♡ sugar daddy/sugar baby dynamics
♡ mutual emotional dependency
♡ rich man / exhausted woman agenda
♡ emotionally constipated shiu kong
♡ hiromi higuruma making your life harder
Synopsis: Your feet hurt, your bills are overdue, and your future depends on a degree you can barely afford to finish.
Then Shiu Kong leaves a $700 tip, his number on a napkin, and suddenly survival starts looking a lot more comfortable.
What begins as a simple arrangement quickly spirals into something neither of you planned for.
Now you’re balancing law school, family drama, complicated friendships, and a man who’s willing to give you everything except a straightforward answer about what you mean to him.
Unfortunately, money can’t fix every problem
And some debts are emotional.
The dinner rush hadn’t even started yet and your feet already hurt you don’t know if it was the all nighter or running 2 damn blocks from Rubys desserts to the cheap rundown diner. The smell of sugar and bread still clung to your hoodie from the bakery, your curls shoved into a claw clip that was halfway to giving up, earbuds hanging around your neck as you rushed down the sidewalk toward the restaurant with your tote bag slamming against your hip.
You pushed through the employee entrance breathing hard, immediately met with warmth, loud laughter, and the sound of silverware clinking somewhere in the kitchen.
“Took your sweet ass time,” Maya snorted from behind the hostess stand.
“You got me fucked up if you think I wanted to be here,” you muttered, shrugging your hoodie off.
A few of the servers laughed.
Someone was showing engagement pictures on their phone. Another person complained about a table that tipped two dollars on a hundred-dollar bill. The cooks yelled over each other in the back while somebody’s playlist blasted through a cheap speaker near the bar.
But not your kind of tired.
Your phone buzzed again in your apron pocket.
FINAL NOTICE: RENT PAYMENT OVERDUE.
You shoved the notification away before you could think about it too hard.
“Table twelve’s yours,” Maya called. “And your boss was looking for you.”
You forced a smile onto your face before stepping onto the floor, shoulders straightening automatically.
Pretend your life wasn’t actively trying to beat your ass.
By eight-thirty your lower back ached, your head hurt, and table seven had sent back their steak twice.
You were balancing two glasses and apologizing to a couple over delayed appetizers when your manager finally appeared beside you.
“Office,” he said shortly.
You handed the tray off to another waitress with a tight smile. “Can you take this for me real quick?”
The office smelled like stale coffee and printer paper.
Your manager sat behind the desk while you stayed standing, arms folded over your chest.
“So,” you started carefully, “my check’s still bouncing.”
He barely looked up from his computer. “Payroll’s behind.”
“It’s been behind for two weeks.”
“Well, it needs to get fixed now.” Exhaustion sharpened your voice before you could stop it. “I’m behind on rent. I need that money.”
Like you were inconveniencing him.
“You know,” he said slowly, leaning back in his chair, “there are ways to speed things up.”
You frowned. “Okay… how?”
His hand closed around your wrist before you could react.
And then he guided your hand downward.
Your brain didn’t process it immediately.
Until your stomach turned.
Until your entire body went stiff.
You yanked your hand back so fast the chair beside you scraped against the floor.
For a second all you could do was stare at him.
“You’re a pretty girl,” he said casually. “I’m just saying there are ways to move priorities around.”
Humiliation crawled hot beneath your skin.
Before you could speak, someone knocked sharply on the office door.
“James needs you in the kitchen,” another server called. “Now.”
Your manager clicked his tongue under his breath before standing.
“Think about it,” he muttered, brushing his hand over your shoulder on the way past you.
The second the door shut behind him, you stood there frozen.
Then disgust hit all at once.
You scrubbed your hands down your apron like you could wipe the feeling off.
“What the fuck,” you whispered.
You had completely forgotten table twelve.
You forced yourself back onto the floor, heart still pounding uncomfortably in your chest.
