Pink *Niall Horan Fan Fiction*

Pink. 

That's all that was in my closet. 

Pink. 

I pulled out piece after piece throwing them over my shoulder.  I had to find something to wear to the party.  Finally, I spotted it. 

The perfect dress, even though it was pink, was hanging from a hanger, untouched by my frantic digging.  I gently pulled it off the hanger and slipped it over my head.  The pink silk fell loosely down to mid-thigh and the sweetheart neckline framed my boobs perfectly. 

Now, onto the shoes.  I pulled out pair after pair, none of them matching the shade of pink the dress was.  The dress was a baby pink, one of the lightest shades of pink you can possibly get. 

The perfect pair of shoes that I remember buying specifically for this dress sat in the back of the closet.  I pulled them out, admiring the pair of four-inch-heels that cost a fortune. 

Nevermind that. 

I went over to my nail polish collection and picked out a creamy light pink polish that almost matched perfectly with the dress and shoes. 

Ugg, by tonight I was going to be sick of the color pink.  I quickly painted my long, perfectly manicured nails and blew softly on them waiting for them to dry. 

This party was going to one I didn't plan to remember.  When my nails was dry I went and curled my hair into soft curls cascading down my back. 

I picked a turquoise headband to offset the dress and add some color to the pure pink outfit I was wearing.  I patted some make up on, being careful to not look like a fake Barbie doll.  I tugged on the heels and pulled my black clutch off of my dresser. 

I quickly exited my flat and the doorman hailed me a cab.  I climbed into the back of the yellow cab, quickly giving the cabbie the address.  He drove there and I tossed a couple of twenties to him and told him to keep the change. 

I stepped out of the cab and situated my dress.  I was nervous, lets be honest.  I took a deep breath and carefully walked up the stairs to the flat, making sure to look like I belonged there. 

"Name, Miss."  The big security guy asked without glancing up. 

"Heather."  The security guard glanced up and quickly said his apologies, letting me in immediately.  I made my way into the flat, all the guys' jaws dropping and little drops of drool forming at the corner of their mouths as I walked by.  I flashed some lucky ones a smile, but continued on to the homemade bar.  Not only as I sat down, a blond guy who looked vaguely familiar plopped down in a seat next to me. 

"Shirley Temple."  I told the guy behind the counter. 

"Guinness." The blond guy told the bartender who quickly came back with our drinks. 

"Come here often?"  The Irish accent again, sounded vaguely familiar. 

"I guess."  I said, taking a sip of the red alcohol in front of me. 

"Would I have seen you?  I think I'd remember those eyes."  I glanced at him.  Finally something clicked when I looked into those baby blue eyes.  He was from a band my father produced. 

"Niall."  He stuck out his hand. 

"Heather.  Heather Cowell."