Heavy Heart

Having never skipped a class a day in her life, Daria soon realized what it was like to free yourself from obligations entirely. She’d never simply done what she wanted without worrying about being somewhere on time, needing to check in on her mother, or having to skip events because she worked in the morning or had too much homework. It was like a drug; after she skipped class on Monday, she asked friends to sign her in on attendance sheets thrice more during the week, Litzy in Dr. James’s class twice.

So when Saturday rolled around, Daria assumed the best repayment would be inviting her along to the Halloween party in London she was going to with Harry. It was set that they would go to the club that Violet’s brother-in-law owned, Blaze, and stay at Harry’s house on the North End afterwards. Unfortunately, when word got to Violet that they were going to “her club,” she boarded the coach to London with them out of entitlement. She sat with Poppy and Litzy, talking their ears off, while Daria quietly panicked a few rows back with Olivia.

“This is like meeting his family, you know?” Daria mumbled nervously, turning over the cat mask she planned to wear that evening over and over in her hands. “I kind of skipped over that part considering his family took me in before we started dating. This is the real scary part.”

Olivia looked back at her through layers of glittery eye makeup – her artistic interpretation of what a Grecian goddess would have worn, matched to her draped toga. “Well, you’ve already got an encounter with Zayn and Niall under your belt,” she responded comfortingly, slipping her a flask with a wink. “What’s the two more? You’ll be fine.”

She brought the flask to her lips and took a long swig of the bitter liquid, choking it down just barely. Moving her nails to her mouth, Daria nibbled at them absently, her mind absolutely racing at the thought of being in the same room as Harry’s four best friends and band mates. Surely they would be hard on her, teasing her if not anything worse. She dwelled on whether or not they would like her, if they would think she was too quiet or got too stupid when she was drunk, whether she would be as pretty as their girlfriends and if they would think she and Harry were a good match.

“Stop biting,” Olivia reprimanded softly, encouraging her to take another sip of whatever the hell she’d poured in that flask. “It’s all going to be okay. They’ll love you. If you’re important to Harry, I’m sure you’ll be important to them too.”

“The sooner you get to talk to a professional the better,” a voice chimed from up front. “You’re being positively neurotic, Little Celebrity.”

Daria’s horrified eyes met Violet’s, smug on either side of her little upturned nose. Someone must have let slip to her that she was going to see Poppy’s therapist in now just a week’s time. The grin on her lips seemed to have every intention of cutting Daria down to what she deemed fit, somewhere below whatever status she perceived herself as. Violet couldn’t stand that the eyes on campus followed Daria when she walked by, that she couldn’t be the talk of the town herself.

When her gaze trickled over to Poppy herself, she found the girl looking sheepish beneath her San Francisco Giants flat brim – she was going as a ‘baseball player,’ or as baseball player-esque as she could look in a hat, a jersey, a pair of form-fitting leggings and tall white socks. Immediately, Daria knew that Poppy had mentioned it, most likely by accident. She would never do anything to maliciously hurt Daria.

It was Olivia she turned to, who was sympathetically holding up the flask once more. Daria snatched it out of her hands and took another long swig, letting the fiery liquid wash her feelings away.
They arrived at the club by the tube, coming up out of the underground as a giggling, messy unit. Already Litzy was walking through the streets with her heels in her hand, the skirt on her Pink Ladies costume blowing gently in the late October breeze. They walked right past the line and through the front door, with Violet proudly leading them in the only way she ever could.

Litzy immediately lead them to the bar, only to find a particular Irishman drunkenly slurring at the bartender to get him more beer. Daria reddened, knowing that this was Harry’s friend Niall, one who she had encountered at the bar once before. He was dressed as what seemed to be rather much like himself – a backwards snapback and a loose-fitting basketball jersey. When his gaze landed on her, his face lit up immediately, lips spreading to reveal straight teeth lined with little bands of braces.

“Daria!” he cried, stumbling forth to her. “I’m so glad you’re finally here! We’ve been waiting ages!”