“I’m so sorry for the wait,” you said quickly as you approached the table. “There was an issue in the back—”
“These damn waitresses can’t do their jobs for shit anymore,” the older man sitting across from the customer snapped.
Across from him sat a man in a dark suit, one arm resting lazily against the booth.
He looked at you for maybe half a second too long before turning toward his client with visible annoyance.
“My apologies,” he said smoothly. “She’s been more than accommodating all evening.”
The older man grumbled something under his breath.
You nodded quickly. “I’ll grab your check right now.”
Your hands shook slightly while printing the receipt.
You’d dealt with rude customers before.
But something about tonight felt particularly humiliating.
By the time you returned, the older client was already standing.
The man in the suit handed over his card.
“Keep the change,” the client scoffed on the way out.
The other man stood more slowly.
And for the first time, you got a proper look at him.
Dark hair slicked back neatly.
Wedding-ring-less fingers.
The faint scent of expensive cologne when he stepped around you.
“Sorry about him,” he said simply.
“Oh. It’s okay, I’m used to—”
“You shouldn’t have to be.”
You stood there for a second before finally grabbing the checkbook from the table.
Your eyes widened so fast they hurt.
You looked toward the entrance immediately.
The man was already outside somewhere.
Your heart started pounding again as you flipped the receipt over.
Just neat handwriting across the back of the paper.
And somehow that almost felt worse.
You stared at the number for so long your vision started blurring around the edges.
Maya stood beside you holding a tray against her hip, brows pinched together. “You look like you seen a ghost.”
You immediately flipped the receipt facedown.
You shoved the paper into your apron before grabbing the checkbook again.
Your rent wasn’t even seven hundred dollars short.
The thought made your chest tighten uncomfortably.
“You’re cut after twelve,” Maya said. “Unless you wanna stay for late rush.”
“No,” you answered immediately.
She laughed softly. “Damn, okay.”
You forced a smile before heading toward the kitchen again, trying very hard not to think about the number burning a hole through your apron pocket.
But it was impossible now.
Because suddenly you were aware of everything about him.
The way he barely reacted to anything around him.
The fact that he looked at people directly when they spoke.
Even when they were waitresses.
Especially when they were waitresses.
“You got table nine,” someone called.
The rest of the shift blurred together in that miserable restaurant way where time somehow moved both painfully slow and way too fast.
But every few minutes your brain betrayed you.
You shouldn’t have to be.
You didn’t even know his name.
You blinked quickly and turned back toward table nine with an automatic smile.
“Can I get another lemonade?”
Your feet throbbed with every step toward the drink station.
You were so tired your body felt disconnected from itself at this point. Like if somebody pushed you too hard you might genuinely just fall over.
The restaurant buzzed loudly around you.
Servers yelling half-finished sentences to each other.
The hostess laughing too loud near the front.
And somehow through all of it, your eyes kept drifting toward the empty booth near the window.
Maya snorted while reaching around you for straws. “Who got you looking stupid tonight?”
You rolled your eyes, grabbing the lemonade. “Leave me alone.”
“Oh my God,” she gasped dramatically. “You got a man.”
“Then why you smiling at the soda fountain?”
Because annoyingly enough…
But there’d been this weird warmth sitting beneath your ribs ever since he left the table.
Men hit on you all the time.
Customers flirted constantly.
Sometimes they left numbers.
Usually you threw them away before your shift even ended.
Not because of the money.
Okay maybe partially because of the money.
Seven hundred dollars was insane.
It was the way he’d looked at you after his client snapped.
Like he’d actually noticed you.
And that was somehow worse.
“You still with us?” Maya asked.
“You need caffeine or crack.”
You laughed quietly despite yourself before heading back onto the floor.
By the time closing rolled around your entire body felt heavy.
The restaurant had mostly emptied now, lights dimmer than before while the remaining staff cleaned around each other in exhausted silence.
You wiped down the last table slowly, jaw tight.
You already knew what it was before looking.
You closed your eyes briefly.
