"Too demure. Too cat lady-ish," Zara said to herself as she rooted through Wednesday's wardrobe, looking at all of the options. She pulled out a printed dress that had been in there since 2013, staring at it with a grimace before looking back to Wednesday sat perched on the edge of the bed. "Just downright ugly."

"Heeey," Wednesday said, furrowing her brows. "That was one of the dresses I wore on the first ever tour with the boys! It's got a special place in my heart."

"It should have a special place in the bin," Zara muttered under her breath, turning back to look through the rail.

Wednesday narrowed her eyes, leaning forward and swiftly kicking her ass, enough to make an apologetic laugh tumble from Zara's lips.

"Fine, fine. It's nostalgic, blah blah blah. I'll leave the ugly dress alone."

"As you should. You're finding me an outfit for tonight, not critiquing my entire wardrobe," she replied, rolling her eyes as she took a swig from the glass of wine in her hand.

Zara continued flicking through, until she landed on an oversized black leather blazer, pulling it out with a raised eyebrow.

"Now this...this I can work with this," she smiled, placing it carefully onto the bed beside Wednesday.

Sometimes, it was easy to forget after years of watching her lounge about in joggers and crocs, that Zara's entire job involved being a stylist. Putting outfits together for magazine spreads and editorials. She always pushed Wednesday to step outside of her comfort zone, wear clothes that hugged her figure and showed her true personality. When she'd begged her to let her pick her outfit for that night, dress her up like her own personal barbie doll, Wednesday had swallowed her nerves and agreed, hoping that whatever she chose wasn't too extreme.

She rooted around some more as Wednesday watched, her lip caught between her teeth. The night before, when Zara had shown up at her doorstep, they'd cracked open the tequila and talked until the early hours of the morning. Wednesday had filled her in on everything she'd missed, Zara listening with wide eyes and occasional exaggerated interruptions to express her shock or disgust. They'd covered every topic possible; Harry, therapy, her mum, that article. The next day, that morning, they'd decided in order to get rid of their fuzzy hungover heads, they'd go out and grab some food, mooch around the city. And then, Zara had ceremoniously announced that because it was a Saturday, they were heading out later that night for drinks. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

"I think that in order to make your new, amazing hair the centre piece of the whole look, we should keep it minimal. No colours, no fancy textures. Just a nice structured, black on black outfit," Zara concluded, turning to Wednesday with a happy expression, the items she'd chosen folded between her hands.

She placed them down beside her, on top of the blazer, and stepped back.

"Well go on then, off you pop for a shower. I'll pick out some shoes for you in the meantime," Zara said, nodding her head in the direction of the door.

"Yes ma'am," Wednesday replied, saluting sarcastically in her direction before heading towards the bathroom.

She quickly showered, shaving and exfoliating before stepping out and brushing her teeth. Her eyes trailed over the notes and then her own reflection, noticing today's note on the yellow pad.

'Your stretch marks are cute. Your height means you can reach things from the top shelf. Your spots are normal.'

Looking over the words as she continued to brush her teeth, toothpaste foaming around the edges of her mouth, she nodded assertively and determinedly.

"Your swetch marks are coot. Your height meams you can reaf thimgs from the tob shelf. Your spops are norbal," she repeated, struggling with the foam and brush in her mouth.

She leant forward, spitting into the basin and rinsing her mouth out, before standing back up to see Zara's head peeking through the door, an eyebrow raised at her inquisitorially. Wednesday yelped at the image of her reflection behind her, clutching her chest.

"I wish you'd stop sneaking around like a fucking cat. Gonna give me a heart attack," she said, looking back at her with widened eyes.

"Sorry but I heard you speaking to yourself and wanted to check you weren't having some sort of psychotic break," she said in amusement. Her eyes left Wednesday's to travel over the mirror and the subsequent notes pinned to all edges of it. Wednesday's cheeks tinged pink as she realised for the first time that she'd completely forgotten they weren't just visible to her, free to be read by Zara too this entire time. "Ah, I was going to ask you about those earlier."

