Arya| I write poems mostly with sombre and poignant vibes... I Love Rob Pattinson for many reasons but also because he inspired me to find my true self 😅
Masterlist
Summary: Everybody knows anything can happen on London tube. That includes meeting a handsome stranger with a strange name, who doesn't mind saving a ballerina in distress.
Chapter playlist
Warnings: Swearing and E-rated language (as the preview already shows).
Author's Notes: So it's finally here, my opus magnum. Or so I hope. As I've hinted before, this project is the love-child of a few things - my unfading obsession with Neil, fascination with London and the love of public transport. Or something along those lines.
I've no idea how long it'll be, or the exact details of what's going to happen, but I know that it's going to be fun. For both me, and them. And you, too, I hope.
Chapter titles come from station names (in case you've been wondering) and I decided to go wild and attach a short, chapter-centric playlist to each of them, because why not.
Enjoy and please, let me know what you think 💕
Taglist: @hollandorks, @kristevstewart, @stargirl25 (let me know if you want to be added)
The discovery that it would be a day came a mere two hours after the harsh sound of your phone alarm. Its harbinger took the form of Liam – a moderately tall, dark-haired man with an acceptable face and an ability to make you come that did not seem to get the hint.
Instead, he continuously nagged you for days after the (absolutely intended) ghosting you have implemented. While you would admit it was harsh, it was also not your fault that you had enough of him after the hook-up no 5. It was just fine, nothing spectacular and, most importantly, it was getting predictable. Solution? Ending the situationship before it could become a chore rather than a pleasure. Problem? Liam did not seem to think the same.
So, when, this morning, you finished the lukewarm coffee and picked up the phone to check the socials before leaving, only to find another string of texts with pathetic emojis, the mood has soured. It was nothing new, just more hearts, pleading eyes and invocations to your goodness, all culminating in the same way. With another proposition of date, with another love confession he could not have possibly meant. This time, you’ve had enough. You ignored the urge to smash the phone and instead broke the silence by sending him a simple message – Fuck off. With that, you let out a string of curses that probably made poor Miss Stevens next door recoil in disgust and blocked Liam. The triumphant spark did not outweigh the annoyance, however.
The second blow of the day came not that much later and could also easily be blamed on Liam. Or so it was easier to believe. There was no sense of distraction as you tied up the ribbons of your pointe shoes and started warming up. And, at first, it was all just as it was supposed to. You welcomed the opening notes of the coda enthusiastically, happy to go through the steps just as you were supposed to be. As you were taught. A turn after turn, the burning in your legs felt like a benediction. That was what you were always supposed to do.
Until it started to feel different.
One misstep was instantly noticed by Jane, who danced alongside you, perfecting the same choreography. You could hear her quiet gasp, wordlessly pointing out the mistake you would never have missed anyway. In a split second, you knew it was enough to throw you off, losing the tempo and balance, barely managing not to sprain your ankle and topple onto the parquet. Refusing to look at Jane, you slid down the wall by the barre and let out a frustrated groan. Not long after that, you decided to check out of the studio. One humiliation was quite enough.
By the time you had set onto Southwark station, intending to catch the tube back home, you were half contemplating unblocking Liam to sue him for mental damages. And the cost of reparations of your dignity. It seemed like a fair deal, considering everything. On autopilot, you descended the steps to the station, welcoming the cooling air of the metal-plated hall. While the whiteish subway tiles in most stations felt like home, the futuristic tinge of Southwark had always felt special. Even if the afternoon bustle could sour your mood and make you throw daggers at any human in your path. There was a dose of relief in the knowledge that it had already been done. You were pissed off beyond measure.
Any innocent bystander could probably see it in the angry square of your shoulders as you strode through the ticketing hall and past the gates. After all those years, there was no need to check the signs; your body knew where to go. Down the escalator, following the graphite signage leading towards the correct platform. Once you were there, you looked up at the timing screen to check the ETAs. Stanmore 2 mins. Thank fuck. Moving down the platform like god intended, you got lost in the chaotic ambience. Sometimes, especially on those difficult days, the noise was better than any music you could listen to. The babbling children, the chatting adults, and, if you were lucky, an odd bark or two in between. That, combined with the PA overhead, was enough to ground you. To take in that deeper breath.
Only that tell-tale whoosh of the approaching train could pull you back into the moment, the body yet again taking the needed steps without you ever telling it to. One step back, not crossing the yellow line. Two steps to the side, aligning with the platform edge doors, yet not standing in the way of those leaving. By the time the train arrived, you were exactly where you were supposed to be. A surveying look inside the cart told you the crowds had been avoided. Luckily. With only a handful of people occupying the space, you stepped aboard and zoned in on one of the empty seats by the window.
It was then that fate chose to intervene again.
