It was proposed in the dark over a bottle of whiskey. We had been watching an American crime show which often talked of prostitution and I asked Harry how much he would charge per hour of work if he was on the streets. 

“Depends on what I’m doing, I guess,” he said. 

I took another drink because I wasn’t drunk enough for the conversation I had started. He shut his eyes and sighed as if he wouldn’t elaborate, but then he did. 

“Most clients would be men, and I’m not gay, so I don’t know if that would work. I’d probably get fired by my pimp or something.” 

He looked at me and laughed, taking the bottle from my hand. 

“How much would you charge?” He asked. 

“Thousands of pounds.” 

“Really? I was thinking like… twenty quid.” 

I smacked him and took the bottle back. 

“You think I’m so easy?”

“No! I just figured… easy money, right? Since you like men.” 

I shook my head and grunted in disagreement. 

“No way. People who hire prostitutes have got to have something wrong with them, you know? Clingy, aggressive—maybe a weird kink they’re ashamed of. Not to mention the risk of getting an STD—I wouldn’t do it for anything under a grand. That would filter out a lot of the weirdos, and hopefully whoever could afford it would have some decency.” 

He mulled this over as he stared at the blank television screen, shifting the way his glasses sat on his nose. 

“So you’d be, like… an escort, then.”

“I don’t think there’s a difference.” 

“Maybe.” 

He reached over and touched the ends of my blond hair. I took another drink. 

“How much would it cost for you to sleep with a man?” I asked. 

“Why? Interested?” 

“Piss off. We’re talking hypothetically.” 

“Well, I have money, I don’t need more.” 

“So you’d do it for free?” 

“If I met a man I really liked, sure.” 

“No, no—” I groaned. “A stranger! You’re a prostitute, remember?” 

“Right—sorry. Er… I don’t know. Is it safe? Am I an escort like you?” 

“Sure. Clients have been screened and had an STD panel. It’s safe.” 

He rubbed a hand across his face and shrugged. 

“I don’t know. How much would you charge to sleep with a woman?” 

“I don’t think I could. I am really—really—not straight.” 

He laughed and shook his head a little, leaning to set the bottle down in front of us. 

“But women are nice and they smell good and they’re so soft—” 

I made an obnoxious gagging noise and he smiled at me. 

“I’d sleep with a woman who was a stranger for, like…. A hundred quid. If we’re under the assumption that I don’t have any money," he said.

“You could charge more.” 

“I don’t think so.” 

“Trust me,” I muttered. 

He rolled his eyes. 

“So you’re not going under a thousand? That’s your firm price?” 

“Absolutely.” 

“Okay, what if it was just like… messing around, not full-on sex.” 

I felt my cheeks go hot and glanced toward the whiskey bottle. 

“I guess I’d go lower. Maybe five hundred.” 

“Wow, still high, though.” 

“Would you do stuff with a man for five hundred?” 

He pursed his lips in contemplation and then shrugged. 

“I know what it’s like to be desperate for money. If someone was offering five hundred quid and I needed it, I’d probably do whatever they wanted. I’d at least try, but I don’t know if I could be convincing enough if I’m as straight as I think I am.” 

“So you think you could be bi or something?”

He shrugged. 

“I wouldn’t be opposed to it, but I’ve never liked a man the way that I like women so I don’t think I am.” 

“That’s very… open-minded of you.” 

He smirked and touched the ends of my hair again, his knuckles brushing against the front of my shoulder. 

“Nothing worse than a closed-minded prostitute,” he muttered. 

I laughed loudly and clamped a hand across my mouth, shaking my head at him. 

“You are so stupid.” 

“You’re the one who started this whole thing, don’t judge me for my hypothetical exploration.” 

“I’m not! Maybe you should go to a gay bar and kiss a couple of men to see how you like it.” 

He wrinkled his nose and shook his head, exhaling. 

“Doesn’t feel right.” 

I paused and looked at the whiskey, chewing on the inside of my cheek. 

“You could kiss me.” 

He looked at me with a smile at first, but his expression turned more serious. 

“Really?” 

“For a hundred quid,” I added with a grin and he crossed his arms, laughing as he rested his head on the back of the couch. “Some of us are desperate for money non-hypothetically. It’s not my fault. I’ve gotta pay rent somehow.” 

“You have a job,” he said, tilting his head to look at me. “I don’t think you’ll get very many customers who are willing to pay a hundred quid just for a snog.” 

“One will do.” 

He snorted and shook his head, propping his heels up on the coffee table. 

“You think you can take advantage of me because I’m rich?” 

“Absolutely. It’s a win-win. I get money and you find out if you’re queer.” 

“You don’t think it's insulting?” 

“Hard to be insulted with rent paid and food on my table.” 

I propped my arm on the back of the couch and turned toward him, smiling suggestively. He laughed again and looked at the ceiling. 