"They're um...they're part of my plan," she said, stumbling over her words as she worked to explain the plan that definitely sounded like complete lunacy to anyone else, with a bit of logic. "To start gaining a more positive self-image. Fake it till you make it and all that," she laughed weakly. "I know it probably looks like I've completely lost the plot."

Zara leant against the wall, crossing her arms across her chest as she lowered her brows.

"I don't think it's crazy at all. In fact, I think it's a pretty good fucking idea. It's about time you started believing in your own sauce," she said, shrugging like it was just a fact she was stating. "More people should do this. Start being nicer to themselves."

"So, you don't think I'm a raging weirdo?" Wednesday asked, a hint of nervousness still held in her tone.

"Well, I never said that," Zara replied, smirking after a moment as Wednesday released a breath. "But no, I don't think I'd ever think that someone wanting to try and better themselves was weird or embarrassing. You've gotta do what you've gotta do man."

Wednesday smiled gratefully at her, feeling validated in the knowledge that what she was doing maybe wasn't so strange after all. And even if it was, who cared? It felt like it was slowly starting to help her, force her to see the beauty in herself and at the end of the day, that was the goal. Fuck anyone else who thought the strategy was odd.

"Though, can I ask something?" Zara said, biting back a grin.

"What?" Wednesday said, looking back to her with pinched eyebrows.

Zara's eyes flicked to the post it note pad on top of the small drawers next to the basin, a spark of opportunity flashing through her.

"Can I write one?"

Looking to the post it notes, Wednesday was even more confused. "What, one about yourself?"

She was already thinking of where her other pad of post it notes were so she could give some to Zara, letting her indulge in the self-love journey too, before Zara stepped forward and shook her head with a laugh.

"No, no, not about me. One about you, idiot."

A small, confused grin graced Wednesday's lips as she clutched the towel to her.

"You want to write one...about me?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I?" she asked, stepping to the side of her and reaching to grab one of the notes, taking Wednesday's lack of immediate refusal as sufficient permission for her to do so.

Zara grabbed the pen and stood up, directly in front of her, eyeing Zara from head to toe as she tapped the pen against her chin. Wednesday clutched the towel tighter around her, feeling her chinks heating up under the prolonged gaze.

"Do you have to stare at me? I feel like a piece of prize meat in a butchers window," Wednesday whined, fidgeting from one foot to the other.

"What?" Zara said, shrugging her shoulders. "Just trying to narrow down my options. It's hard since you're so peng."

Wednesday rolled her eyes, but wore a small grin as Zara leant down, beginning to write.

"Imagine if Harry tried to do this, he'd internally combust. There wouldn't be enough paper in the world for his compliments," Zara mumbled as she wrote, and the sheer mention of Harry so casually made Wednesday stiffen up unconsciously.

Noticing her silence, Zara looked up to her, pursing her lips. "Sorry. Bad time to mention him." A pause. "It is true though."

Leaning her hand onto the basin, Wednesday breathed out a laugh. "Would you please shut up?"

Zara laughed under her breath as she wrote, keeping her words hidden from Wednesday by cupping her hand around the small wad of paper. She kept trying to sneak a look, leaning over to see what was being written about her, but every time she did, Zara just leant further and further away.

After a few more minutes, Zara straightened up with a smug expression.

"Done."

Before she could say it out loud, she peeled the note from the pad and firmly stuck it to the top centre of the mirror, directly above where her reflection ended. Wednesday narrowed her eyes, reading her beautifully cursive writing.

'You have the most infectious laugh of anyone I know. You're so clever that it pisses me off sometimes because I want to be as smart as you. Your legs are amazingly long and it makes you look like a runway model. You don't like your chubby cheeks, but I'd kill to have them. And finally, you have an exquisite bunda.'

Turning to Zara with a smile she couldn't hold back, she spoke. "There's only meant to be three compliments."

Zara returned the expression, shrugging. "I know, but I couldn't narrow it down, so you get two extra compliments for free. I'm serious about the bunda by the way, I could do a thousand squats and lunges a day and still not have anything close to what you're packing back there. It's annoying."