Marcus, one of the bartenders, nodded toward your phone.
You huffed a dry laugh. “Very observant.”
The question almost made your throat tighten.
Because nobody had asked you that all day.
You swallowed hard enough to hurt. “Yeah.”
“Mm.” He tossed the rag over his shoulder. “You need me to walk you to your car after shift?”
You almost said yes automatically.
Then remembered your car was currently making a noise that sounded expensive.
Marcus studied you for another second before nodding slowly. “Aight.”
The second he walked away, you reached into your apron again.
The receipt was crumpled now from how many times you’d unfolded it.
Your thumb traced the number absentmindedly.
Just a phone number written in clean, precise handwriting.
Rich people had nice handwriting.
You didn’t know why that irritated you.
You should throw it away.
That would be the normal thing to do.
Instead you folded it carefully and slipped it into your phone case.
Which was objectively worse.
“Hey,” Maya called from the front. “Didn’t that guy leave you like a crazy ass tip earlier?”
Your shoulders stiffened instantly.
“Everybody’s definition of fine in this place concerns me.”
“I’m serious.” She leaned over the counter dramatically. “How much was it?”
“For WHAT?” she whisper-yelled aggressively. “Who was he?”
“He left seven hundred dollars and you don’t know his NAME?”
You pressed your palms against your burning face. “Please lower your voice before I pass away.”
“Oh my God.” She grabbed your arm. “Was he old?”
You laughed helplessly despite yourself.
Which felt strange after tonight.
Your boss still made your skin crawl.
Your bills still existed.
Nothing about your situation had actually changed.
That number sitting inside your phone case felt weirdly heavy.
“You gonna text him?” Maya asked carefully now.
Maya’s grin widened knowingly.
“Oh, you definitely texting him.”
You grabbed your bag before she could keep talking.
Outside, the night air hit cool against your skin.
Your body ached all over.
Your apartment was waiting.
You started walking toward your car before pausing beside the curb.
Then slowly pulled the receipt back out one more time.
The streetlights painted everything gold around you while traffic hummed somewhere in the distance.
You stared at the number.
And for the first time all day, your mind wandered somewhere softer.
Your stomach twisted immediately afterward.
Because people didn’t give strangers seven hundred dollars for nothing.
You folded the receipt again carefully.
And still didn’t throw it away.
Your apartment was quiet when you got home.
Not peaceful quiet either.
The kind that reminded you nobody else was there.
You locked the door behind you and dropped your bag onto the couch before immediately toeing your shoes off with a groan. The relief almost hurt. Your feet throbbed against the hardwood as you stood there for a second staring blankly at your kitchen.
Mail scattered across the counter.
One envelope stamped FINAL NOTICE sitting right on top.
You looked away from it immediately.
The smell of the bakery still clung to your clothes—sugar, cinnamon, coffee—and your curls had completely lost the fight sometime around hour eight of your shift. You reached up, pulling the claw clip from your hair with a sigh, shaking your curls loose around your shoulders before heading toward the fridge.
Half a carton of oat milk.
Strawberries you forgot about.
Your phone buzzed in your hand before you could shut the fridge again.
You answered on the first ring.
Her face popped up immediately, bonnet on, laying sideways across her bed.
Nia snorted. “You sound raggedy.”
You grabbed your water bottle before flopping down onto the couch dramatically.
You stared at the ceiling for a second.
“My check bounced again.”
Nia sat up a little. “Again?”
“And your manager still ain’t fix it?”
“He said payroll’s behind.”
“Yeah, well.” You rubbed at your eyes tiredly. “Apparently there are ways to ‘speed things up.’”
Nia’s face changed immediately.
Your jaw tightened automatically just thinking about it again.
Nia frowned hard. “What the fuck?”
You shrugged one shoulder even though disgust still sat heavy in your stomach.
“I didn’t even realize what he was doing at first.”
You laughed softly, but there wasn’t really humor in it.
