Whisper The Wind (Larry Stylinson)

Lead The Way

Three years later...

Turning thirty was not meant be like this. He was supposed to have made something of his life. Be happy in his career. Be contributing to the betterment of society and the planet. Plus there's meant to be a person. He's pretty sure of that. It was in the brochure. He had a plan, see. He's meant to have a person. And be gloriously happy. And perhaps be considering having kids. And there should definitely be a dog. A dog that he shares with his person. See? Clearly the universe has fucked up because there's supposed to be a person.

There isn't.

There is also the stark realisation that three years ago he would've scoffed at the mere thought of stepping foot inside this snooty bar on the top floor of the grey and lifeless building he now calls home for 10 hours a day. This wankersville, pretentiousness-personified, boring-as all-hell bar with wall-to-wall assholes where the cocktails do, in fact, cost about the same as a small family car. But here he is, listening to his father give a toast in his honour. Nice that he made the time in his busy schedule to turn up for ten minutes. Yeah. That politics "phase" turned out not to be so much of a phase and more of a raging, howling success. But of course it did.

He'd kicked off the evening with a double scotch before he'd barely walked in the door, and followed it up by downing three more in quick succession. It was probably a bad idea, lower inhibitions and an inability to keep his mouth shut and all that, he might actually be tempted to say something honest.

Louis thinks, not for the first time this evening, how absurd this all is, his life, this night. Everything. It might be cliched, but he really, honestly doesn't recognise the person he can see reflected in the glass of the windows.

His father is droning on and on about achievements or milestones or something, but in a way that makes the compliments and accolades reflect far better for him than for Louis. Well, that's to be expected really. He's such an asshat. But apparently whilst his personality and character make him a monumentally shit father, those same attributes are perfect for politics.

How did this become his life? This was never what it was supposed to be.

Thoughts creep into his head of curls and deep green eyes and long legs and broad shoulders. It's not that he's fixated exactly. Or obsessed. (Fuck off Niall.) He just finds himself daydreaming about what Harry's doing, downunder, riding the waves, watching the sunrise, living his life. Harry.

Of course he's thought about the 'what if' scenarios. What if he'd gotten Harry's number? What if he'd chased him down the street? What if he hadn't stayed here at his father's firm, wasting his life away in this miserable glass tower?

He's not living the life he wants. He hates it. All of it.

Louis hears his father coming in for a landing.

"But of course, we're here tonight to celebrate my sons thirtieth. He's doing a surprisingly good job holding down the fort while I'm away..."

Prick.

"...under my watchful eye of course..."

God, he's such an asshole. Louis' blood is starting to boil.

"And even though he hasn't made much of his life thus far..."

What a fucking tool.

"...I am pleased he's decided to stick around and finally contribute to the family business."

Fucking bag of dicks, son of a bitch. He wants so badly to wipe that smug smirk off his face.

"So here's hoping he can rise up and make me proud! Please raise your glasses and join me in wishing him a Happy Birthday!