Tinge - A Niall Horan Fanfic

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You can always tell when it happens--when someone sees color for the first time. It's such a distinct facial expression. It's something along the lines of shock, confusion, a slight edge of relief underlying the confusion, and then complete and utter happiness despite everything else.

The most defining characteristic though is the look comes in a pair. There's always one person standing beside, looking at, or near another person with the exact same facial expression.

I've seen it so many times, so it never really amazes me when the pair runs up to my set up and begs me to play them a song. I try picking something original and something that I hope will stick with them throughout their relationship rather than whatever bump-and-grind song is up next on my queue.

This evening as I'm gathering my bag together to head off to work, I have an old vinyl record playing this amazing love song. It's slow and enchanting, yet completely steamy and passionate at the same time. Dancing from what is considered the living room, but is more like a glorified couch and a board of wood that I pass off as a coffee table, into the bedroom corner of my flat, I pick up a crop band t-shirt and slip it on over my bra. I grab the nearest pair of skinny jeans that pass the smell test and squeeze myself into them. I still curse the day my mother put me in soccer when I was five, for it did nothing to help my already large thighs. It only made them bigger, therefore making skinny jeans my biggest foe. But whatever, I still love them, so I suck myself into them and roll up the ends twice into a little cuff before putting on a short dark pair of boots.

The music builds and I dash across the old wood floors of my flat, sliding as the guitar riff squeals through the room, no doubt annoying my neighbors. I end on my knees, belting out the lyric as loud as my voice will possibly allow. Sure thing, right at that moment, the grumpy old man from upstairs bangs on his floor, it echoing throughout my apartment even with the track at full volume.

I chuckle to myself and stand up. "Okay okay Mr. Dodge! I'll turn the damn thing off!" I pull the pin off of the record, laughing to myself a little, and grab my bag off of the couch along with my leather jacket. Slipping it on and pulling my long, dark hair in a pony tail high on my head, I leave the flat, locking it behind me and racing down the stairs.

Out on the streets skirting the edges of the city centre, I pass through my neighborhood at a quick pace, not wanting to be late for work. All in all the edge that I live in is a decent neighborhood and works for my purposes. There are friendly enough people around during the day, and when night falls, I'm merely blocks from the core of Dublin and one of the city's best kept secrets--my place of employment, otherwise known as the Castle.

On the exterior, it's surely no place you'd ever expect anyone with half a shred of dignity and stature to be caught dead. The front matches the gloomy stereotype of Ireland. Grey concrete and dark stone clads the facade and steel fames the windows and rebar blocks the glass from the street-walkers. If the incredibly inviting exterior wasn't enough to get you inside the Castle, then the door would definitely lure you in! A massive, nearly ten foot tall, solid steel door completes the imposing look of the club. 

I wrap my comparatively small hand around the massive door handle and pull, letting myself in. The door, as you might expect given its appearance, is nearly six inches thick of metal. The interior of the Castle is the complete opposite from the outside, something you would never believe if you've never set foot inside. The Castle isn't like most clubs in the Dublin area, who advertise every aspect of the club, putting it in the best light possible. The negative side to such publicity is the fact that typically tourists are the ones who search for nightlife through ads and publications. So a lot of time a negative wrap comes along with these clubs, diverting a lot of local attendance. The Castle however works on word of mouth. Locals attend and tell their friends and relatives, they attend and so on, creating a tight, regular audience each weekend and often even during the week.