For a second neither of you spoke.
Then Nia narrowed her eyes.
“Wait,” she said slowly. “You texted me talking about some ‘you won’t believe what happened after.’ What else happened?”
You groaned immediately and dropped your arm over your eyes.
“It’s not even like that.”
You reached into your pocket, pulling the folded receipt out.
“So this man came into the restaurant with some client or whatever—”
You rolled your eyes even though she couldn’t fully see it.
“He left me a seven hundred dollar tip.”
Nia went completely still.
You started laughing despite yourself as she sat up fully now.
“And you still at work stressing me out? I thought somebody died.”
“He also left his number.”
“I don’t even know that man.”
“You don’t leave seven hundred dollars and a phone number for somebody you don’t wanna see again.”
You stared down at the receipt in your hand quietly.
The expensive paper from the restaurant printer.
That stupid amount of money.
“I kinda wanna give it back,” you admitted.
Nia looked genuinely confused.
“No,” she corrected. “Being broke is weird. Keep the money.”
“I’m serious,” she continued. “Your rent overdue, your car fighting demons every morning, and your fridge got nothing but emotional support strawberries in it.”
That pulled a real laugh out of you.
You glanced toward your kitchen.
You sighed, sinking further into the couch cushions.
“I just feel weird about it.”
Men didn’t spend money for no reason.
Nia’s voice softened a little.
You don’t gotta marry him, baby. It was a tip.”
“Seven hundred dollars is not a tip.”
“That’s rent.” She paused. “Actually no, that’s peace.”
“You know what’s crazy?” you muttered.
“He wasn’t even flirting.”
Nia squinted. “Oh brother.”
“That calm quiet shit be getting y’all every time.”
You laughed harder now, shaking your head.
“I’m serious! Men that barely talk always got somebody acting foolish.”
“I am not acting foolish.”
You rolled your eyes before standing up.
“Aight, I gotta call Hiromi before he starts complaining about this project.”
Nia made a face immediately. “That man lowkey in love with you.”
You snorted while heading toward your room.
“Text me if you call rich man.”
And just like that, the apartment got quiet again.
You stood there for a second in the middle of your room, staring at the receipt still sitting in your hand.
Then slowly looked toward the stack of overdue bills on your dresser.
Your throat tightened a little.
You looked back down at the number.
By the time Hiromi Higuruma knocked on your door, you’d changed into an oversized T-shirt and leggings, your curls damp around your shoulders from a rushed shower.
You opened the door with one sock half on.
“You look terrible,” he said immediately.
You frowned. “Hello to you too.”
“You said you wanted honesty.”
“I actually never said that.”
A quiet snort left him as he stepped inside, already holding two coffees in one hand and his backpack in the other.
“Vanilla latte,” he said, handing one over.
“You remembered my order?”
“You get the same thing every time.”
Your chest warmed despite yourself.
Hiromi toed his shoes off near the door automatically before heading toward the kitchen table like he’d done it a hundred times before.
That was the thing about Hiromi.
Nothing with him felt complicated.
No trying to read between lines.
Him reminding you to eat when you forgot.
You closed the door behind him before moving toward the kitchen table, quickly shoving your scattered notes into a pile.
“Did you finish the ethics section?” you asked.
“Mostly isn’t reassuring.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You enjoy suffering.”
“You enjoy being irritating.”
Hiromi hummed noncommittally as he sat down.
The sleeves of his button-up were rolled neatly to his forearms, tie loosened slightly like he’d probably been studying before he got here too.
Meanwhile you looked like somebody had physically fought you in a parking lot.
You dropped into the chair across from him with a sigh.
“That’s because you insist on working twenty-seven jobs.”
His expression shifted slightly at that.
“You’ve been overdoing it lately.”
“That answer usually means the opposite.”
You pointed at him accusingly. “See? Irritating.”
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he opened his laptop.
For a while things settled into familiar rhythm.
Quiet debates over legal terminology.
