PLATFORMS ↛ D.A

Jamie and Jobs

King's Cross Station | 12:09pm

The train was shit. The train was always shit.
Old people babbled about the cost of bread, children coughed loudly, men mustered up loud laughs shaking the whole fucking carriage with them and the girl opposite Amelia was shouting at her boyfriend on the phone.

It was very much a picture perfect scene of Britain, if you will. This lot paired with Damon snoring opposite her caused brain impairment nevermind a headache, this was beyond painkillers and Amelia's life if her stop didn't come quick enough.

To further the irritation, children.

A small girl had been staring at Amelia and Damon since they'd sat down. She looked about eight and wasn't giving up on the staring contest Amelia had initiated around twenty-one seconds ago. Instead, she pointed over and her mum had turned, flashing a smile and an apologetic wave of the hand. She shook her head at her daughter and re-absorbed herself in the raunchy rom-com book she was reading.

Unsurprisingly, the train habituated many creeps this morning. Damon included as he slept holding himself in a tight hold, head resting on the table between them. Other examples featured the drunk man who had stumbled on for one stop then got off, banging the windows to get back on once he had caught his bearings. The woman who had ran up and down the cartridges in search of 'the one', whether that was a religious belief, a romantic sight or the right place to sit Amelia was unsure but smiled at her regardless, sending her off into the next cartridge.

And most recently, the man who was marching up to people claiming he sold the best powders in London, shoving his google learned marketing strategies down everyones throats. Amelia contemplated buying some, sacrificing her safety only in order to escape the snores of big-shot Albarn who needed his job so badly that he slept instead.

The moment of contemplation was ruined when Damon's phone began to ring. Amelia stared at him for a good few seconds, eyes flicking between him and his jacket pocket that displayed the outline of a phone. Eventually she shrugged, popping a bubble with the chewing gum she'd shoved in her mouth at the start of the journey (apparently it helped with headaches) and ungraciously dug into his pocket, picking out his phone and swiping answer.

If he could go through her bag why couldn't she answer his calls? The general right of privacy had been obliterated and out the window within the first hour when Damon said she seemed like she was into BDSM during their coffee conversation. She hadn't bothered replying or mentioning that it wasn't exactly coffee friendly.

He was such a man.

"Hiya," Amelia began inspecting her nails once again. "Whose this?"

"Well, you're not Damon." The voice on the other end chuckled.

"Fortunately not."

"Pleasant surprise. Who is this then?" His voice was much like Damons except smoother.

"A lass from Manchester, you?"

"An artist from London, or more-a-less." He cleared his throat. "Jamie. Damon's flatmate."

"You a complete cock to then?" She smiled, digging into her bag to find her nail file.

"Depends how you define that," He said with a tsk. Amelia imagined his raised brow.

"Damon is how I define that."

"In that case, I'm the best man you'll meet in the South." Yup. Definitely a cocked brow.

Amelia nodded to herself, finding a smile creeping onto her face, "If you say so." Her eyes caught glimpse of Damon as he shifted in his seat slightly. "Why'd you phone him anyway?"