I first saw him at the train station in Glasgow. It was your typical Scottish day; the sky was grey, and a chill wind followed me across the platform. I had been planning a day out for a while, and I remember the morning I was due to leave. I had been wondering whether I was really up for it or not, and honestly, I can't imagine how boring life would have been if I had decided against it.
I was heading to catch the train back to Edinburgh, laden down with all the books and records I had bought from Virgin. Thankfully I didn't have much else to carry, just the wee rucksack I'd brought with my wallet and spare clothes in it. I glanced at the station clock and realised I only had ten minutes to get to Platform Two and get my train, so I started jogging. And as I pushed my way through the masses of people, someone smashed straight into me, making me drop my books and vinyls everywhere.
"What the Hell are you playing at?!" I spat, looking up to see the arsehole who'd bumped into me. My glare was met by a huge pair of dark eyes that stared right back at me. I felt frozen for a second as I just stood there, staring into those eyes, breathing him in. We both jumped to our senses after a few seconds.
"Aw shit, I'm really sorry!" the guy stammered. He had a deep English accent that took me aback. It sounded like London, but I wasn't sure. He put down the two cases he was carrying and bent down to pick up my stuff.
"N-no, it's okay, I wasn't looking where I was going," I said in a fluster, trying to annunciate my words since no one ever understands my accent. I crouched next to him as we gathered my things, and I took my books from him. I looked up at him and he smiled nervously. I smiled back. We stood up and he picked up his bags again.
"I don't suppose it's the best time consid'ring I just knocked your crap everywhere, but would you happen to know where Platform Two is?"
I still couldn't quite place his accent, but there was something about it I really liked.
"Well, actually, I do. In fact, I'm headed there now."
I nodded towards the stairs and he smiled and followed me as I headed off towards them. Technically by the time we actually got to the platform the train should have left, but with the Scottish rail network being as reliable as always, the train hadn't arrived, so we sat on the bench on the platform and put our stuff down at our feet. I finally got a chance to look at him properly, and God was he spectacular. He really was something else. He had on these black heeled boots, black zipped bondage trousers, a red checked shirt with a big upturned collar and a leather jacket. He had these cute squint teeth that meant he always had his mouth open a tiny bit, and this mop of dark messy hair. I shifted in my seat awkwardly.
"So, what's your name then?" He turned and smiled again. He had such a lovely warm smile.
"Uh-I'm April ... I mean-that's not my real name, it's kind of just a random nickname, but, like, no-one calls me by my real name..."
There was something about the way he dressed and acted. There was this aura about him that just stunned me speechless. He didn't seem put off.
"So what's your real name?" he asked gently.
"How do I know you ain't some creeper stalker, eh?"
He laughed.
"You don't."
"My real name's Anna" I mumbled.
"That's a pretty name," he said. "I'm Mick."
"That's a pretty name."
He laughed again. He had a lovely laugh. As my eyes wondered down to the floor by his feet I noticed one of the cases he had been carrying was a guitar case.
"You play?"
"Yeah. I'm in a band," he smirked proudly.
"Really?"
"Yep. That's why I'm going to Edinburgh. We've got a gig there."
"So why're you in Glasgow then?"
"We're playing a few gigs round Scotland so I thought I'd explore a bit."
"What do you think?" I asked.
"Honestly? It's pretty crap."
"You can say that again."
At least he was honest. I liked that.
Where was this fucking train at?
[NOTE/EDIT: i wrote this when i was a messed up and gross child and i havent read it since (i thank myself for that daily) so try to forgive the inevitable mistakes and plot holes and gross smut. i swear im a good writer but 14 year old me wasnt really selling it. Enjoy.]