You barely stepped in the right direction before the train started again, the sudden movement throwing you off balance and making you drop the bag hung precariously on your shoulder. You watched it fall, unzipped pouch spilling the insides onto the dirty grey floor. Another string of curses lodged in your throat as you knelt among the wreckage of personal items. Before you could reach for the notebook, another hand appeared on the edge of your vision. Long, fair-skinned fingers met yours over the moleskin cover, making you look up and follow the outline of a person. Up over the legs, clad in black jeans and over the bare forearms, revealed by the rolled-up sleeves of a dress, pinstripe shirt. Until you met the striking blue eyes of the man kneeling in front of you, having joined the fray. The stranger stared back, his piercing gaze roaming over your features, seemingly just as struck as you were.
A beat passed, and neither of you moved. You glanced up, taking note of the dirty blonde hair falling over his forehead in disarray. The announcement over the system began calling up Waterloo. It was the wake-up you both seemed in need of. He was the first to shake off the stupor, snatching the notebook to place it in your waiting palm. He shot you a friendly smile, the expression brightening his stunning features.
“Bad day?” his husky voice was another pleasant surprise, shooting through your brain like the restart to the systems you seemed to have been missing.
You looked up to find him one step ahead again. There was something mysterious in his handsome face, instantly making you forego the suspicions against strangers. This one did seem at all dangerous.
At least, you hoped he wasn’t.
A sardonic smile invited itself onto your face. For the first time since the morning, the expression was not forced.
“You could say that” picking up the bag, you accepted the belongings he had collected from the floor and hoped to convey the gratitude through a simple word “Thanks,”
“No worries. Hope that’s everything…” the stranger threw a final glance at the cart floor and got up, brushing the dust off his knees.
The nagging feeling in the back of your head did not ease off, helping you decide what the next step should be. After all, there was no reason to cut the interaction short. One glance out the window told you there was still time. The train had just left the Waterloo station, giving you at least a quarter of an hour till you had to get off.
Perhaps, that was your sign from the petty destiny to get your shit together. Strictly speaking.
“Looks like it,” dropping the remaining items into the pouch, you extended your hand in greeting, “I’m Y/N,” raising your head to find his gaze, you were welcomed with yet another bright smile.
Judging by the lines around his mouth and crinkles in the corners of his eyes, your mysterious saviour did smile a lot. The realisation only strengthened the conviction, pulling you into his orbit effortlessly.
His warm palm engulfed yours in a firm handshake. It lasted just a second too long, yet no complaints were to be raised.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Neil,” the gleam in his eyes was like the poisoned edge of a dagger, a fatal weapon to strike you down should you be reckless.
You knew for sure that face would be hard to forget. Even if you were to never see it again after today.
“You don’t look like a Neil,” catching onto the peculiarity of his name, you shot him a cheeky smile.
Finally remembering what started the ordeal, you took the seat you had been hovering over and motioned for Neil to join you. He did not hesitate.
It only made you like him more.
“Elaborate, please,” the curious tint in his voice, completed by a deadpan look, made you grin, unable to defy his charm.
Not that you were trying to, anyway.
Making a show of giving yourself time to think of an answer, perfected by the loud hum and a hand stroking your chin, you measured him critically. Still amazed by the man Transport for London put on your path. By the seemingly faultless features, harsh lines of his cheekbones and the kind eyes that still held uncertainty that you were all too familiar with.
“You know… a little more geriatric. A little less dashing,” you sent Neil a wink, watching with fascination as the pinkish blush spread over his cheeks.
That sort of reaction was always a compliment. A sign that you should keep going because it could only get better. The frustrating morning had been almost forgotten, having stood no chance against the unpredictability of the interaction.
You could see Neil process the compliment with rapidly blinking eyelids and a parted mouth. Westminster had been called before he spoke again:
“That’s a new one, but I’ll take it,” the blush had faded slightly, yet the disbelief in his pretty eyes told you he was not used to the flattery.
Which was a surprise considering the way he looked. But that, like all the other discoveries you had made within minutes, would have no application. You would likely never see him again.
“You should. I don’t hit on complete strangers every day,” you sent him a pointed look, meaning every word and hoping Neil would see that.
The amused smile he cracked along with a chuckle, were the rewards for the risks you had taken. Being that forward with a stranger could backfire terribly. You had first-hand experience of that. This time, though, no alarm bells were to be heard as you waited for Neil’s response, with your gaze fixed on his face. If only because it was hard to look away.
“Now I’m flattered,” the sparks in his blue eyes burned bright as he took a cursory look out the window and then back to face you with complete focus, “So… do you want to tell me about your day?” the lack of judgement in his gaze helped you decide before you even knew you were considering it.