Your playlist humming softly in the background.
At one point you ended up sitting sideways in your chair, knees tucked beneath you while ranting about a case reading.
“And the judge was clearly biased,” you argued. “Like genuinely what else was she supposed to do in that situation?”
“The law isn’t based on feelings.”
“Well maybe it should be.”
“That sounds concerning coming from a future attorney.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You know what? I see why people find you annoying.”
“That’s because you don’t talk enough.”
Hiromi glanced up from his notes.
“You talk enough for both of us.”
You gasped dramatically. “That was rude.”
You laughed softly, shaking your head.
And for a second, everything felt normal again.
Then Hiromi’s eyes shifted toward the kitchen counter behind you.
His brows pulled together slightly.
Your stomach dropped instantly.
You’d left it sitting beside your keys without even thinking about it.
You looked over your shoulder too quickly to play it off naturally.
Hiromi was already standing before you could move.
He picked the receipt up carefully between two fingers.
You watched his eyes skim over:
And then slowly lift back to you.
You forced a laugh that sounded fake even to your own ears.
“Some guy left me a big tip tonight. It’s nothing serious.”
“He left you seven hundred dollars.”
“It was weird, okay? I know.”
You crossed your arms defensively. “I wasn’t gonna call him.”
His jaw tightened slightly.
You noticed because you always noticed things about Hiromi.
The way he got quieter instead of louder when upset.
The way he pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek when thinking too hard.
The way his shoulders stiffened now.
“What?” you asked carefully.
“That’s obviously not true.”
Hiromi set the receipt back down with controlled precision.
“He was just being nice.”
“People usually don’t leave seven hundred dollar tips to be nice.”
The words weren’t judgmental exactly.
Which somehow made them worse.
You frowned slightly. “Why are you acting weird about this?”
Hiromi exhaled slowly through his nose before sitting back down.
For a moment he didn’t say anything.
“At work.” His eyes stayed on you now. “Something upset you before I got here.”
Your chest tightened unexpectedly.
You hated how easily he read you sometimes.
“That’s not what I asked.”
And immediately his expression changed again.
“Did somebody say something to you?”
That was another thing about him.
He just sat there long enough that eventually the truth started slipping out anyway.
“My manager was being weird,” you admitted quietly.
Then regretted answering almost immediately once you saw his expression darken.
“He implied he’d fix my check faster if I…” You cleared your throat awkwardly. “You know.”
Not normal silence either.
Hiromi’s jaw tightened hard enough for you to notice.
You looked down at your coffee. “It wasn’t like that.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
You sighed quietly. “He grabbed my hand.”
For a second Hiromi genuinely looked angry.
You looked down at your coffee. “It wasn’t like that.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
You sighed quietly. “He grabbed my hand.”
For a second Hiromi genuinely looked angry.
And it startled you a little because Hiromi almost never looked visibly emotional about anything.
“That’s harassment,” he said flatly.
“That’s why the tip thing isn’t that serious,” you said quickly, trying to lighten the mood. “It was just weird timing.”
Hiromi looked toward the receipt again.
And something in his expression shifted.
“You really don’t see how this looks dangerous?”
Your defensiveness rose immediately.
“A strange man watched you have a vulnerable moment and then handed you enough money to matter.”
Your chest tightened unexpectedly.
Because when he phrased it like that…
“You’re overthinking it.”
Hiromi held your gaze for a second too long.
Then finally leaned back in his chair again.
The conversation never fully recovered after that.
But something subtle had shifted.
And you found yourself getting irritated without fully understanding why.
Because part of you knew he was worried.
resented being made to feel naïve.
After another thirty minutes, Hiromi finally closed his laptop.
You looked up immediately.
“You always stay later than this.”
“I’ve got an early class tomorrow.”
It sounded like an excuse.
You hated that it sounded like an excuse.
Hiromi stood slowly, gathering his things.
For a second it felt like he wanted to say something else.
