Head in the Sand (Bastille)

The O2

     November 1st, 2016

Dan's POV

It was happening. We were scheduled to play at the O2 Arena in South London. One of my biggest dreams in the world came true. It all felt so fucking surreal when we made the transition of playing in pubs to playing in sold out arena shows. We never thought it would come to this- after all, Woody, Kyle, Will, and I are just four idiots in a band. But here we were, about to sign stuff for our fans, just hours before the show would start. I felt like exploding out of pure excitement for this show, since I was usually the one to be watching from the stands, either spectating Lana Del Ray or Haim.

"Hey bitches!!! You guys ready to be attacked by fans?" a much too familiar voice strode into the lounge of the tour bus.

     "Erm...I guess?" I half-heartedly answered, my head buried in my phone's Twitter app.

     "Don't lie to me Dan, we all know that the ladies want you..." Kyle mused. "...and you know that too," he creepily whispered into my ear.

     "What the fuck!!! Don't do that Ky!"

     "Now the fans are bound to believe in Dyle," Will laughed, holding up his phone. My stomach dropped when I saw the video.

     "DELETE THAT FUCKING VIDEO RIGHT NOW!!!" I stood up, wielding my phone in my hand as I threatened Bastille's bassist.

"Or what?" he dangled his phone in front of my face.

"This." My hand shot out, snatching his phone from his grasp before he could even see it coming.

"What the fu-"

"Dan's secretly a ninja!!!" Kyle cried out, cutting off Will mid sentence.

"No, I'm not."

"Then how the fuck do you explain," Woody gestured at my entire body, "this?"

     "I dunno," I shrugged my shoulders. "Maybe I am a ninja, who knows?" my mouth curved into a smirk as I walked to the bunks upstairs in the bus.

      "Dan," Dick, our tour manager called for my attention. "We're ready," I turned around to see him giving a small smile.

     "Okay," I gave a thumbs up. "I just have to grab my jacket," my finger pointed to my bunk.

     "Alright, be quick, you don't want the fans to get restless," he joked, patting my back before shuffling down the narrow stair steps.

I nodded, turning to my bed, and grabbing my Adidas jacket from the corner. Then, I rushed to the bathroom to check on my brushback hairdo, adding some more gel to secure it in place. I wonder why the fans always make such a massive deal out of my hair? I thought as I jogged down the stairs.

     The guys were still on their phones, nearly oblivious to the fact we were about to go to the arena to sign stuff for our eager and excited fans. But I suppose I couldn't complain, since I was literally surgically attached to my iPhone.

"Guys." No answer.

"GUYS." Still no answer. 'Guess I have no choice. I have to do it.'

"KYLE SIMMONS, IF YOU DON'T MOVE THAT ASS OUTSIDE INTO THE ARENA, I WILL PERSONALLY MURDER EVERY CAT ON THIS PLANET!!!

     AND CHRIS WOOD I WILL DISS PASTIES AND FOOTBALL IF YOU CONTINUE TO IGNORE ME!!!

     OH, AND WILLIAM FARQUARSON I WILL PERSONALLY FORCE YOU TO HAVE FUN WITH US UNLESS YOU GET UP OFF YOUR LAZY ASS!!!"