Usually, confiding in random people met on the tube sounded like a bad idea. Not entirely off-brand for your poor judgements, but still. But this interaction was anything but usual. The temptation was too big to be ignored. You twisted in the plastic seat to face him properly and channelled the anger dormant beneath your skin. It was all too easy to do.
“There’s this guy… We’ve had sex a couple of times, and it was quite good, but now he wants more, and I- I’m not even sure I believe love exists, let alone feel that way about him. Trouble is he doesn’t get the hint, so…” becoming aware you unloaded the whole speech without taking a break to breathe, you took a greedy inhale and spit out the conclusion with a frustrated huff, “He’s just pissed me off” it was a lot.
You could tell Neil was slowly coming to the same conclusions from the dumbfounded look on his face as he processed your rant. He blinked, unseeingly staring at the Jubilee line plan above the opposite seats. The apology was ready on the tip of your tongue when he finally spoke again:
“Overeager?” the sympathetic wince in his face made that same affection stir in your heart.
All because he understood. He got it. And that was rare. Yet again, you contemplated unblocking Liam. This time, to send him Neil’s phone number with an annotation – This guy gets it. He can explain.
But it was hard to say whether Neil would be up for such a task.
“Mm, yeah,” you offered him a tight-lipped smile and a nod, confirming the theory.
“Sorry,” it was your turn to suffer through a double take.
With incredulity filling every inch of your soul, you stared at him in confusion:
“What for?” as the train arrived at another station, you glanced up to check you had not somehow missed your stop.
But it was fine. There was still enough time to continue what was slowly becoming the most fascinating conversation of the previous couple of months, if not years.
It was Neil’s turn to be amused. His eyes roamed over your face as his lips quirked into a smirk. The cheeky expression sent your heart tumbling through the ribcage. You knew he could be dangerous. You were right. Again.
Yet, no sense of foreboding danger could make you look away. That was for the weak. Or the smarter.
“Being a representative of the male species,” Neil shrugged as if his answer did not leave you agape with amazement, “I know almost everything is our fault, one way or another,” the slight grimace passing through his face told you he knew that was an understatement.
But it was better than nothing. Better than the load of self-entitlement and egocentrism displayed by most of the men you had ever met. It sure did set him apart.
“Guess that’s true,” nodding in agreement, you chose to forego the subtlety and reached out to pat his hand, “Thank you, though,” yet met his eyes, not trying to hide the extent of impression he had left on you “I can already tell you’re a better representant of the species than Liam,”
The fading anger at that man seemed so distant now. Like a dream that you could no longer remember, except for how it made you feel. Liam would stay blocked and hopefully never seen again, but now you could finally see yourself having a pleasant evening. That felt like a reward in itself.
“And he’s called Liam? Good god,” Neil’s dismayed tone was the one to bring you back to the present.
The smile played in the corner of his lips. The amused expression was fast becoming your favourite. Which could be problematic, but you were never the one to search your soul if that was uncalled for. Which it definitely wasn’t.
“I know” sharing an eye-roll with your companion, you chose to focus the attention on that second part of the shit day, “The other thing that happened was how I fucked up the ballet practice” almost automatically, you winced, self-consciously rolling the right ankle as if feeling the phantom pain of the twist that never came (thank god) “But it also can be blamed on him,”
Too caught up in the thoughts of vengeance you would never actually implement, you missed Neil’s surprise, reflecting through the widened eyes and an intense stare boring through your temple.
What you did not miss was a question uttered with so much disbelief that your head swivelled in its direction faster than you thought possible:
“Hold on, ballet practice?” Neil’s scrunched-up face, complete with a frown between eyebrows and mouth agape, was the reason for your giggle.
“Yup, I’m a ballerina at the Royal Ballet,” there was an unusual sense of pride in the proclamation.
Probably because it had been a long time since you got a reaction this stunned. You did not remember the last time someone looked starstruck when hearing about your occupation.
“I’ve never met one before,” his blue eyes still roamed over your face with amazement as Neil confirmed the obvious.
While attention was always pleasant and a reason you got into professional ballet in the first place, this kind of focus felt different. It made the rare blush dust your cheeks as joy surged in your veins from the sheer force of being noticed. From being seen through the best you could offer rather than the multitude of shortcomings that were all easy to find.
“Well, now you have,” you opened your arms in the ta-dah motion and added, “A second soloist, to be exact,” the hierarchical promotion was still an additional point of pride.
A result of years of practice and mental conditioning to try and improve. The culmination of hours of pep talks, pleading to your strength not to give up. To keep on trying. A proof that you were good enough. But it was also a reminder that you were not there yet. That there was still more to achieve.
“I’ve no clue what that means,” the apologetic tone in Neil’s voice was another reason for a smile.
