinced the upperclass that beige and plain were in must’ve been out to punish them, and the masochists that most rich people were when it came to appearing “on trend”, they played along. Like damn lambs to a slaughter.

“Jonathan,” Harry called over to the caterer.

John was clearly taken aback by being addressed by the title as well as the fact that he was being addressed at all. Most of the people turned their noses up at him, like a glance at him cost them their reputation.

He then recognised the man who called him over. 

“Oh, it’s you,” he groaned. “Also, it’s just John. My parents were too poor to afford the extra letters,” he half-joked whilst telling off Harry for his assumption.

“Ah, right. Well, I regret to inform you that America has never charged publishers or people by the letter, that is both an urban myth and one that is based before your time.”

John rolled his eyes. “You're so snobby that you can’t even let a joke slide?” 

“I’m just pointing out–” Harry stopped talking and shook his head. “Do you have a break soon?” he asked, letting his desperation slip through.

John was taken aback again. What the hell is going on here?

Harry sighed. “Look. I need to get out of here. This is mind-numbing, and you're the only person here that I know has a personality, doesn’t have his cheeks filled with silicone, and I know the name of.” 

John laughed at the absurdity of Harry’s plea. “Dude, is it really that boring?” John looked up and took in the decor of the wedding and the outfits everyone was wearing. “Okay, nah, I get you, man.” 

Harry nodded his head in agreement. “My toilet has more colour than this,” he complained.

John looked down at his wrist, which held a shitty watch that was always 10 minutes slow, no matter how much he corrected it. “I have a break soon… Wanna go for a smoke or something?” 

“I don’t… You know what? Sure. I’ve got a small stash at home… if you're interested… Nothing too hard,” Harry offered. He was never one to be open about or discuss his consumption of dope on the occasion. But around John, he seemed more inclined to discuss it.

John scoffed at him and shook his head with a smirk. That doesn’t mean he’s turning him down, right? Harry was weirdly hopeful.

“Unlike you, I can’t just dip this gig. I gotta stay ‘ere if I wanna get paid–”

“Tell me what you would make and I will triple it,” Harry offers recklessly. “ Please , I need to get out of here…” 

“Then just leave,” John points out. “I’m not stopping you.”

Harry looks away, a soft flush of embarrassment filling his cheeks. God, he hasn’t felt so small in so long. He was being taken back to a decade ago. Weak, small and undesirable. He just couldn’t seem to find the courage to speak. He looked up at John, and the shaggy man looked at him like he was pathetic, as he was all those years ago.

“I don’t want to be alone…”

John sighs. “You'd better quadruple it. I’m wasting eighty bucks on you here… Harold?”

The older laughed and shook his head. “Harry,” he corrected in a similar tone to the other earlier.

When John awoke the next morning, a beautiful breakfast was in front of him, and it smelled fresh. The plate was filled with all the essential food requirements for a healthy diet, beans, toast, and some vegetables that were well out of reach with the couch change he had. All cut and decorating the plate in such a meticulous manner that made Jack involuntarily scoff at how uptight it was. 

There was also a charger with various cable choices for him to charge his phone. God, he must’ve complained about his stupid roommate when he was stoned last night. 

Then, an envelope of cash. One thousand dollars, to be exact. 

John’s eyes bulged out of his head when he counted it. All in Benjamin, fucking, Franklin’s. He was joking when he asked to have the pay quadrupled and didn’t entirely believe Harry when he offered to pay. But this was completely absurd of the rich prick.

John ate breakfast. Of course, he did; he knew not to let food go to waste. Especially when it was as luxurious as the meal he was currently presented with. And of course, when it was free, for fucks sake. It was fucking delicious, a little too much on the light side when it came to carbs for John’s liking, though, as he was still hungry afterwards.

As he ate, he had the stray thought of what-ifs. What if he were a woman? Then he would be able to capitalise on this better, giving Harry something to continue eating like this every morning afterwards. He could also go on dates at restaurants that, for a glass of champagne, would drain his bank account and put him into a debt he would never be able to crawl out of.

Harry shook his head and got up once he had finished. “I fucking reek,” he groaned as he grabbed the envelope. He obviously wasn’t going to turn down a thousand dollars. 

“For fuck’s sake! More!!?” Another Benjamin Franklin was sitting on a surface by the door with a note reading ‘FOR A TAXI’ in neat capitalisation. 

