The sound of the Tube station surrounded me. I am sitting on a bench, writing away in my Moleskin notebook. Men with long coats and suitcases rushed up and down the stairs, making sure they're not late for their train. The screeching sound of the train tracks alerted me to get up from my seat and walk into the train.
Sweaty bodies were pressed together like sardines in a can. Students in uniforms, old ladies with baskets and cyclists - all pushed into one little segment. I was about to get on that train, but I decided not to. It was too packed for me and I didn't like it. I turned back to the place where I was sitting and waited for the next train to arrive. I was hoping that I was alone, but I was wrong.
There was a guy, standing fairly far away from me in a grey trench coat. He was carrying a black guitar case. He looked about my age. He stood there, quiet - not saying a word.
The next train arrived shortly. This time, less people were in it. For that I was truly relieved. The boy and I entered the train and sat on opposite each other. I continued writing in my notebook, not wanting to look up from my journal at all. Once in awhile I would glance up to see what he was doing and each time I did that, I would catch him doing the same.
After three stops, I quickly kept my notebook in my backpack and tucked my pen into my pocket. I stood up and got ready to get off the train. The guy did the same. I guess he was going to the same place as I was.
I breathed in a mouthful of fresh air before stepping out of the train. The station was filled with people - tourists, security guards, the elderly. I didn't like it. I was never used to large crowds. In fact, I feel quite lonely in large crowds.
I faced the floor as I walked out of the London Underground. It was raining as usual in London so I made sure I kept my pace steady. The floor was getting more slippery as I made my way out of the station. When I was about to go up the stairs, I felt a strong nudge from behind. I slipped and fell backwards - or so I thought. I felt a pair of hands pushing me up and a breath of hot air on my neck. Whoever it was pushed me back up onto my feet, making sure I was steady before he let go.
"Are you okay?" It was a voice of a guy. His voice was rather unique. It was not very low nor very rough. It sounded perfect.
"I'm fine. Thanks."
I walked further up the staircase until I was out from the station. I turned around to find the guy in the grey trench coat standing in front of me. He looked up from the ground into my eyes. He had piercing blue eyes shielded, by black full-framed glasses. His hair was styled up into a quiff - the sides shaved off. He looked very much like a typical British hipster but I could tell he wasn't. He looked too shy to be a hipster.
He smiled, revealing two dimples at the side of his cheeks. I couldn't help but to smile back. I could feel my body heating up there and then. Despite the winter air, I felt like I was melting. My cheeks flushed as his did.
"Thanks," I said, again.
"No problem," He smiled. His fingers ran through his hair as he fumbled around with his guitar case, "I'm Brendon. Brendon Urie."
"Bailey. Bailey Healy." Wow even our names sorta rhyme. "I should get going. I have to get to college soon."
"Same," he smiled, "Are you going to Trinity College by any chance?"
"In fact, I am." I said, "You too?"
He nodded and smiled, "Do you mind if we go together?"
"Not at all." I replied.
Brendon and I walked side by side down the street towards the college. It was a long way down from the station and I was staring to wonder if this was a mistake. It's not that I don't like Brendon, it's just that I never had a stranger walk me to school before.
We walked in silence. I faced the ground as I did. The sidewalk was fairly wet from the rain so I made sure I didn't step on any puddles. Brendon was busy kicking small little pebbles with his shiny leather shoes as we walked. He had one hand in his pocket and the other holding his guitar case. He was dressed very smartly - a knitted checkered scarf around his neck resting on his trench coat. He buttoned it all the way down. He wore black skinny jeans paired with black, shiny leather shoes.
"So what course do you take?" He asked, breaking the silence.
"Creative writing. Why? Trying to make small talk?" I immediately regretted saying that. It sounded so rude.
"Not that I'm trying to make small talk. I mean, I hate small talk. You just seem to be a really nice person to get to know." He said, facing me.
"I'm not very interesting, Brendon." I smiled.
"That's for me to judge," he smirked, "So what do you write about?"
"Fiction, non-fiction, poetry. That's about it." I replied, "How about you? What do you take?"
"Music." He gestured to his guitar, "Always wanted to start a band but my father didn't allow me to. So, here I am in college."
"Cool. I've always wanted to start a band too, but I'm to shy of a girl to."
"Oh, what instrument do you play?"
"Same as you. Guitar."
"Well, here's a fun fact about me. I play the drums, bass and the guitar." He said. He looked pretty proud to say that as well.
"Then why'd you need to start a band? You could form a one man band!"
"Introvert." He replied.
"Me too."
"So, are we introvert-y friends now?" He chuckled.
"I guess we are.
