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"In some other life, we are standing side by side and laughing that, in some other life, we are apart."
–David Jones
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It’s been near ten minutes since Phil’s been able to feel the slow rumbling of the train, and he’s fairly sure there isn’t supposed to be a stop for another fifteen minutes past Ealing Broadway.
His conclusion, is that the tube must've broken down somewhere in the underground.
Now the entire train car is waiting in a stilted silence; listening to music; reading; or just looking off to somewhere.
London’s in it’s Summer months, the middle of a heatwave, and Phil can’t help but to notice how sweaty all the middle-age men in suits seem to be. And, a young man a few seats down from him, who’s wearing what looks to be a thick black winter jacket.
Phil spares a glance at the man, frowning, but he seems far too preoccupied with his phone to notice someone else staring.
He reaches out and lightly taps his foot against the man's left leg. He looks back at Phil, confusion set upon his face.
Phil doesn’t fully know why he did that, faced with the outcome.
“Aren’t you–hot?” He asks.
It dawns on him, how invasive this all is. Anyone could be wearing a thick jacket in any weather, for any reason. It’s not Phil’s job to pry at them, just because the train’s stopped for a quarter of an hour and he’s got nothing better to busy with.
“Yeah.” The man laughs for a moment, the tiniest bit forced. He leans closer to Phil, quieter, so as not to bother with other passangers. “I don’t really own any other jackets–and my nan convinced me there was gonna be rain today."
"How’d she get that idea?”
“Honestly, I don’t have a clue. But I’m fucking dying. Was looking forward to getting back to my flat and turning on a fan, maybe, but I think the tube's broke down.”
“Right. Do you want some water, then? I think I have an extra bottle in my bag. Might be a bit warm, though."
“Yes, please, if that’s alright. I swear I’ll die before we make it out of here.”
He finds a bottle of water from out of his bag, before handing it over the man, now sitting next to him. “There you go, free of charge.”
“Thank you, God.” He says, uncapping it.
“Actually, my name’s Phil.”
The man rolls his eyes, but in a kind way. "You know what I mean," He goes to drink, before adding: "Oh, and my name’s Dan.”
“Nice name."
“Thanks, you too.” Says Dan, between heavy breaths.
“Are you okay, mate? Am I going to need to take you to the A&E for heat stroke?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. But Jesus Christ this train is like, a billion degrees.”
"Can't believe we've only been speaking for a few minutes, and you’ve already disrespected Christianity twice?” Phil says, giggling.
“Shit, are you a Christian? Sorry.”
“No, no. It’s fine,”
A moment goes by, and Phil’s passed back a nearly empty water bottle.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Dan looks back at Phil, then asks, “Do you want to, like, listen to my music or something? To pay you back? Because you can. I have premium Spotify.”
He holds out his phone, shifting in his seat awkwardly.
“I mean–sure? Yeah. What music do you like?”
“Uh… I like Brockhampton, Kanye–not right now, but–and… Lana Del Rey is good. Death Grips. I just got into Sophie, but–” Phil notices Dan’s hands moving along energetically as he speaks.
Phil starts laughing, “No offence, but I don’t know any of those artists.”
“Oh. What music do you listen to, then?”
“Mostly movie soundtracks."
“I don’t really have any of those, to be honest. But–”
“It’s fine, I don’t mind. I can give your ‘Death Grips’ a shot.”
“Okay.” Dan passes him a right earphone, putting the left in his own, and presses closer into Phil’s side. “Here.”
“Okay.” He says softly.
“So this song is called 'Black Paint’. This album is kinda experimental, to be honest. S'good though."
The music starts heavier, drums and electric guitar, before a voice starts shouting words he can’t quite make out.
Phil smiles, "Is this like, metal?"
"What? No. I mean—I guess kind of. It's more industrial hip-hop type, y'know?" Dan glances at him, "Do you not like it? I can change the song, if you want. My music taste is very diverse, I'm sure I could find something."
"No, I like it! It's interesting, just didn't take someone who looks like you for a metalhead."
"Shut up, that's, like, so disrespectful to actual metalheads'." Dan laughs.
"Your mum is disrespectful." He mutters under his breath, an old joke with his brother.
"Your mum is a metalhead."
They stay close like this for another half hour, leaning against each other and listening to whatever music Dan's Spotify decides they'll like next, breathing.