Then John heard a door open and shut. “Johnathan? Are you okay?”

He was here this entire time?!

John should’ve run at the sound of the older calling out his name, but he froze. “Yeah, I’m fine!”

Harry walked out, in his boxers and forcibly rubbing a towel through his hair. “You just shouted all of a sudden like some crazy man. I was halfway through shaving,” Harry complained as he scowled at John. The shaggy man noticed the bleeding imperfection on the older man’s neurotically maintained skin.

“Well, you’re the crazy one! I was joking when I asked you to quadruple my pay. You can’t just pay a guy over a grand to smoke pot with you!” John shouted. He was so confused about what was going on here and why the hell this man was acting this way. Was it to get with Lucy? Was this some weird scheme that if he showed how kind and charitable he could be to John, then Lucy would want him back again? Is that what was happening here?

Harry seemed to be confused. “You keep speaking about how you are short on cash. It really is a non-issue for me.”

“Well, that’s just great for you, Harold.” 

“Harry.” 

“Fuck up.”

“Look, I was just trying to be nice. I can take it back if you don’t want it,” Harry offered, trying to correct what he had done wrong. 

John looked away and held the envelope close to his chest. “No! I’m keeping it!”

Harry squinted at John, shook his head and was just utterly baffled by the younger’s behaviour. “What?”

“If you’re doing this to get in Lucy’s pants again via some odd charity case type fucking shit. I hate to tell you, but she and Sophie are in a happy relationship. She turned me down, too,” John rambles.

Harry was so perplexed and shocked by how John’s mind could just jump about like a squirrel on crack, whilst also coming to the wildest conclusions. “Johnathan–”

“John!” 

“Shut up,” Harry snapped.

“No, you–”

“John! I have no interest in Lucy. We broke up because we didn’t love each other. I’m glad she is happy, I don’t wish to have her back,” he explained slowly, trying to get John to understand his lack of ulterior motives. “I genuinely did this because I thought you would appreciate it.” 

“Oh! So this is a kinky gay rich people sex thing.”

“What in the fuck are you on about?! How the fuck are you jumping to these conclusions?!” Harry shouted in astonishment at the pure stupidity that John was displaying at that moment. "Look, John. I genuinely meant nothing more than kindness with the money I have given you. It was not some crazy, outlandish way to get with Lucy or to have... what did you even call it?" Harry tried to explain, but he was still bewildered by the conclusions and ideas that John had. 

"Kinky gay rich people sex," John inputted

"Jesus Christ, how did you even--" 

John shrugged his shoulders, a little embarrassed now by what he had said. "Well... I uh... I watch a lot of movies." 

"Is that code for pornography?" Harry queried. 

John laughed, "No. That's not what I meant. But, I mean, I watch a lot of that too."

Harry laughed. "I've tried, but the noises are..." he purses his lips and hums, showing his distaste for such media. 

"Girls moaning not get you off, ey?" he teases. 

"Well, it's a sensual matter. I like the softer noises--" Harry realises how open he is being with this man, he has only met three times at most and had a real conversation with him once when stoned. "This isn't really a matter to discuss."

"I dunno, I'm certainly enjoying it." 

Harry rolls his eyes. “Just take the money, John. It really isn’t worth much to me as much as it is to you.”

“You sound like a snob.”

“I’m being honest with you.”

John rolls his eyes and looks away. He does need the cash, but his pride won’t allow him to do something so greedy with Harry looking at him like that, adorned in nothing more than boxers and a towel.

Harry knew this and groaned. “It means nothing to me if you take it or not. You can come around again if that would make you feel better?”

“Forward much, hotshot?” he teases.

Harry rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t mind having a joint with you once again. You are quite humorous; you’ve watched too much Star Wars,” he jokes, commenting on how John had rambled on about his weird Star Wars-based fantasies the entire night.

John looks at Harry with a smirk. “What, you jealous? Bet you wish you knew as much about Star Wars as I do–”

“You talked about how you had a dream once where you and Han Solo hooked up–”

“HEY!”

Harry laughed softly at John as the other was flushed and pouting, similar to a child.

This was nice, peaceful, easy. John presented a friendship that Harry hadn’t come across in years, not since childhood, when the understanding of wealth and status was rarely of importance to him and his peers. John was presenting before him something that didn’t pretend that Harry’s wealth existed, but instead looked past it. It allowed easy conversations and understanding of one another.

