Peter Pan and The Lost Boy ➸ louisandharry

Chapter Three

"Be a fucking man, Harry." I mocked. Niall laughed at my pathetic attempt to impersonate Wes. "You're too British for it." He said.

"But have you done what he asked you to do?" Niall asked; his Irish accent thick in his tone. "Yes, you know what he'd do if I let him down."

But then again, I always let him down. The scars on my back can support that thought. Merely my existence alone is already a disappointment to him.

"Horan, get your ass back to work." Lancaster yelled. "And that is my cue to leave. See you later, Styles!"

And with that, I am once again alone.

I'm so grateful for Niall. He's the only one who knows about Wes' cruelty and he continually tries his best to put my mind off of it. He had invited me to come to pubs with him. He told me that it helped relieve the stress but I know Wes would murder me if he finds out and he would find out.

Wes thinks everything that has nothing to do with the company is impractical and pointless. So, basically, that sums up my limitations in life.

The day was typical. At lunch, Niall talked about how this one girl beat him in football when he was in sixth grade and he swore he fell in love.

I wasn't one to talk about girls and Niall knew that.

Wes also knew but he didn't like that.

After lunch, it was a bunch of reviewing financial trends and proofreading columns that would go into the magazine.

Office hours are finally coming to a close. I, as per usual, am assigned to check everyone's work and to close the office.

"Harry Styles!"

Shit, that's Wes. Code red.

Niall shot me a warning look. I immediately composed myself into the man he wants to see although I already know how this would end and the employees outside would pretend that they don't hear the piece of leather hitting skin or else they would lose their jobs.

"Good evening, Sir." I politely welcomed as Wes angrily stomped his way into my office. I placed my hands behind me because they were shaking and I know Wes would call them out and he'd call me names again. I focused my gaze on his face; challenging his expression with a polite one, showing my inferiority and respect for him even though I had none of that.

"Harry Styles! This is the lousiest work you have ever done. I asked you to write an editorial. What the fuck is this? How can this magazine be passed down to this—this—"

"What, Wes? This what?" I replied, angrily.

"You watch your tone, Styles. I am your fa—"

"Don't you fucking dare! You might have married my mother but you are not my father and you never will be." I yelled.

"You're right. I am no father to a faggot."

I was bewildered by his words. I know Wes never liked my sexuality but he never called me out on it this way.

"You're an arse."

"Get the fuck out of this building."

Without hesitation, I stood up and walked out of my office, all of the other employees' eyes trailing behind me.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Niall whispered. I shook my head and continued on my way out.

For a summer night, the air was cold. I didn't bother to use my car. A stroll is what I need.

New York looks so alive. There are people everywhere despite the time and the weather.

I walk further into the city and spot a pub nearby. I took a deep breath and decided that I would go in. Wes is already mad so, might as well make the best of it.

The pub had the aroma of alcohol and, despite the fact that it reeked, I loved it. It felt like freedom.

The crowd was wild. It really rubs off. Before I knew it, I was dancing along. I'm not a good dancer but it's not like anyone minded my awful talent.

This is such a foreign feeling but I don't want it to go away.

Exhausted, I walk up to the bar. Due to my unmistakeable clumsiness, I stumble on some guy sitting on one of the bar stools.

"Oops."

"Hi." A brunet offered me a hand and helped me stand up. "You need to work on your feet." He said. "You get used to them." I said.

"A tuxedo? In a club? Were you left at the altar or something?" He teased. "That's an interesting theory but no." I replied. "Then what is a man in a fine ass tuxedo doing in a club?" He asked. "To feel alive." 

He looked at me, curiosity clearly peeking at him judging by his expression.

"Well, you're in the wrong place with the right person." He put down his drink and hopped off the stool. "C'mon, let's get the fuck outta here." He said. "But we just met."

"That's just part of the adventure."

I don't know what part of my brain responded but here I am walking out of a club with a stranger who had charming blue eyes.