Instead he just looked at you quietly.
“Lock your door tonight.”
You frowned slightly. “Hiromi—”
“That man doesn’t even know where I live.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
Something sharp flickered in your chest.
“You’re acting like I’m stupid.”
Hiromi’s face softened immediately.
And somehow that made you feel worse.
“I just…” He stopped himself with a sigh. “You’ve been stressed lately. I don’t want somebody taking advantage of that.”
Your throat tightened unexpectedly.
Because underneath the concern was something else.
And suddenly you didn’t know why that upset you so much.
“I can take care of myself,” you said quietly.
But he still sounded worried.
Hiromi moved toward the door after that, slipping his shoes back on in silence.
When he opened the door, cool air drifted into the apartment hallway between you.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” you asked.
“Text me when you go to bed.”
You rolled your eyes lightly. “Yes, dad.”
A faint smile finally touched his mouth again.
The door shut softly behind him.
And just like that, the apartment felt too quiet again.
The apartment stayed quiet after Hiromi Higuruma left.
You stood near the door for a second staring at nothing before finally locking it, the click echoing softly through the room.
Your chest still felt tight.
You hated feeling lectured.
But underneath that, there was something worse sitting heavier in your stomach:
the uncomfortable possibility that Hiromi might’ve been right.
You exhaled slowly before turning toward the disaster your apartment had become over the last few weeks.
Clothes draped over the arm of the couch.
Casebooks stacked on the floor.
A mug sitting beside your laptop from—honestly you didn’t even know anymore.
You started cleaning mostly because you didn’t know what else to do.
Motion felt easier than thinking.
Your curls were tied back again now with a scarf wrapped loosely around your edges while soft music played from your phone somewhere near the sink.
You tried not to think about:
Eventually you gave up and headed for the shower.
The water was almost painfully hot against your skin.
You stood there longer than necessary, forehead resting against the tile while exhaustion settled deeper into your bones.
Your laugh came out quiet and humorless.
When you finally stepped out, your skin felt warm and heavy beneath one of your oldest oversized T-shirts.
You moisturized slowly out of habit more than anything else, curls damp around your shoulders while the apartment filled with the soft scent of shea butter and steam.
Then you crawled into bed.
And stared at the ceiling.
The city hummed faintly outside your window.
Cars somewhere in the distance.
Somebody laughing down the street.
Your phone sat beside you on the mattress.
You lasted maybe three minutes before reaching for it.
The receipt was still tucked inside your case.
The number still looked unreal.
You traced your thumb over the ink absentmindedly.
You didn’t know this man.
Didn’t know what he wanted.
Didn’t know why he noticed you in the first place.
You thought about the way he’d apologized for his client.
The calmness in his voice.
The way he looked at you directly when you spoke.
You shouldn’t have to be.
Hiromi’s voice answered immediately in your head.
You really don’t see how this looks dangerous?
You groaned softly, dropping your arm over your face.
“This is insane,” you muttered to yourself.
Maybe you should throw the number away.
Instead, you unlocked your phone.
Your fingers hovered over the screen for a long time before finally typing the number in.
Still no name attached to it.
Your heart started beating embarrassingly hard.
You were literally just sending a text.
And still you stared at the message box for another full minute.
What the hell were you even supposed to say?
Hi, thanks for the life-changing tip?
Your thumb hovered again.
thank you for tonight. you really didn’t have to do that.
You read it over three times.
Before you could overthink yourself out of it, you hit send.
The message delivered immediately.
And suddenly your entire body flooded with regret.
“Oh my God,” you whispered, throwing your phone onto the bed beside you.
You rolled onto your side and squeezed your eyes shut hard enough to hurt.
Maybe he wouldn’t answer.
Honestly that would probably be better.
Your heart nearly stopped.
hey doll. was wondering when you’d text me.
Your stomach dropped so suddenly it almost felt like missing a step.
A/n: Ayyyy first published fic ever yall lmk if I should continue