God, Harry hopes John wants to come by again. He had slipped his business card into John’s phone case in case the man forgot that they had swapped contact information the night prior, and the series of digits on his hand was in fact his number, not some chick’s.

Chapter Text

The pair met again… Again… Again and again. At first, it was simply to get stoned. Nights together where the pair were high and open with one another. At the end of the day, they would forget most of the things that they had said to one another. It was peaceful and comforting for the pair to have these moments. Took the edge off things.

These moments were also hilarious, as John always made a fool of himself in one way or another.

John explained the depths of his dreams and his personal ideas of the best story for the media he was into in a drunken slur. He was so loud and dominated the conversation when he was blabbering, it would seem like he was a genius. But it would be him explaining the most nonsensical, outlandish concepts for things such as Star Wars, Star Trek, and Lord of the Rings, but make it space… Honestly, think of anything nerdy and pair it with space, John probably already covered it.

Harry was giggly when he was stoned. He never said much; he liked to watch John talk. Sometimes he tried joining the conversation here and there, but he was quite slow and struggled to get through a sentence without wheezing. He seemed content with just the feeling of being stoned, the warm, tingly feeling wrapped around his body as he listened to John ramble like the idiot that he was. John was all here for it if Harry was going to continue being his supplier.

But, as time went on, Harry began to get clingy and touchy when he was stoned. He would play footsie with John or play with John’s fingers. It was clearly something that showed that Harry was becoming more comfortable with the shaggy man. John didn't really think much about it.

At least in the beginning.

But now, John is lying under the man who was fiddling with his shirt. John wasn’t stoned enough to not think about it. But he was stoned enough to lack any ability to hide his confusion. John hadn’t smoked as much as usual because he had a long trip for work first thing tomorrow morning, and he couldn’t afford to sleep in due to getting too stoned tonight. He had to leave by nine tomorrow to head back home and get ready before heading out for the venue, which was like a town or two over.

However, Harry had smoked a little more than usual, said something about work being rough, and he needed something to take the edge off. That’s why John was here. Harry didn’t smoke that often because he had a rule to only smoke with others. John thought that the rules were stupid, but hey, again, free dope. 

So, here he was with Harry, humming and playing with his shirt, mumbling about a random childhood experience. It was the first time that Harry took over the conversation when they were stoned. “I was short and not white… So, the boys often picked on me… Mmph…” Harry’s grumble was muffled as he rolled over. “Too bad their companies and mine are so tightly interlocked, they just pretend it didn’t happen… Whatever… I will buy them out and they’ll be fired…” Harry was spewing absolute bullshit, based on tone and attitude; Harry didn't believe himself either.

John continued to stare at the older man. “Well, at least you grew a few inches?” he offered, trying to comfort the other. 

Harry shook his head. “I didn’t… I got a surgery…”

“You can do that?” 

“Mhm… Break the bone and... I don't know, you grow a couple of extra inches. Can’t run. It’s like fire is shooting through my legs. It hurts… mostly during physical exercise. But, still…” Harry explained. “You’re extraordinarily lucky… When I recovered, everyone treated me differently. Women would talk to me, flirt with me, hell, even some men had the balls to do it. People treated me like an equal, not like a bloody… I don’t know…”

John petted Harry’s, ran his fingers through the soft, slick locks. “But… You’re in pain.”

“I know… But, even Lucy herself said… or at least alluded to the fact that if I didn’t do it, she wouldn’t have been with me…” Harry says.

John looked at him with sad eyes. “She said that?”

“Mhm… I think… But, I know what she meant I–”

“Harold,” John said to shut the other up. He cupped the other's face and squished his cheeks. 

The older’s eyes were tired, looking down and away from John, giving him this pathetic look. “Harry…” he mumbled to correct the other.

“Shh," he softly shushed the older man, pressing Harry's face down to rest on his chest, returning to playing with his hair once more.

The pair woke up the next morning wrapped around each other on the couch. John’s back made an audibly loud crack when he shifted and squirmed as the bright, warm light hit his face, like a laser aimed for the kill. He groaned and tried to push the weight off of him. 

Harry awoke and sat up, straddling John, and stretched a little. “Sorry, I’ll go make us breakfast…” he croaked. John stared at the man straddling him; whatever he was feeling, he didn't properly understand in his tired daze. Harry then got off him, and he walked over to the kitchen. Well, stumbled. He walked into at least three different cabinets and kicked the doorframe.

