We Danced Anyway [Larry Stylinson // Travel 🖤 AU]

Chapter Two: Jet Lag

Harry zipped his rolling suitcase shut. He didn't want to be in the same city as Jason right now. Not the same city. Not the same country. Not the same continent.

Being twenty-one and crying into his mother's arms, it had suddenly taken very little convincing to talk him into attending the wedding. Truth be told, he really only had to be around his father for between thirty minutes and two hours for the festivities, but other than that, he could be completely alone.

He could swim in the ocean alone. He could sleep as late as he wanted and get a massage and drink way too many margaritas. His mother had jokingly suggested finding a handsome businessman to shag, which caused an exaggerated eye roll. Sex was the last thing he wanted. Yes, he was furious with Jason. Yes, as far as he knew, he and Jason were completely over. But he still loved him and fucking someone else still felt like a step much too far.

He just wanted to be alone on the other side of an ocean - very far away from him. Apparently after he'd fallen asleep, his mother had called his father and let him know he'd changed his mind and would be attending. Since it would be only one plane ticket and not the four needed by Anne, Gemma, Gemma's husband and Harry, he'd surprised him with a first class seat. He'd be arriving Wednesday night and have Thursday and Friday to enjoy the resort before the wedding Saturday afternoon, and he was leaving late the following day. Four days, four nights.

His manager at the confectionary, Liam, had been more than willing to take over for Harry for a few days upon hearing the news of his breakup. It was only a long weekend in the middle of the summer - not their busiest time period. And when it came down to it, Liam was the only person in the world he would trust to run things in his absence. He kept every receipt he'd ever been given with a reference file on his computer. If Harry needed to know how much vanilla extract they'd purchased in the store's history, Liam would have been able to tell him in five seconds.

The air was wet and far hotter than he expected as he exited the small carrier plane in Acapulco. Harry had awoken at seven that morning, Anne dropping him off at Heathrow before her shift. Granted, his flight was leaving at only half past nine, but he was happy to enjoy two glasses of champagne during the ninety minute journey to Frankfurt before he changed planes. A preflight Xanax was his welcome to the longer flight to Mexico City, aiding him in taking a nap on the twelve-hour flight.

It was already eleven at night according to his internal clock when they landed, but the sun shone brightly. It was six o'clock there, and jet-lag was setting in when he finally boarded the last flight to Acapulco, arriving at eight-fifteen. Goddamn, did he hate traveling. He didn't see how his father did it.

A uniformed man in a traditional chauffeur's uniform, complete with a hat and white gloves stood amongst several others, "Styles" written in a fancy font on a large placard. Pulling his singular piece of luggage behind him, along with the backpack slung on his exhausted, already sweating back, he approached him.