A laugh escaped Wednesday's lips as she turned her head, looking over her shoulder at the reflection of her ass in the mirror. She had to admit that despite her own issues with her body, the one thing she'd always been happy with had been her bum.

"Anyway, enough of us two being melts. Go get dressed whilst I get in the shower. Your outfit is laid out for you on the bed."

Wednesday shot her a lopsided grin, nodding her head before walking to the door. But she could feel the warm effects of Zara's words lighting up her insides.

Two hours later, after extensive preparation and endless amounts of makeup, hairspray and lipstick, they arrived at the bar in Mayfair that Zara had booked them a table at. It was exclusive, one of those 'need to know a person who knows a person' type venues that existed solely on word of mouth and connection. Usually, the vibes of those places were too posh, too stuffy for Wednesday. But as they were escorted through the hallway to the main area of the venue, it was loud, raucous and energetic.

As they entered the bar, it was cram packed full of people conversing and singing and having a good time. It had a rustic feel, with the long oak bar and shelving, the dimmed lighting. There were trees sprawling in the far corners of the room, branches curling up the walls strategically and making everything look like a scene from The Hobbit. Her eyes flashed over the endless tables and booths; the people situated at them far too engrossed in their own conversations to notice them being guided in. Everyone was in similar outfits; dressy, stylish, but not too formal.

She felt more at ease in her own outfit. When she was finally ready, she'd walked into the guest bedroom where Zara had been applying her makeup to show her the final reveal and had been greeted with a low wolf whistle, appreciation coating her—partly at Zara's stylistic choices and partly because of how good she looked. The whole outfit was black—the oversized blazer, the skin-tight plain black mini dress underneath, the sheer tights on her legs. Even her docs were black, and the only source of colour, other than from her makeup and caramel highlights, were the gold layered necklaces around her neck and the hoops in her ears. Even Wednesday had to admit she looked cool; like an off duty assassin.

"Right this way," the server smiled, weaving them through the oodles of bodies and borderline chaos to their two-person table in the middle of the floor.

"Jesus Christ, it's packed in here," Wednesday muttered to Zara, looking around wide eyed.

It had been so long since she'd been out that she'd forgotten the buzz it could give her. To be around the masses of other people and feel the energy of a bar, feel the happiness of being out in the world. She loved being at home, but she also couldn't deny the part of her that loved the madness of going out. That part of her had been buried in sadness during the past year, becoming someone who she used to be instead of who she was. As her eyes flicked over the various couples and friends and work colleagues within the vicinity, she was grateful that Zara had brought her out. She needed it, more than she realised.

Once they were seated, Zara looked at the server and smiled. "We will have a bottle of the 2002 Dom Perignon please, with two glasses."

"Good choice, I'll place your order through now," the woman smiled, clutching her iPad under her arm before walking away.

"Bloody hell, you're feeling fancy tonight," Wednesday said, eyes wide at the drink's choice as she flicked her hair over her shoulder. "I swear those bottles cost over a hundred pound a pop."

"Well why not? We've both got the money, and life is for living. Plus, you've got a breakup to recover from and I've got a promotion to celebrate, so."

Wednesday's eyes darted to hers, her jaw parting in shock as she stiffened up.

"You what? You've been promoted at work?!"

Zara grinned in that way that told her it was true, her eyes sparkling with excitement, and Wednesday couldn't hold back the excited yelp that escaped her lips as she clapped her hands together.

"Oh my god Z, that's incredible! Why didn't you tell me before?!"

Zara placed her bag over the back of her chair, smoothing her hair down as her she leant forward onto her hand. "I didn't want it to overshadow everything that you've been going through recently. I thought it might be a bit insensitive to bring up."

Wednesday's heart clenched, partly in guilt, partly in raw admiration. She'd been so concerned about her wellbeing and state of mind, she'd kept the news from her so that her happy news wouldn't upset her. But there was never any chance it could ever do that; she would forever be endlessly happy and proud of Zara, no matter the state of her own life. That was true friendship, always rooting for the other person without agenda or want.