John snapped out of his daze and chuckled at the other's clumsiness. He sat up properly, rubbing the gunk from his eyes. He then looked down and scrunched his face in disgust; there was a large puddle of drool in the middle of his shirt. He sighed in defeat and looked around, checking where everything was. He picked up his keys, wallet and phone, then made his way to the kitchen where Harry was standing idly. The fridge door was open whilst Harry stood there, asleep on his feet. John was about to shake Harry awake; however, the fridge beeped, waking Harry back up.

“Work must’ve been pretty shit if you’re this tired,” John teased as he watched Harry get his stuff together to make them both breakfast.

“Shut up, Jonathan.”

“John.” 

“Whatever.”

The pair looked at each other and laughed. Harry saw the drool stain and flushed. "Shit, sorry." 

John waved the man off. "Don't worry about it," he said, then pulled out his phone to check it as Harry fried the bacon.

9:49 am.

9:49 am…

9:49 am…

It had taken John several moments to realise that if he didn’t leave town in the next 20 minutes, he wasn’t going to make it to work on time. That didn’t leave him enough time to eat breakfast, go to his apartment, clean up, get dressed and leave. “SHIT!” 

Harry jumped back and looked at the other with confusion. “What?”

“Fuck! Shit! Fuck! I’m going to be late! Oh, fuck!” 

Harry turned off the stove. “When’s the reception?”

“11:30, but it’s an hour and a half drive to the freaking venue. I can’t, fuck, I’m screwed!”

“Go. Have a shower.” Harry placed his hands over John’s shoulders, his hands softly squeezing him. “White shirt, black slacks and a black waistcoat, yes?” Harry asked. “I’ll have some that likely fit you. Do you need lunch? I might have some leftovers.”

“What?” 

“Just have a shower, John. I don’t have work today, and this is really my fault that you are late,” the older explained his train of thought as he guided John to the bathroom.

John left the bathroom. He was wearing Harry’s clothing, which smelled of various spices and fragrances that likely had names that he had never heard of. The shoes were clearly of an Italian brand, and the leather was kept in pristine condition. He looked at himself in one of Harry’s full-length mirrors and walked towards the kitchen. 

“Harry, I can’t–” John was going to finish his sentence by declining the shoes. He often had the poor habit of kicking and shuffling his feet, causing damage to most of his shoes. 

“You look absolutely dashing, John,” Harry said as he handed John a couple of sandwiches. “I didn’t know how many you would want. Two is enough, yes?”

“I…” John’s brain was short-circuiting. “It’s more than enough, dude.”

Harry nods his head and walks away. “I’ll throw your clothes in the wash, and you can come back whenever you feel like them. All good?” he shouted down the hallway.

John nodded before realising how ridiculous he was being by nodding in response to a man who couldn’t see him. He checked his watch. “I should head out now. I’ll see you later,” he called out to Harry as he grabbed his things and walked out of the apartment.

“Have a good day!” Harry called out before John closed the door.

John stared at the door for a few minutes, his forehead against the wood. “God… What’s happening?” he queried himself before turning and leaving down the hall to his beat-up, shitty car.

Chapter Text

John groaned and stood outside the familiar wooden door. It was dark and polished, shining in the light in a way that screamed, “Look how expensive and disgustingly posh I am.” John couldn’t run away because Harry knew he was here; he had to buzz him into the apartment. His presence was known, and he was intimidated by a 6’8” by 3’2” by 1.5” plank of wood; this was more than embarrassing. 

Not only that, he was holding a crumbled pile of clothes which had once been pristine. However, working a 12-hour shift at a venue where red wine, champagne, and a dessert had been tossed on him and then he was too tired to take them off when he went to bed. This all culminated in the clothes being in an awful condition, ruffled and stained. John also got less than he expected from the play he worked on last, so he didn’t have the extra cash on hand to even consider if there was a dry cleaner nearby to his scummy apartment. 

The man groaned, psyching himself up because being intimidated by a door was beyond pathetic. He brought his hand forward and knocked on the door.

“John, it’s nice to see you,” Harry said when he opened the door. 

John groaned internally at the sight of Harry. He was dressed to the nines. He had shaved his face in a scruffy way that was perceived as professional. His hair was styled, slicked back in a practised manner, and paired with a suit on and… oh, God. Why is John here? 

