All These Words That I Could Never Say

King Cross-St Pancras is a weird place. I've always thought it was.
All those people, walking without a stop, to an aim only they know, climbing in and out of trains, in a nonsensical mass that form just one entity.

This station is a beach and the people are the sand. Each individual is a grain, lost in thousands of other bodies that all look alike and are finally all the same. At least, it depends on the person.

But I was looking for one specific grain of sand. And this one was different.
It's the spot of color in the black and white crowd ; it's someone special, it's someone no one will ever replace in my heart. 

So here I stood  Monday morning, sunglasses on and my hood on my head, holding my piece of cardboard. I hadn't just wrote his name on it, no.

It had been an hour I was waiting and sometimes I forgot where I was. It's a thing that happens a lot when I'm bored. But I never forgot why I was here.

My eyes scrutinised the crowd. My fingers fiddled with my cardboard piece nervously.

2 months I hadn't seen him. He was in freaking America all along. 2 months without holding him in my arms.

I just hoped that a fan wouldn't turn at the corner and recognise me, it was the last thing that I needed. I just needed one thing, it's him. 

I looked at the hour on the electronic boards as my phone vibrated. I pulled it out. 

"Sam ♡♥: We just arrived, I'm out of the goddam train. Just a matter of minutes! ♡♥ xxx"

I smiled. He always had to text. I don't know if it was to reassure himself or keep me informed. But I liked to have the little banner popping up with his name and his text. My lockscreen was a picture of him, sitting on a couch in the little house we had rented in Spain for holidays the year before, with all the other guys. His long, sandy blond hair fell onto his forehead, he was wearing only his swimming pants and his smile was so beautiful it killed me. 

I rose my eyes back to scan the crowd, and took my sign in my two hands. 

That's when I saw him. His grey hat covering half of his hair, his large black tracksuits, his khaki, oversized t-shirt. 
I smiled at how he was looking for me, dragging his two enormous suitcases that had to be twice his weight -- so cute. Finally, his eyes spotted my sign and I saw him frown as he walked towards me. My smile enlarged as his confused expression deepened as he approached.
He rose his eyes towards my face and...

"GUSTAV!"

Before I knew it he was hugging me forcefully and he had pressed his lips onto mine. I took off my glasses, slipped them on the hem of my pocket, and wrapped my arms around his waist, responding to the kiss. 

Oh how I had missed the soft contact of our tongues, the feeling of his body in my arms. His fingers intertwined in my hair. 
It seemed like an hour after when we pulled away. 
I grinned at him.

"My little American feels well?"

"Oh please don't talk about this." he sighed, throwing his head back, his arms still wrapped around me. "It's definitive, I can't like America. I'm British and I'll stay on my own ground from now. Shit it." he chuckled. 

"Well, does my little Brit feel well?"

"Yes he does" he said in a strange throat voice, his head still thrown back. "Does MY beautiful Gus-Gus feel well, with his beautiful eyes and his beautiful all?"

I rolled my eyes.

"You exaggerate."

"No."

"... Well I'm okay now you're here."

"Aww. Too cute" he purred, leaning in to kiss me again.

I don't mind the people around. I have Sam.