Waving her hand at the notion, Wednesday tutted. "Oh, I'm a big girl and I've been through worse. Plus, you know I always want to hear your good news! This is so cool, I can't believe it! What's the role?"

"Well, they told us at work about a lead editorial stylist position that was available within the company at a different publication. So, I applied for it a few weeks ago, did my interview thinking I'd never get picked and...well, I got the call a few days ago that I'd got the job. So, you're looking at the new lead editorial stylist for Vogue."

Before Wednesday could even open her mouth to congratulate her, Zara said one more thing.

"British Vogue."

Wednesday was sure she hadn't heard her right, possibly over the noise within the room as she craned her neck with a serious gaze.

"British Vogue? As in Vogue...that's located in Britain?"

Apparently, the excitement of the moment had stripped her completely of any functioning brain cells.

Zara nodded slowly, biting her lip as Wednesday slowly grasped the concept of what that meant. In a split second she looked up with widened eyes, clapping her hands to her cheeks as she looked over at her in excited disbelief.

"But then that means..."

"That I'm moving back to London, yes!" Zara finished with a smile.

Unable to contain her own joy at that revelation, Wednesday jumped up from her seat, rounding the table and pulling Zara into the second hug in as many days, uncharacteristically abnormal for her but she didn't care. All she could focus on was the fact that one of her best friends was returning back to London and that they no longer needed to rely on facetime or months-long planned moments in order to see each other.

"But...but what about Dubai?" Wednesday asked, pulling away with pinched brows.

Zara shrugged, holding her at an arm's length.

"Dubai has been amazing this past year, and I've learnt so much. But I was ready to come home and be with my family and friends again. And now, I've got an amazing new job to lure me back. So, get ready for Friday wine nights and regular gossip girl marathons again," Zara said, excitement painted across her face.

Wednesday beamed down at her with the happiest news she'd received in months, the revelation settling into her chest with an electricity that was addictive. She slinked back into her chair just as the waiter brought their bottle over, setting the two glasses down onto the table as he popped open the bottle and poured them each a glass. Before he could leave, Wednesday turned to him with a smile.

"Can we get 6 shots of your best tequila too? We've got some celebrating to do."

The night began and passed in a blur of excited chatter about Zara's new job, her move back to the big smoke and endless planning for all the night outs they'd missed out on in the past year. Their first bottle of champagne disappeared almost as quickly as the three shots, and by the time they were sinking down the remains of the second bottle and another round of shots, it was fair to say they were both comfortably inebriated.

"Anyway, are we going to talk about the one person we've been avoiding discussing all night?" Zara said, raising her eyebrow knowingly across the table as she haphazardly poured the last of the bottle into their glasses.

Wednesday groaned, throwing her head back in dramatically drunk fashion.

"Do we have to? It's not enough that he's constantly on my mind, torturing me?"

Zara rolled her eyes. "You're so dramatic. Has anyone ever told you that before?"

Wednesday kept her lips firmly sealed as she looked to the table. She silently answered the question in her head. Yes, she had. By the exact same person they were talking about.

"Maybe."

"Either way, I can tell that you're thinking about him, so spill. Tell me what's on your mind," Zara said, passing her glass over to her.

"I'm thinking," Wednesday said, drawing out the word as she narrowed her eyes and grasped the glass. "That maybe I should call him. You know, in a cool and casual way."

Zara's eyes widened as she shook her head. "Oh no, you're absolutely not doing that. No way."

"Whyyyyy? I could just make it sound like I'm checking in? Like 'oh, hi Harry. It's just me, Wednesday. Just checking you're okay. I'm okay, just in case you were wondering. Well, goodbye from your completely platonic friend.' What's wrong with that?" Wednesday asked.

"Absolutely fucking everything, first of all," Zara said, furrowing her brows in horror. "And secondly, it's just a known fact by now that drunk breakup phone calls are never a good idea."

Wednesday huffed, swirling the drink around her glass. "But I miss him," she said quietly, her voice so full of sadness that it made Zara's face soften with sympathy.