It always confused him.

Every time he offered to pay, whether it was on your nails, on your coffee, on clothes or makeup or food, you'd tell him no. You would tell him that you had it, you could pay for it. And you always did.

But, James didn't like being told no.

He also had no idea how you had money. Not to be rude. You weren't exactly well off. You were a young adult in New York who regularly was able to get your nails done. To buy new clothes. To buy good groceries for your apartment.

And he didn't know how.

He knew you had no job, he knew you weren't stealing, and he knew it wasn't his money.

And one day, while you were hanging clothes, he was sat on your bed, reading a book.

The two of you had gone to the mall a few days ago, and you'd finally gotten to washing the clothes you'd bought, and sort through the clothes you were keeping and the ones you were donating.

You had picked up a top from the clothes basket, a cute white and blue baby doll top you'd gotten from H&M, putting the plastic pink hanger through the neck hole when James spoke up.

"How do you have money?"

You blinked, furrowing your brows as you looked at him, hanging the hanger in your closet.

"What?"

"How do you have money? Because we both know you don't have a job. And, not to be rude, sweetheart, you don't have a job."

"......" You just stared at him, blinking, as you turned to face him fully, crossing your arms over your tank top, "If I tell you, you can't get upset."

He furrowed his brows, his metal hand placing his bookmark in the page and setting his book down, sitting up straighter as he looked at you a little more seriously.

"Is it bad?"

"You just need to promise me, James."

He stared for a moment, weighing the options in his head, before nodding. "I won't get mad."

"......I used to be a Twitter model. I'd sell.... pictures and videos. I started the day after I turned 18, and I completely stopped once we started dating."

He stared at you for a moment longer, jaw tightening. You could see the gears turning in his head, mind working overtime to process the information.

His jaw twitched, fingers clenching the bed sheets beneath him. The room felt suffocating for a moment, the confession hanging heavier than the humid New York air coming in through your open window.

He stared at you a minute longer, eyes a storm of a million different emotions. You could see anger there, jealousy, maybe... betrayal? His jaw was still clenched, tendons in his neck visibly strained as he processed. When he finally spoke, his tone was almost painfully neutral.

"You... you sold yourself?"