London's Calling

I hurried to the doors of the tube, fumbling with my bag whilst trying not to drop my coffee, just to scurry across to the adjoining platform so I wouldn't miss my next train which had just pulled in. I managed to get on and grab myself a seat, placing my bag between my feet, coffee still in hand. I wrestled my bag open to get my notebook out, spilling some of the hot beverage down my hand.
"Shit," I cursed to myself, shaking my hand that had the offending liquid on it, as if it would make it disappear and the stinging pains from the scalding drink would just fall away.

Grabbing my notebook and a pen I noticed a scruffy pair of converse not dissimilar to my own as I lifted my head. I was about to get on with writing whilst attempting to wipe off the remaining coffee onto my jeans, when a voice disturbed me.
"Do you want some tissues?"
"Huh?"
"Tissues, to dry your hands." His accent was one I hadn't heard in a while. One from my own hometown in New Jersey. My own accent was wearing off, after 7 years in London.
"Oh, uh, yes, please," I said, rather embarrassed, as I looked up to meet the amazing eyes of an equally stunning man, who also happened to be the owner of the black converse that I had noticed earlier.
"Here," He smiled, grabbing a tissue out of a pack that he had grabbed from one of the outer pockets of his backpack.
"Thank you," I gave a shy smile.
"You're welcome," He said whilst smiling, before replacing his headphones and staring blankly into space, a hint of a tiny smile still on his face.

After my hand was coffee free I looked up to see that I only had two stops left, so I ended up replacing my notebook into my bag, I had wasted a lot of time fussing over spilt coffee, taking away a bit of my usual songwriting time.
I sipped at my coffee and glanced over at the man who had helped me earlier, our eyes catching for an awkward moment as I realised he had been looking at me too. I laughed inwardly a little. I was at the stop before my own and the same man got up and left the carriage, flashing me a small smile as he passed me.
I arrived at my stop not three minutes after, after picking up my things I almost stumbled off the train due to tripping over my laces. I rushed up the stairs to the escalator and when there ran up that too, I grabbed my oyster card out of my pocket and swiped it at the barriers before running the rest of the way to my workplace.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I'm so late, Ross is going to kill me!" I swore at myself through my teeth as I struggled to find my ID pass, so I could actually get into my workplace. As I passed a bin the empty coffee cup got discarded, giving me an extra hand to frisk my bag for the ID card. I managed to find it, right at the bottom of my bag.
I'm Frank Iero. Not a good timekeeper, clumsy, short, with dark brown- almost black- hair, with shaved sides, the front of my hair hung down in my face and kept getting in my eyes. I worked at Blitz Records, a small independent record company in the North of London.
Oh. And I'm gay, because apparently that's important.