PLATFORMS ↛ D.A

Rain and Lukewarm Coffee

Platform 13 | 10:12am

After what felt like hours of topically dancing between a painful silence or headache inducing conversations that mainly centred around insults or disagreements. Damon wasn't in the mood for much more of the stranger who had occupied those last two hours.

She'd not said much the last half hour and strangely, that irked him further.

He'd never met a woman who hadn't shown him an immediate smile or thrown in a flirtatious comment within the first few minutes, seconds of knowing him. He felt thrown off by her interactions, his usual wit was gone and that scared him, he found himself subconsciously resorting to a sort of rudeness.

And sure, he thought about simply standing up and leaving the station. It would be sweet to leave her alone with the same grumpy look covering his face while stepping out into the miserable, wet English weather.

Yet. That would be too easy.

Damon wasn't keen on the fact that he didn't have an edge on this woman. There was somewhat of an unmentioned competitiveness to this ignorance, who could piss the other off the most it seemed. Maybe he was reading too much into it, he didn't know what she was thinking after all.

He'd made a note to tell Jamie later tonight.

But why hadn't she initiated any sort of conversation in the last twenty minutes? Had she expected him to do it? Damon didn't want to know what she was thinking of him, or what she was thinking at all as she flicked through the magazine that had been stolen from the chairs next to them. Her cold eyes scanning each page at an alarming rate before passive-aggressively turning the usual soap-drama filled articles with a lick of her finger.

Backing away from his thoughts Damon looked down towards his ill-fitted suit, eyes glancing over the pencil tie his boss had told him looked cheap. It did not look cheap, £28 that tie was.

He easily remembered scrunching up his nose as he shoved his card into the reader that displayed an unmentionable number for a suit. Way too expensive for he only rented a shabby flat above a Chinese takeout in downtown London. His writing wasn't exactly taking off and the money he did have wasn't exactly there to be thrown around on suits like Harvey Specter just yet.

He then eyed his loosely fitted suit trousers that only appeared tight round his ankles, involuntarily emphasising his skinny build along with the infamous white shirt he'd manage to wear three out of five working days if it wasn't hot outside.

Amelia had sat back and fixed her eyes on the tie he had subconsciously began to fiddle with upon thinking about it, he caught her eye with an expressionless glare.

"Your tie looks dead-ugly." She'd already diverted her attention back to the magazine.

"Oh sod off, and you know what a decent tie looks like do you? This cost me good fucking money." He snapped, undoing his top button and loosening the tie as he had become
self-conscious. Amelia laughed, eyeing him from the side to which he tutted and removed the tie, stuffing it into his inside pocket in a matter of seconds. "Happy now?"

"Still ugly." She mocked, crossing one of her legs over the other. "You're very sensitive."

"And you're awfully annoying, constant rather." He folded his arms across his chest, legs stretched out and ankles crossed.

There was a brief pause of silence before Amelia thought to break it, tapping her informal wedged shoe against the hard concrete floors. "What do you work as then? Y'know, since you're all fancy n' that." She put the magazine down, analysing her nails without a real care for his answer.