Letting Go (Harry Styles AU)

Chapter 2: Party Hard, Piss 'em Off

The Owl Club – Harvard University

Harry Styles

"For what it's worth, we had some great parties." Dexter patted my shoulder, trying to stifle a chuckle.

I nodded before giving the Owl clubhouse one final look over. The columns had been repainted earlier this morning to cover the scuff marks from the big soiree last night. There were no longer beer bottles littering the book shelves or vomit inside the front entryway. There wasn't a single hint of estrogen in the entire building apart from the cleaning crew that had gotten here early to perform damage control. For any important alumni or entering students, it would pass off as one of the finest and most historic clubs on campus. In fact, I could already detect the smoky scent of steak that the chef had begun preparing for incoming club members of days past. Older men, men who had become important to society in the political arena, were sure to be bustling around here any minute. Men like my father.

I shuddered at the thought and pushed it away. My father wouldn't dare show his face today of all days – the day his only son flunked out of Harvard.

Dexter, who had already begun eyeing some freshman girls walking by the lawn, turned to look at me once again. His matted blonde hair had been combed down flat against his skull, his button up pressed to perfection to try and impress the incoming alumni. Dexter was a junior who had been "punched", Owl's term for invited, into the brotherhood at the beginning of the year. Like many of the club members, he was in the Business school and hoping to get into Harvard Law at the end of next year.

"It's a shame you got kicked out, you were the youngest guy to be invited to the parties." Dexter shrugged, a tinge of jealousy evident in his eyes.

I couldn't help but smirk smugly at his expression. If there was one thing I knew how to do, it was party. Technically Harvard didn't have fraternity houses and the greek scene was not as intense as I had hoped it would be when I first got to Boston. The finals clubs, however, were another matter entirely. Notorious for being particular, clubs like the Owl only allowed notable underclassmen inside their hallowed doors every Friday night. Even then, only a few of those summoned were asked to become members their junior or senior year. Most of the guys asked to the parties were sophomores who had already proven themselves.

I was a freshman.

It wasn't that I was a legacy and that my dad had been a part of the brotherhood when he went to school here. It wasn't that I had the last name Styles that was infamous around the world thanks to his success. No, I did it on my own. Once I saw how lame the greek parties were, I hosted some myself. I knew where to get the best alcohol, I knew what music to play, what food needed to be there. I had more than enough money to fund it and a gigantic apartment to hold a couple hundred drunk students. Soon, everyone was knocking at my door, hoping to get into my apartment to see if the stories were true; if a freshman could really throw a better booze fest than everyone else. That's when the Owl club showed up at my door.

At first I was skeptical and refused to follow the same path my father had, the path he had tried to push on me ever since I was young. But, then it hit me. I could become a part of his little game, be the best Owl nominee that the club had ever seen, make it seem like we both wanted the same things.

And then blow everything to shit.

Party hard, piss 'em off.

That's my motto.

Just as I was leaving the clubhouse for the last time, Coldplay's Yellow went off from my back pocket. I pulled my phone out, sliding my thumb across the screen, not even bothering to check the caller ID. I had a feeling I knew who it was.