He wrapped her in a hug, his arms looping sloppily around her waist. She stiffened awkwardly in his embrace, not knowing how to respond – she’d only ever met him once. “Where’s Harry?” she asked, watching over Niall’s shoulder as her friends ordered their drinks.

“I like you with your hair down,” a familiar, throaty voice murmured in her ear, as if on cue. She knew straight away it was Harry, and this time when a set of arms wrapped around her waist from behind she melted comfortably into them. “You look sexy.”

Her blush deepened. No one had ever uttered those words in her direction before. She’d never considered herself to be much of anything, much less sexy, especially to a man as undeniably sexy as Harry Styles. She quickly wriggled out of his embrace and turned to see him dressed in a white button down and black slacks, a pair of black glasses perched on his nose.

“I’m Clark Kent,” he answered before she could even ask, pulling open his button down to reveal a blue shirt with the Superman logo emblazoned on the chest.

“Well you look… sexy yourself,” she replied awkwardly, before quickly shutting her mouth and pressing a hand to her masked face. She could hear him laughing, the fact that her eyes were very much so sealed tightly shut blocking out the sight. He peeled the hand away from her face and replaced it with his lips, and then looped her arm in his.

“Let’s go get your friends. We have a fancy VIP booth and everything tonight. Living like proper kings and queens, we are.”

The anxiety returned as they corralled her friends and a babbling Niall, and Harry lead them up the stairs to a loft-looking balcony, studded with stars. Daria’s eyes spotted several British celebrities before landing on the group she was most nervous to see. They sat at booth, laughing hysterically at something someone had said or did, clinking their pints of beer together.

“Lads, this is Daria,” Harry introduced, each of the boys waving to her amicably. The smile on his face was the proudest she’d ever seen, causing her heart to give a little jump. “You remember Zayn, right? This is Liam and Louis, two of my best mates.”

Daria bowed her head awkwardly, not knowing quite what to do. “Nice to meet you all,” she greeted, giving them her best smile from beneath her mask. “Harry’s said nothing but good things about you guys. Obviously. I’m sorry, I’m not very good at this.”

The alcohol in her system was obviously at work, liberating her speech a little more than she would like as she greeted them. Harry kissed her temple before retreating to the bar to grab her a drink. She introduced her friends in return, just before Violet managed to slink her way into the booth next to Zayn.

“Remember me?” she murmured coyly, batting her false eyelashes in his direction. Daria suppressed a laugh as Zayn rolled his eyes, just before an arm grabbed her and pulled her down into the booth. She turned to see a boy with a closely-shaven head, dressed in a sharp looking suit.

“Bond,” Liam introduced himself. “James Bond. And this is my partner, Ms. Moneypenny.” He gestured to a sour looking Louis, who was clearly dressed as Waldo, who proceeded to shove him and fall into a fit of laughter. Daria paled, glancing around for her friends only to find they had ran off to dance. She found herself at a loss, completely alone with two of Harry’s best friends. It was clear how much she stuck out at that table, absolutely terrified of the boys joking around next to her.

“Shots!” Harry announced as he arrived at the table with a tray, an assortment of drinks balanced on them. “And you know, while everyone else may be oblivious to it, I have a superior sense of balance. Being Superman and all. I have a superior everything.”

“Does that include a superior ability to knock back a drink?” Zayn sparred, blocking an overzealous Violet from his view. “Or will I be forced to outdrink you again, Styles?”

Before Daria could realize it, she was taking one shot, and then another, and then another. Louis’s hand wrapped firmly around her wrist and dragged her to where her friends danced, brazenly rubbing his body against hers to the music until Harry forcefully stepped in. His comment about her being sexy rang in her ears as she attempted to dance against him in the sexiest way she knew how, trying to fulfill his compliment but not really knowing how. Clubbing had never been her thing, much less being sexy.

Olivia gave her an approving thumbs up as she danced with Niall, and as Zayn brought another round of drinks Daria realized that she was much worse for the wear. The room was spinning, the floor beneath her feet seemed to be at a slant, and Harry’s murmurs in her ear sounded garbled. And as she knocked back another drink with Zayn – as Violet watched sullenly from the booth – she slowly faded into blackness.



