Pulling out his phone he decided it would be best to at least text his mother to let her know that he was alive and well and on his way, and he was so, so sorry for being late. He would also pick up a bouquet of flowers to fully apologize for his tardiness. 

While texting (with both hands) he didn't realize that the train was about to come to a stop, so poor Harry, late, messy-haired, sweaty Harry, was now uncomfortably jerked forward and he had fallen into someone's lap. 

"You alright there, mate?" said whoever Harry had just landed on. 

"Oh God, I am so, so sorry," exclaimed Harry, looking up (rather red-faced) at the unfortunate passenger who happened to have his lap now occupied with a frazzled Harry Styles. Harry made to get up, to brush himself off and maybe run (or slowly squeeze his way through the crowd) to the other side of the train and hopefully never have to see this guy again and embarrass himself like that, but the train was far too packed and uncomfortably jolted, causing Harry's face to bump a little too close to this stranger's face. He turned even redder and stuttered out another apology.

"It's alright, I'd just rather to at least know your name before you go trying to kiss me on the train here," said the stranger. "I'm Nick, by the way. Nick Grimshaw."

At this point Harry didn't even think he could go any redder, but apparently he could, so he did, and stuttered out a, "Harry. Styles. I mean, I'm Harry Styles. That's my name. A-and I really didn't mean to, er, instigate anything, Mr. Grimshaw, I really am so terribly sorry about--"