"Please can passengers for the 5.37om Circle Line train to Mayfair make your way to the platform. Calling at Sloane Square, Victoria, St. James Park…" The toneless voice of the intercom almost seemed to grumble as it echoed around the vast complex that was Kings Cross Station.
It was chaotic the way abundances of people scurried around the area, the way they pushed and shoved through large crowds in a frantic attempt to reach their designated platform. Others just appeared brain-dead from how they lifelessly trudged about the station, until they eventually reached their trains and escaped from the mass of bustling bodies.
Francis Bonnefoy pinched his train ticket carelessly between his teeth whilst he juggled folders and stacks of paper, the young French man mumbling under his breath about how he regretted not bringing a satchel of some sort. Once all his belongings were tightly tucked under his left arm, the ticket in which he'd treated so 'significantly' was slotted swiftly into one of the breast pockets of his dark auburn jacket before he scraped loose blonde locks out of his face in irritation.
Exhaling deeply, he let out a supressed sigh, after scratching the bristles that ran along his broad jawline. The constant feel of sharp elbow crushing and digging into his ribs no longer bothered him. The unsatisfying innervation of other people's feet trampling over his brand new black pumps didn't appear to annoy him in the slightest…Well, anymore. Like every other person there, Francis had been receiving such 'friendly' gestures the majority of the time he had walked about the station.
Upon entering Platform 8, the French man ploughed his way past the many figures blocking his path, occasionally apologising softly in fear that he'd accidently hurt someone. After obtaining a rather brutal knock to his right shin, Francis glared down at his leg as he strode along, his eyebrows furrowing in displease at the sight of mud splattered all over his slim navy blue jeans, and a gaping hole that had just been created in the fabric.
"Oh…Merde…Really?! These were exp-"And his stubborn ranting was interrupted by another person's chest colliding with his own, causing both Francis and the stranger to spill the contents in their arms. Francis' music sheets and folders spread across the smoothly tiled flooring and he knelt down to gather in his work. A light gasp emitted from the stranger and he also fell to the ground to assist Francis.
"Oh my God. I am…so sorry! I wasn't looking where I was going…I…" A delicate male voice sounded from the other man, began collecting in both of the belongings. Francis tried ever so hard to keep their eye contact averted, his entire face flushed a dark crimson and he chuckled with embarrassment.
"No…It's my fault…My apologies." Francis stated nervously, as he extended an arm towards a final sheet of paper, as did the other. "I-I…"
His breathing halted as he became aware that their fingers gently brushed against each other's, a shaky eye contact finally being made.
And blue eyes met a pair of glistening green irises. The young male opposite Francis had choppy sand coloured hair; his fringe flopped over one of him eyes a little, shielding the bright rays of sparkling jade. He stared back in awe, cheeks heavily dusted magenta and salmon pink lips parted ever so slightly. He had thick, dark eyebrows that stood out from all his other features, but they gave him a completely unique and memorable appearance. The stranger was dressed in a royal blue sweater, which hid a translucent black dress shirt underneath. Extremely skinny black jeans covered his slim legs and he wore a pair of charcoal military boots on his feet. The hand in which wasn't in contact with Francis' cuddled a selection of Harry Potter novels and a whole trilogy of The Lord of the Rings, close to his chest.
And the two of them just…gazed back into each other's eyes. Francis froze as time did itself and everything surrounding him became blurred, a side from the indulgent beauty before him. Those perfectly shaped lips quavered lightly and the latter's eyes grew in size, a sea of emerald drowning the dot that was his pupil.
Sear beauty…
Then, Francis' daze was soon broken and his cheeks flustered an even stronger red once he realised that their hands were touching. Simultaneously, they stood and the smaller male recoiled his hand from the sheet and from Francis' fingers. The French man wanted to speak and say so much, but the words vanished from his tongue as soon as he opened his mouth.
"I-I'm very sorry…" He spoke breathlessly and appeared a little pathetic. The other giggled melodiously and Francis' heart skipped a beat from such a pleasant sound.
"As am I…" Whispered the British stranger, tucking his short strands behind one of his ears, Francis smiled benevolently, shuffling his folders around again.
A whistle screeched overhead, and the two of them exchanged an almost disappointed stare.
"The train to Stratford will be departing in 5 minutes."
"G-Goodbye…" The younger male mouthed before he moved past Francis and paced down the platform. Immediately, Francis turned on his heels, glaring at the figure in the bright blue jumper, who stood out from all the rest. As the Brit reached the end of the walkway, he twisted his head over his shouldered, making an extremely subtle gaze with the French man. Over the long distance between them, Francis managed to make out a weak smile and an almost undetectable wave, before the English man disappeared around a corner, leaving him in a state of shock, confusion and admiration. Was it love at first sight? Francis certainly felt like it was…
Who was that boy he met on Saturday 12th September, Platform 8?
