The Piccadilly line is bustling with people. Even though the air is brisk, people cramped inside the cars are sweating heavily, and it begins to get sticky. People are constantly getting on and off; with each stop comes new faces, and drops off some you'll never see again.
You live just outside the city  of London and are taking the Tube into work. You take the same route every day; you get on the Piccadilly Line and change to the Northern Line at Leicester Square. You've become quite familiar with the Piccadilly Line, as you are usually on it for nearly forty minutes one way. Usually, your nose is buried in a book, finishing up those papers due today, or trying to forget the breakfast your roommate made you. It was awful, and was excellent proof that students shouldn't be expected to cook.
Today, there are too many people on the line to pull out your book or papers. Phone, phone... nope, it's in your back pocket. To reach would mean disturbing at least three other people around you who are trying not to catch your eye.
You don't know whether to look around or just look at your crotch. No, no, that'd be weird, don't look there. Look at the ceiling. Oh, God, you never realized how filthy the ceiling of the Piccadilly Line is. Okay... advertisements. They're lining the tops of the windows, there's gotta be something... ah yes, BBC Hannibal. That sounds like a good show, perhaps you should watch it sometime.
Or not.
Finally, you decide it's best just to look around and pretend you know how to behave in public.
Another stop. You didn't realize how many there were until today. You start counting how many you have left. Manor House, Finsbury Park, Arsenal... only ten more stops until you could get off this wretched subway. Maybe, if you're lucky, you could avoid the Northern Line altogether and just walk... no, that'd be silly, it was much too far. That's why you take the subway in the first place.
You twiddle your thumbs for another minute before the subway stops again. You look up as the doors open, and, through the veil of people trying to get on, you see him. His hair is dyed blue, which you typically don't find attractive but it looks amazing on him. He's beautiful, with stunning brown eyes that pierce your soul. He licks his lips, and... oh, he shouldn't have licked his lips, his pink lips that are slightly parted, allowing his breathing to flow smoothly. His toned chest rises and falls with each breath, which prompts you to analyze his clothing choice. He's wearing a sweater, which is fitting for the weather. His jeans are ripped, which you find oddly appealing.
You realize he's watching you stare at him, and you quickly look away. He doesn't acknowledge you. Oh, how you wish he'd be pressed up against you like he was to the two people next to him... but sadly there are too many people on this tram, he doesn't even get close to you.
Three stops pass, and he doesn't get off. The number of people is starting to increase, but because he stays on, he just gets pushed closer to you. You admire his hard jaw, his strong arms, and his calloused hands. He must lift weights, his muscles are so defined. You wonder how much he benches.
The train comes to a stop again, and this time, he calls out, "Excuse me!" in a peaceful, yet hard voice. Your face falls, and he's gone. Another one of those nameless faces.
The next stop is yours, so you only have a minute to dwell on your disappointment. Why did today have to be the day you had to actually watch people?
Outside, the air is cold, so you tug at your jacket and pull it tighter around you. After you get off, you decide that coffee is the way to soothe your heartbreak, and you decide to leave the station and walk uphill to a coffee house that sells your favorite scones. Work be damned, you could be late for once in your life.
As you get up to the counter to pay, a friendly smile greets you. Your heart thumps as blue hair and a peaceful, yet hard voice asks you, "What can I get you, ma'am?"