“Hey, Harry,” he greets as he holds up the clothing. “Thank you for letting me borrow them.” John can see behind Harry that there is a pile of John’s clothes on top of a cabinet, folded and clearly washed. It made John feel even more silly standing here before the older man.

“Thank you. I was just about to head out for dinner. Do you wish to attend?” Harry asks.

John nods his head, not really thinking about it properly. 

“Great, I think you’ll fit into one of my suits–”

“Suit?”

Harry nods his head. “There is a dress code at the restaurant I’m about to head down to–”

“No! No suits!” John shouted in panic at the idea of dressing up in a monkey suit in a restaurant with people staring at him because they all would know that he wasn’t supposed to be there. Obviously, Harry would pay for their meal and provide the shaggy man with the correct attire, but it would never wash away the very fact that he would never and will never belong.

“Pardon?” Harry asked, his tone had a degree of offence slipping through.

John stares at Harry as he tries to look for a way to answer the man he just shouted at like a crazy man. However, instead, he came up with a solution: “I know a place.”

Harry looked around the bar that John had dragged them to. Harry picked at his jersey as he felt out of place in this slum. He looked around at the grease stains on the fabrics and the moulding patches on the ceilings from the many drinks that had been shaken and then opened, blowing up. He tried to repress a scowl when he saw that John was taking him to a sticky-looking booth. 

This bar was somehow more of a dive than the first one he had gone to when he was still with Lucy, and after John’s play. Harry breathed in deeply. This was a way to break the ice with John and for the other man to become more comfortable with him. 

Harry picked up the menu, and he grimaced at the peeling lamination and the food scraps stuck to it.

“Two beers, please, tap,” John said to the waitress in a shirt that was too small, clearly for monetary gain rather than her own comfort. “That’s okay with you?”

Harry zoned back into the conversation and nodded his head.

John seemed indifferent to the scum and dirt that layered every surface of the bar. Harry should’ve known that this was where John was dragging him when he took him to his piece of garbage car. 

John pulled out a box of cigarettes, which were a cheap brand that the older man didn’t recognise. “Isn’t it illegal to do that indoors–”

“Barman turns a blind eye. It’s one of the only reasons I come here, really. The beer is watered down, but cheap enough that you can still get drunk, though,” he explained, telling Harry exactly what he had already figured out.

A few beers later… Well, like six or seven beers later, a couple of shots that Harry bought for them, and a couple of hits of nicotine. They swayed outside the bar in the cold winter air, both standing with their arms crossed to warm themselves up. 

“Cab?” Harry asked.

“No… Mine is within walking distance from here…” John responded in his New York accent, which had become more nasally over the numerous beers and cigarettes that they had shared between them. 

Harry raised his brow and smiled softly at the other. “Really?” 

John knew what that tone was actually asking of him. “No! No way are you entering my shitty apartment when we’ve been getting stoned at your fancy ass apartment!” John squawked at the other man. The thought of John bringing Harry to his mouldy apartment that was falling apart at the seams, with a roommate who is constantly leaving his condoms and ejaculation around the place. He can’t bring Harry to that sty.  

John knew that Harry didn't like the bar that John had dragged him to, noticing the scowl and winces every time he came in contact with something texturally unpleasant. His apartment would be so much worse. However, throughout the night, John also noticed how Harry laughed openly at John's jokes as more booze took control of his system, playing footsy the entire time. But Harry was in a similar state of relaxation, which was typical for moments when they were stoned. Because they were in public, he wasn’t as touchy.

Harry leans on John’s shoulder. “C’mon… You always come to my place all the time… You’re always complaining about your place… It can’t be that bad…” he slurred. 

“It is…” John mumbled as he ran his hands through the older’s hair. It was still a little damp from when he showered earlier to wash out the hair gel. “Roommates are dumbasses, and the building is falling apart, Harry. I know you thought this bar was bad. My place is worse.” 

“What if I fall asleep on your shoulder? Then we have no choice but to go to yours.”

John laughed, “How would that work out in your favour, dude. We’d just get a cab to yours if you do that.”

“How are you planning on paying for that cab? I had to cover the last of your tab.”

“Oh? It has taken a couple of months of knowing one another, but now you’re using your riches against my broke ass.”

Harry smiled and nodded his head, burying it further into John’s flannel, which was so old that it was now as soft as some of Harry’s sheets. “I am using my power against you…” He continued to laugh.

John groaned, feeling Harry chipping away at him. “Fine. But, I’m not gonna carry you there.”