𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐧𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

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I was standing in the middle of a sea of people, all of which were a little damp from their sweat and tired from standing up for so long. It was about three hours until midnight and the ever acclaimed up and coming underground rock band, the London Leatherboys, were about to step out on stage. The already dim lights suddenly went completely down and I could make out a few figures moving on stage in the dark to grab their instruments. The crowd yelled, whooped, and hollered, yet I was just wondering what the hype was really all about. I peered down at my trusty black platform boots I was wearing, checking every now and then to make sure some knob hadn't spilled his drink on them. I was only here for one reason: I was obligated to. My cousin, Gracie, was obsessed with the band. She had posters of them all over her bedroom walls, owned all their records, had their notifications on every social platform, and the whole works.

It was only right that I tagged along with Gracie, as we were each other's concert buddies but more importantly best friends. We were practically attached at the hip, being flatmates, we genuinely brought out the best in each other. I was hesitant at first to even come, because I had to study for several exams, but I knew how much this meant to Gracie and I would never flake out like that. Plus a mid-week distraction from the mundane routine I was used to sounded enticing.

The stage lights lit up and I heard feedback from the instruments. "How's everyone doing out there?" The lead singer shouted in his microphone with his all-too familiar gruff voice that I recognized from the albums that Gracie plays nonstop. "We are the London Leatherboys! Let's rock the fuck out tonight."

The crowd went wild. The lead guitarist began playing power chords and the bassist soon followed with a chunky tune which was loud enough that I could feel the vibration deep in my eardrums. The crowd started to push and shove in an effort to move closer to the stage and I soon lost Gracie to the swarm of sweaty rock lovers.

"At least she's surrounded by like minded people," I thought to myself as I headed towards the vacant bar at the back of the small venue. I needed to enjoy myself tonight. The bartender, who seemed all too happy to attend to me, smiled as I approached the bar and sat down on a worn out leather barstool. I didn't even bother to look at the list of drinks that were being offered. "I'll have a Heineken, thanks."

I reached into the inside pocket of my denim jacket for my wallet and put down the money. Drink in hand and feeling a little bit more optimistic about the night, I swung around in the barstool to look out at the band play. Their music was fast paced and rugged, which definitely drew a crowd of people from all different backgrounds. From raging teenagers to adults in their late forties, it varied widely.

I took a sip from my bottle that felt cold from condensation and peered on, watching as the band members jumped up and down on stage, moving wildly, and tried to spot Gracie's platinum blond hair within the mosh pit. I was sitting alone, other than the bartender behind the bar, when I heard a voice drawing near and attempting to yell over the crowd and music. I tore my gaze away from the stage to look at the person who was on the phone. He paced back and forth in a seemingly anxious manner at the back of the venue, yelling to someone over the phone. He had one finger in his ear to block out the overwhelming noise and tried to raise his voice over the sound. I saw him shake his head and thereafter hang up, shoving his phone into his back pocket. He passed a hand through his shaggy raven hair and approached the bar where I was. I quickly realized that I was full on staring at the guy so I returned my attention to the band.

I could faintly hear him talking to the bartender, "Alright? I'll have what she's having." I then could tell that he had taken the seat over from mine. I casually brought the bottle to my lips and took another swig of my drink, watching the guitarist now standing on top of one of the amplifiers, with the feeling of the eyes of another on me.

"What a band, huh?"

I turned my head to find the guy with a reverent smile across his lips, Heineken in hand, as he stared at the stage tapping his foot along to the beat of the drums. I eyed him up and down before he had the chance to look at me. He was wearing snakeskin boots, the tightest black skinny jeans, a bright pink buttoned up shirt, and a black leather jacket which was decorated in various pins. His hair was even more intricate up close. Every time the stage lights moved across his face, I could tell that his light perspiration was making his fringe stick to his forehead and the black eyeliner to smudge underneath his eyes. He looked like he belonged in the band and I was already so intrigued by him.

I knew I had to speak louder than usual, "Yeah, they're pretty damn cool."

He turned to look at me and nodded his head in agreement. I was met with a pair of electric blue eyes. "I really dig your shoes, by the way. Doc Martens - you can't ever go wrong!" He leaned in to me when he talked.

"They're basically an extension of who I am," I shrugged casually. "But let's talk about your shoes! Snakeskin boots really reveal a lot about someone's personality."

He raised an eyebrow at my words and the corners of his lips formed an upward curve, as if he was now more interested in what I was about to say. "Oh yeah? What's that then?"

I could feel the deafening music's vibration in my chest but I learned to embrace the feeling. "Well it just means that the person is a major fashionista and cares too much about their appearance," I said nonchalantly, hoping it didn't come off as rude.

I was happy to see him throw his head back and let out a hearty laugh, revealing a set of perfectly white teeth. When he finally looked back at me, he had a big smile on his face. "You're absolutely right about that. I'm way too picky when it comes to what I wear. Especially in public. And especially to concerts."

I grinned, feeling confident with my vague assumption that I came up with on the spot.

Minutes passed and my now lukewarm beer bottle was more than halfway empty in my hand, as I continued talking to the stranger sitting beside me. Our conversation was seamless, we talked about fashion trends, laughed at cringy past trends, and every now and then oohed and awed at the band onstage. I felt my phone vibrate in my jacket and quickly took it out, the bright screen illuminating my face.

"Where did ya go? Get ur ass back in here!!! x" From Gracie, of course.

I put my phone away and put my bottle on the bar top, before turning to look at the guy I was chatting with. "Hey, I've got to go back in there. Nice talking to you though!"

As I turned to leave, he reached out for my arm and stopped me in my tracks. He had a look of dispiritedness on his face when he said, "Wait, let's swap numbers! We can link up in the future sometime..." his voice trailed off.

I quickly pulled my phone back out and handed it to him. I watched as his thumbs moved fastidiously across my phone screen before he held out my phone with a small smile on his face.

I gave him a smile in return, not thinking too much about it, before disappearing into the sea of people once again.

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A/N: I'm aware that the London Leatherboys are not a real band, but I was inspired by Accept's 1984 song. Go give it a listen, if you haven't heard it before!