Murphy's Law ✔️

Chapter One.

January 2020.

Harry hated his best friend.

I mean, don't get him wrong, he was a great friend. He was the type of guy who would carry Harry into his elevator and tuck him into bed with a glass of water on his nightstand after a long night, would scratch Harry's scalp just like he liked it when he was sad, and encouraged him to always be his greatest self, but like, really?

It was a Tuesday night and they were standing outside of a strip club in South London. It wasn't really where he wanted to be at that moment- would much rather be in his bed with Nyx purring on his chest and a cuppa on his nightstand. It clearly showed on his face, too, because Niall threw out an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes in his friend's direction.

"Mate, it's your birthday, can you at least try to look a little more grateful?"

Harry scoffed. "Please, Niall, I've just turned thirty and you're taking me to get a lap dance. I thought we were over this scene like, nine years ago."

"Harry," Niall urged, turning and placing a hand on his friend's shoulder, squeezing it rather roughly, "exactly. It's your thirtieth birthday. You're not married, you're kind of a loner, and you haven't gotten pussy in months. Live a little."

"Yes, Niall, thank you for reminding me of my pathetic existence. Happy fucking birthday to me," he huffed, and Niall rolled his eyes again, stepping through the velvet rope and into the large room, shaking his head.

They'd never been to this spot before, Niall had found it on Google maps whilst sitting on Harry's couch with a box of pizza in front of him. He grinned- quite sinisterly- and urged Harry to get up and put on a 'nice, loose fitting suit' and follow him out. He gave him no hint as to where he was taking his friend but Harry had an inkling that it would have to do with boobs, and as it turned out, he knew his friend a little too well at this point.

It was a warehouse style building with dark lighting and the scent of cheap perfume, accented with red leather booths and candles on tabletops and a neon sign that hung over a large stage with the words 'Girls! Girls! Girls!' splayed across it in a cursive font.

The crowd was mostly men with the exception of a few ladies- probably around the age of Harry or older. It made him cringe a bit as he glanced around at the hungry eyes of men eyeing the obviously younger women who pranced around the room with trays of drinks and bottles, some completely topless or simply in a lingerie set that looked entirely uncomfortable and too tight. They plastered fake grins on their painted faces, and yeah, Harry was over this life. He really just felt bad for them.

Don't get him wrong, he respected these women to the fullest extent- he himself could never do the things these women did, it was awfully hard work and they truly made their money's worth. But in all actuality, who wanted to dote on older, married men all night? Hard fucking work.

There were a few dancers on the stage at that point- two on either ends of the stage and one absolutely working the pole in ways that physics could not explain, and they were wonderfully beautiful but really, just not tickling Harry's fancy. As he and Niall settled into a booth and ordered a bottle of champagne from the lovely waitress, he took the time to respectfully admire the dancers on the stage. They were fantastically talented but otherwise, Harry was in no mood to sit and completely perv on them. His best friend was another story.

"Fuck me, mate, she's a fit one, isn't she?" Niall nodded in the direction of the pole on the stage towards the brunette, and Harry rolled his eyes.

"She's talented," he affirmed in a much less creepy way. Niall scowled and leaned across the table, folding his hands on it.

"What has gotten into you, H? You used to love this shit."