“You are so different when you’re drunk. You’re going to regret this conversation in the morning, I can already tell.” 

“Better kiss me quick, then. Besides, I’m not that drunk. You’ve had more than me.” 

“I’m bigger than you, I can take more.” 

“I’m taller.” 

“I’m stronger.” 

I rolled my eyes and propped my cheek on my fist, sighing. 

“So are we going to do this?” I asked, and he looked at me. 

He fixed his glasses and glanced at my mouth, smiling a little. 

“You won’t be weird about it? No teasing me?” 

“I swear,” I said, reaching up to cross my heart. 

He lifted his hips and dug into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. He flipped through the notes, counting under his breath as my pulse picked up pace. 

“One hundred,” he said, handing me a folded stack of bills. 

I put it on the table and looked at him slowly, my confidence dimming. We stared at each other for a long beat and he smiled at me, extending his hand. I rested my fingers against his palm and he brushed his thumb across the back of my knuckles soothingly. 

“This is nice of you,” he said.

“I haven’t done anything yet.” 

“I know, but it’s nice of you to even offer.” 

“I’m just in it for the money,” I said halfheartedly, watching as his thumb continued to stroke my fingers. 

“I know,” he said, and my eyes jumped to his face as he sat up. 

  They barely spoke to each other except in greeting, but Draco grew to like Harry’s company. He was friendly and let Draco study in his downtime like Ginny did. Draco was allowed to work extra hours to cover his rent, and he didn’t mind when Draco left for his class early on Wednesdays. He missed Harry when Ron would fill in for him, but Draco couldn’t help wondering why Harry wasn’t at home with Ginny and the baby. It was becoming more and more difficult to keep from asking, but one day when they were restocking the soft-serve machine together, he built up the courage. 

    ‘Are you and Ginny married?’ Draco blurted out, and this apparently took Harry off guard because a second later Draco was covered in liquid chocolate ice cream. 

    ‘Oh my god!’ Harry exclaimed, and Draco rubbed at his face to be able to see through the sticky mess that was covering him. He blinked to clear his vision and saw Harry slip and fall when he came down from the ladder. 

    ‘Damn.’ Harry swore, but Draco’s eyes were burning with ice cream and he doubled over. He heard water running and then Harry was next to him again, pulling him to stand straight. Draco gasped when ice cold water poured down his face and the front of his shirt. 

    ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—‘ Harry repeated as a mantra, now wiping Draco's face with a damp rag. 

    Draco could feel the burn of embarrassment in his cheeks and took the rag from Harry’s hand. Without looking at him he turned and found his way to the bathroom. He looked a mess and knew he wouldn’t do any good trying to clean up without a shower and fresh change of clothes. He cleaned his face, got the melted ice cream out of his ear, and was trying to decide whether riding the train or walking five kilometers covered in muck would be the better of two evils. 

    His ears were still burning with embarrassment and he took a few deep breaths to calm himself before having to face Harry outside. He walked into one of the stalls, shut the lid and sat on the toilet with his head in his hands. Ice cream dripped from his hair onto his shoulder and he groaned. 

    There was a light knocking on the door and Draco jumped, his voice in his throat. He heard the door creak open the door a tiny bit.

    ‘Draco? Are you okay?’

    ‘I’m fine.’ His voice sounded unsteady and he bit his lip. 

    ‘I’m so sorry, Draco.’ He took a step into the bathroom and Draco didn’t bother shutting the door to his stall. He waited quietly as Harry rounded the door and pushed it aside, an apologetic expression on his face. 

    Draco’s cheeks flamed and he stared at his knees. 

    ‘Listen… I live just a block away. Can I make this up to you and get you cleaned up? I don’t want you to have to go home like this.’

    Draco swallowed the lump in his throat and sighed, weighing the three terrible options in front of him. He could hear the ice cream dripping onto the floor and eventually he glanced at Harry and nodded once in acquiescence. 

    ‘Come on. I’ll close the shop for the day.’ Harry spoke calmly and it made Draco feel better, even though he wished more than anything that this wasn’t happening. ‘Take my coat.’     

    Harry had placed the jacket on his shoulders before Draco could protest about getting it dirty. He mumbled something about dry cleaning but Harry didn’t listen while he locked the door behind himself and led Draco to his flat. Mercifully it was very close to the parlor, and they only had to go up one flight of steps before they had reached his front door. Draco was shivering beneath Harry’s jacket as they walked into the kitchen. 

    ‘Sorry for the mess.’ Harry said as he gestured Draco towards the washroom. ‘It’s just here. You can leave your clothes on the floor— I’ll find something for you.’ 

    Harry shut the door as Draco shed his jacket and apron. He had to peel himself out of his clothes, and he was shaking with cold by the time the water warmed up.