In the dim light of a pub somewhere, a man looks up from the bottom of his glass to a seemingly century old television settled in the corner. The image on the screen flickers and the colors fade as static begins to web across, but he keeps watching. The distant, scratchy warble of a woman reporter’s voice sounds almost excited. A breaking news title scrolls along the bottom, and in finer print, something that brings, sitting in a worn bar stool at 11 pm, the man’s brows to raise and a ruddy smile to tug up his lips. He taps the grimy top of the bar to alert the bartender of his order.
"Give me a shot, toast to that Styles’ chap."
~
A group of friends crowd around their coffee table, legs crossed, blankets folded around their shoulders as the television is on for some sort of background static noise as they play a drunken board game.
One throws her head back with a tremulous laugh, which is interrupted by another voice, one of shock.
"Did you guys see the verdict on that crazy case in London?" The other says suddenly, his eyes glued on the television that he quickly turns the volume up on.
The room falls silent besides the woman speaking with a look of disbelief on her face. The footage cuts to the marble steps leading up to the front of a royal looking courthouse, and a lean figure being led down them. His eyes lift to the level of the camera, before a simple grin pulls up onto his lips. Another man is striding beside him, with a less than subtle hand on his lower back.
"He’s cute." One says paired with a sinful giggle, which earns her a slap on the shoulder. "What?" She caws, looking at her friend incredulously.
~
She’s leaned against the cabinets in the tiny kitchen of her flat, waiting for the meat to brown in a pan on the stove. She brings a blue mug to her lips to sip tentatively at her tea, sniffing absently as she glances over at the little kitchen television sitting on the counter next to the fridge.
Her eyes widen as tears press hot, and she rushes to grab her mobile off the counter, rapidly keying out the number she knows by heart.
The tone chirps on, until a familiar voice answers, “Gemma?” her best friend drawls out tiredly.
"My brother," she lets out a choked laugh, voice thick with tears, she covers her mouth with loose fingers as she lets her head fall forward with a broken cry.
"Gem, are you okay?"
She breathes in deeply, looking back up at the television, reading the big red letters over and over until a wobbling smile stretches onto her wet lips. She lets out another sob, before nodding as though her friend can see her, smile doubling in size as she reads those words again until she fully comprehends them.
Harry Styles Found Not Guilty
~
Pop!
The champagne cork launches from the olive neck, followed by a stream of fizzing bubbles and a loud laugh.
Liam grins, brows raised in offering as he pours plentiful glasses into five delicate flutes. Zayn reaches for his, unabashedly letting his eyes settle on Liam, who flushes under his intense gaze.
Louis delicately palms the glass, raising it to the air before glancing over at his boy, who’s lips were pulled shut but turned upward in an idyllic smile now. His green eyes glinting with the slightest hint of an emotion void of despair. Louis doesn’t realize he’s staring until Niall clears his throat.
Harry’s smile only grows, and Louis thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, the first time he’s ever seen him genuinely happy.
