True to his word, Louis returned to the arena two days following the fight. In the meantime, he filed the paperwork to be recognized as Harry Styles’ lawyer. It made getting into the arena a great deal easier.
A security guard led him through the labyrinth of tunnels this time, straight to a stone door. The man unlocked the door for him, told him to be careful and locked the door back up again once he’d stepped through it. The room was small, with a bed, a toilet and not much else. He noted that it also felt chilly, but he couldn’t see a blanket or a pillow or anything that might offer some form of comfort.
Harry was on his bed, shirtless, leaning back against the wall behind it, a hand pressed to his ribs when Louis came in. He didn’t move, but his gaze did focus in on him with that acute intensity that didn’t fail to make Louis feel uncomfortable.
The bruising around Harry’s throat had darkened considerably, into the very distinct shape of meaty fingers. “You can sit,” Harry croaked, and Louis startled.
“Stop hovering at the door like you’re trapped in a cage with a fucking animal.” Harry’s voice sounded impossibly deeper, raspier, with the same trashed quality it’d had two days ago, but talking seemed to come to him easier now.
Louis swallowed hard. “Sorry,” he amended. “You just look ….”
“Like shit,” Harry supplied helpfully. “I’ve heard. Sit.”
Louis shifted forward and then, more awkward than he’d like to admit, slowly sat down on the edge of Harry’s bed. “I need…” he cleared his throat and then swallowed again.
“I wasn’t familiar with your case before, the first time I saw you fight. If you could, I would like for you to explain what happened, from your point of view.”
Harry didn’t say anything for long enough that Louis turned to look at him, and found the boy just staring at him. Just as Louis considered repeating himself, Harry quietly murmured, “you were serious about trying to be my lawyer.”
“Of course,” Louis said immediately, even while he suspected that Harry had been speaking mostly to himself. “They kept you imprisoned without a trial for eight months. That’s basis enough for a retrial. Plus Lady Pierre’s suicide massively biased the jury. Something beyond your control made you look guilty. Grimshaw’s death, something beyond your control, might be enough to make you look innocent.”
“I am innocent,” Harry cut in harshly, his tone made harsher by the damage done to his throat.
“Of course,” Louis repeated, much gentler. “I wouldn’t have offered to represent you if I’d thought justice was already being served.”
That seemed to settle something in Harry a little. He tilted his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. “This is career suicide,” he rumbled quietly.
“You can die literally every month. I think my career will be fine in comparison, yeah?” Louis said dismissively, waving a hand just as dismissively. Then he lifted the pad he’d brought with him, as if to silently imply, let’s get on with it now, yeah?
Harry went back to staring at him quietly. “I know who you are. Your father. He matters. If -”
“I know who my father is,” Louis cut in, but his tone was still gentle. “It will benefit you. If he didn’t matter, you’d have no chance in hell. A prince of the royal family accused you of raping a lady. The fact that my father matters makes me matter. Me mattering and being your lawyer will make your case matter. It’ll get your case on the floor.”
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Vine de Nada (larry stylinson au)
FanfictionLouis had never been to a show before. It'd taken years for his father to finally coax him into attending a match. The arena was built from the ground up, the stone walls sufficiently blocking out the natural light of the moon and stars in the sky...
