Disguise♔ z.m

Eight

"Have you got there yet?" Veronica's curious voice rings through the loudspeakers of my cellphone.

"No-Yes. Just now," I climb out of the Taxi, paying off and closing the door. What a great way to spend a Saturday by picking out my lame outfit and deciding on whether or not to let my hair down. Veronica had practically spent her whole day on the phone with me, explaining the directions and the things I should wear. And where do the directions lead me? A concert. A darn concert zone. I have never been to a concert, well, of obvious reasons, but seeing this much people is quite a shock to me. So here I am, standing on the cold ground, fidgeting with my hands, whipping my head in all directions. How on earth will I find Niall? I have no idea how he looks like, but Veronica made sure she sent him more than one picture of me. She disagreed showing me the pictures she sent, but I still wonder how she took those photos. I hardly kept any on my cellphone or laptop at home. Veronica and her wonders!

"I'd talk to you later, alright?" She says, and I hear music play in her background.

"Don't tell me you're at your boyfriend's place!" I laugh and nearly pull away the phone from my ear.

"He's just a friend, and bye." She drops the call.

As the cue multiplied, I still stood on the spot, frozen. My hair was kept in a perfect and tight bun, as usual. I went bonkers when Veronica supposed I was to do otherwise. I am wearing the jeans I wore yesterday- a dark blue denim material- along with a T-shirt that had the Beatles imprinted on the chest of the shirt.

"Nora?" Someone coughs behind me.

I quickly turn backwards, and stumble back until the blonde grabs my arm and yanks me towards his direction.

"Y-yes?" No, not the stutters.

"You're Nora Jones?" The royal ultramarine eyes gaze at me as he releases me gently from his strong hold. Tilting his to the side, a black, thick tattoo unveiled itself. Not only was the tattoo drawn from his neck to his chest, but all sorts of ebony marks stamped on his body, all seeming rather appalling yet hot to me. Snap out of it! Guys with tattoos are nothing but danger!

I nod and he chortles.b"Niall Horan."

"Oh." I feel like a hungry predator studying its prey from head to toe. Though his tattoos were a bit tacky to me, his defined muscles were a total turn on. He wore a lose tank top, obviously to show off his muscles and tattoos, along with usual basketball shorts. His snapback was slightly upwards, exposing his brown roots.

"Ready?" Not only did his appearance slice through the air, but his thick Irish accent. He was no where sounding British.

"Whose concert are we attending?" I bite my lip and focus on his pierced lips. Damn that must have hurt to do.

His tongue licks over his piercing and he smiles. "Green Day."

"Er, then I think we're ready." I fake a smile and feel my body slightly sweat from his response. I hated Green Day. Their music was definitely not in my league, and let's guess why. I grew up in a home that found tattoos, rock, and band T-shirts all trash. Go figures!

"Can I hold your hand?" I would be lying if I said I didn't feel my heart flutter a little when he asked for my approval. Why do appearances prove us wrong? To be honest, the reason why I stumbled back earlier was because I felt shock. Why would a punk dude ever ask me to hold my hand? Aren't they supposed to be all rude and have the I-don't-give-a-shit-about-anyone character?

"Definitely." I delightfully smile and he holds my palm, leading me towards the cue of people.

"I don't think we would make it in today," I laugh and still feel tensed from his touch. I never in a million years could have thought I would talk to such a guy, talking about holding his hand.