It was if she’d opened her eyes for the first time in hours when she became aware again, bent over a toilet bowl in Harry’s bathroom. There was a loud rapping at the door, causing her head to pound violently as she reached to flush down the contents that had previously occupied her stomach.

“Come in,” she beckoned weakly, resting her face on the lip of the porcelain bowl. Had she been more sober she would have known better – how often could Harry have cleaned the place? – but her head was still heavy with liquor.

The door opened to reveal none other than Zayn Malik, still dressed in an all black outfit, complete with a leather jacket, his hair perfectly coiffed as always.

“What are you supposed to be?” she asked, her words still slurring.

“A greaser,” he responded, a sheepish yet somehow smug smile on his dark rose lips.

“Of course,” she spluttered through a fit of giggles. “You fit your stereotype Zayn.”

“Well if you’re going to be like that, perhaps you deserve to be here with none of my help!” he teased indignantly, turning to walk out of the bathroom. But as he went to leave Daria wretched again, and he immediately went to her side.

“I don’t remember anything,” she mumbled, wiping her mouth. “I think I blacked out. I don’t remember coming home.”

“Probably,” Zayn muttered back, wrinkling up his nose before reaching up and flushing the toilet again. “You’ve gotten yourself into a bit of a mess, haven’t you now?”

“Where’s Harry?” she asked with heavy lips, curling up against the bathtub with her knees to her chest. She wanted to be sure that everything was okay with him; that she hadn’t said anything stupid or made him irritated.

“Cleaning up. Violet’s broken a vase downstairs,” Zayn explained, shaking his head bitterly. “I think she’s passed out now, though. Finally.”

“She’s a bitch,” Daria spat bitterly, earning a hearty laugh from Zayn. “I’m sorry. I’ve probably messed up everything. You don’t need to be here taking care of me.”

His deep brown eyes softened, a light smile curving onto his lips. He shook his head slightly before moving to sit next to her by the tub. He pushed the hair out of her face, the long curls Litzy had spent so much time on now a complete mess.

“I was so nervous to meet you all,” Daria admitted, her drunken state again getting the best of her. “You’re rather intimidating even if you don’t mean to be.”

“They’re a lot to handle, that lot,” Zayn agreed, the light from above casting long shadows on his face. “They’re even a lot for me sometimes. But I think you did great, I really do. I think they all love you already.”

Her heart skipped a beat at Zayn’s words. “You mean it?”

He nodded, wrapping his arms around his dark black jeans. “I like you Daria. You’re not like the other girls,” he confirmed, glancing over at her with a quiet grin. “I think we get each other, you know? Or we would, if we were more sober. And if you remembered most of the things you told me tonight, but we can make up for that later.”

Her heart swelled in her chest, taking in the words that left Zayn’s mouth slowly but excitedly. He liked her; Zayn Malik truly liked her. She wasn’t over exaggerating the situation, not at all. The words had truly come from his mouth. And with that, Daria burst in to drunken tears.

“Oh god,” Zayn muttered, horrified, taking her into his arms. “Oh god, don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry,” she muttered through her tears, wiping them away from her eyes with a light laugh. “It’s going to sound stupid, but I’m just so happy.”

Zayn squeezed his arms around her comfortingly just as a familiar figure appeared in the door. It was Harry, his hair mussed and costume completely dismantled. A look of concern melted into a look of relief, the winning smile coming to his face once more.

“There you are, love,” he breathed, running a hand through his hair. “Is everything okay in here?”

“Yes,” Daria said through a yawn. “I think I’m okay now. Just sleepy.”

“Well let’s go to bed then,” he murmured, scooping her up and taking her to his room. She glanced back over her shoulder and waved to Zayn, who shook his head and chuckled before waving back. And as she curled into Harry in his bed, slithered out of her dress and into a pair of his sweats and an old shirt, she felt drunk on Zayn Malik’s words. Because his approval meant to world to her, and even more so: his friendship.