Without thinking, you nudged his shoulder with yours and grinned upon noticing the bashful blush creeping back onto his cheeks. That alone was a reason to delve into the explanation:
“That I’ve still got a long way to go if I want to get promoted to principal dancer. Which is the dream,” hope waged war with scepticism as you chose to stare at the window opposite the seats, taking note of the passing darkness of the tunnels outside. That moment of wistfulness inspired the next thing you said, “You could come to see me if you wanted to,” it was another risk taken.
Another potential to end the conversation prematurely by misjudging the limit. Before you could find the tenacity to see the reaction, Neil’s question got rid of the doubts:
“Are you hitting on strangers again?” the smile in his voice was matched by a cheeky grin on his face.
The brightness in his eyes told you he was enjoying the conversation, that it was not just you who been silently wishing for more time. For more opportunities to continue the back-and-forth, testing the limits of what was acceptable within an unusual connection like yours. Because, surely, there were limits. Right?
“You’re not a stranger anymore, Neil,” instead of searching for the lines drawn in the metaphorical sand, you laid a careful hand on his shoulder and watched with the breath caught in your chest as he glanced at it and back at your face. The only indication that too was not a misstep was the darkening shade of pink on his cheeks and the persistent smile, motivating you to land a double strike, “I am, though. Is that bad?” innocently batting your lashes, you signed off the move with a quick stroke of fingers, tracing the collar of Neil’s shirt.
He swallowed hard, clearly reacting to your risqué move. The goosebumps rose on his skin following your touch, making your smile widen. Unwilling to stop the fascinating game just yet, your fingertips skimmed down the front of his shirt to strengthen the invisible lines in the collar and encircle the tortoiseshell button. As your fingers drifted ever so closer to the bared sliver of the chest revealed by the two buttons left undone, Neil gasped and met your searching gaze with an intense look of his own. It was easy to see the curiosity there, brewing underneath the composure. Not for the first time since you met, you wondered what else was hiding behind that steel-like grip of control. What else was there to discover?
“I’m not complaining,” answering your question with ease, Neil did not flinch away from your taxing gaze.
It was good to know. Just because.
Unable to look away, you realised that your hand was outstretched with the fingers lightly touching the collar of his shirt. The heat from his skin radiated onto your palm, making your fingers flex unconsciously. It was your turn to swallow against the sudden dryness in your throat, as yet again you found yourself arrested by his gaze. Like then, the time seemed frozen, leaving you stranded between one heartbeat and the next. You were content to stay there.
Only the familiar announcement over the PA system could wake you up. The train is now approaching St. John’s Wood. Your body jolted awake with the curse ready on your tongue:
“Shit, that’s my stop” a spiteful glance at the darkness of the tunnels outside was a reflex, born out of the annoyance for the world that did not seem to care about your happiness or the desire to stay in that Jubilee line train cart till the very end of times. The anger passed quickly, yet you knew the frustration would persevere long after you made it home. The only way to push back against it was to turn your focus back to Neil, “It’s been a pleasure. I’d say I won’t forget you, but I’m not sure I can promise that,” the exaggeration in the statement, and the knowledge that it was unlikely you would forget him, were better left unsaid.
As much as the chance meeting was everything you never dreamt of experiencing, it was just that. A pleasant outlier. The one-off happening, that would never happen again. You could feel the sharp prickle of that realisation stab at your consciousness as you checked whether all your belongings were accounted for and got up from the seat. The train was slowing in the approach at the platform, forcing you to grab onto the nearest railing.
“Try your hardest,” Neil’s response made you whip your head back up to stare at him in confusion until the meaning of his words caught up.
Then you could only grin, willing to stretch the limits one last time.
“Or?” the question was accompanied by the tip of your tongue running over your lower lip as your eyes traced Neil’s gaze.
He caught the hook. The intrigue and hunger in his stare proved the point as he glanced at your mouth, not even trying to resist the obvious trick. You were glad it worked.
One look at the world beyond told you there was no time to lose. The familiar voice called out to make sure everyone minded the gaps, and you could not help but throw one final glance at Neil. His dirty blonde strands caught the fluorescents and created a washed-out halo-like effect. The blue eyes were still fixed on you, observing and calculating. Yet again, a wayward thought begged you to stay. To say fuck it and check what could happen if you had more time. But the courage was not quite there when the train came to a stop, and the doors slid open.
Before you could take that decisive step outside, Neil replied:
“I’ll be disappointed,” the smile in his voice was an easy trigger, bringing a breathless chuckle to your lips.
You still laughed as the doors closed behind you and the train started moving away from the platform. You did not look back, letting the crowd of commuters carry you along the tunnels and towards your apartment. It was better that way.
Only once you got back home did you realise one crucial fact. One simple observation easily missed in the rush of thoughts about striking blue eyes and sharp cheekbones. It had been hours since Liam crossed your mind. And somehow, it all made sense.
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