slow night, so long `` open

[reagan delcambre]

Heavy breathing fluttered past thin lips and calve muscles burned consistently as he ran up and down the grassy field, a soccer ball being kicked between his feet. It was a bit chilly out, scratch that, it was hideous outside. The dark clouds looming above his head, taunting him with rain. But the cold didn't phase him, and the rain wouldn't deter him from playing the game. He fucking grew up in Ireland for God's sake. It rained there practically every damn day and something as petty as water wasn't about to make him run back inside. Hell no. His Irish pride would never allow it. Soccer was played whether there was a light shower of rain, or a fucking monsoon. No excuses.

But, ff you knew the kid to begin with, it was shocking to see him, Mr. Reagan Delcambre himself, out at an unholy early hour and sober no less. The way the boy acted at the Euphoria Music Festival gave him the notorious title of party boy. Nothing more, nothing less. Just his parties and is music. But, there was no drunken swagger, or disheveled clothes. He wasn't clad in his usual designer jeans, yves saint laurent boots, or leather jacket. Just a pair of gym shorts and a simple black v-neck. His body was warm, despite the frigid atmosphere that curled around his skin; his morning routine of running and a quick game of soccer made sure his muscles were moving, thus generating a natural heat that battled against mother nature.

The lean boy continued his quick dash down the field, zoning out everyone and everything around him, cold blue eyes focused solely on the spotted ball in front of him and his quick feet. Drawing his leg back, he kicked the soccer ball fiercely, pushing it into the imaginary goal he had set up. Raising his arms above his head, he shouted out goal in a loud voice as he ran back down the field, not caring one bit if he bothered anyone. When did he ever care? Grinning carelessly, for once with no cruel intentions hidden behind the suave smile, he jogged back to the ball he had abandoned, and picking it up he made his way back to the gym bag he had tossed to the side earlier. His breathing was heavy, and tattered lungs inched for every breath of air they could handle. Tossing his head back, he raised lean arms above his head, achingly stretching the taut muscles out.

After several nights of partying and sleeping in until four in the afternoon, Reagan figured some exercise would be a good break from all the other damage he had been throwing at his body. Even from this short sprint, he realized how badly out of shape he was. His body needed it, needed this: a desperate break from the hectic pace he was currently working at. And what better way to treat his body than by playing some soccer and running. So, Rea, shockingly, got up at the ungodly hour of six in the fucking MORNING and made his way to the park. Sure he wasn't that thrilled about it at first, but it was something that needed to be done. No bitching or whining, he knew it would do him good.

The park had been eerily isolated at first, just the way he liked it mind you. Not even the chirping of birds could be heard. However, as time slipped by, a small flow of people began coming in. The joggers, people walking their dogs, and so forth. But of course, Reagan paid them no attention. He was too immersed in his game. Too intent on working off weeks of damage, weeks of wreaking havoc.

Shuffling through his bag and picking up his water bottle, he took a long swig of it before splashing water across his face and on top of his head. He sighed in relief as the cool water refreshed his heated face. The cool drops relaxing the tense muscles. He hated admitting the truth, but he wasn't as in shape as he used to be. Too many all-nighters, drugs, and alcohol were wearing his body thin. Unfortunately for him.

Picking up the soccer ball once again, Reagan skillfully tossed it into the air and as gravity brought it down, he kicked it with his legs-tossing it from one leg to another, and than quickly with his knees. The boy was a pro, that was evident. He loved playing soccer, and to some that was shocking. Sure, he knew he didn't come off as the active type. Reagan gave off the air of being a city boy, but his athleticism was undeniable. His love for the game was unquenchable. It was the Irish blood that ran so violently through his veins. The endorphins and natural high didn't hurt one bit either.

He could do this for hours, no lie.

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[emery asher]

Emery walked through the park camera in hand. She loved this park it was full of people and nature. It was like a privet escape where she could lose herself snapping picture after picture. She moved slowly to wards a tree reviewing her latest additions to her album. Most of them were pictures of two old men playing chess, it was weird how cliche it was yet how it seemed to work perfectly. She liked that about New York everything she ever heard about it was true, but it didn't seem like what she thought it would be. Sure there was crime and rich arrogant people, but New York itself had a charm that she loved.

Emery slowly got up again checked her phone in case she would have to go to work. Thankfully it seemed that her job was to do nothing at the moment, it was fine by Emery though she liked just exploring the city. She hadn't even been tempted into her old lifestyle like everyone at home thought she would. She couldn't help but be thankful after all before she sobered up she was on the road to an early grave.

A breeze flowed by Emery sending chills up her spine. She let out a frozen breath and buttoned the last button on her trench coat. It was freezing out she opened her messenger bag and pulled out her gray knitted beanie and pulled it over her ears. She looked around any sane person would have left to go home to a warm apartment. Except some guy wearing shorts playing soccer. She was instantly shocked and interested. Why was he playing soccer in the freezing cold while wearing shorts, was he a pro soccer played who was dedicated to his sport, or was he just a random person hoping to turn heads?

By the look on his face pure intensity she was guessing deter minded player. Then again he might have another story she could never imagine. Slowly Emery lifted her camera and snapped two frames. She couldn't help herself when she was interested in something she would do the only thing she knew how, freeze time and take a picture.

Emery felt the cold creep into her coat. The frost on her fingers seemed to freeze them in place to take a picture. Every thing about the weather told her to go back and wait for sunny skies, but this guy was just so strange to her. Really she hated not knowing why he was out here freezing just to kick a ball around. Normally she would ask him but he seemed rather intent on practicing. Emery wasn't one to interrupt someone like that.

[reagan delcambre]

It was amazing, and almost bizarre, to find this green oasis nestled amongst the concrete, steel, and lights of New York City. The looming oak trees, and waves of green grass. A refreshing touch of color to the dull grays. A place where one could escape the hustle and bustle of the New York lifestyle. Or, in Reagan’s case, a place to retreat even farther into himself. Some time to keep to himself. A relaxing atmosphere where he wouldn’t be bothered by fellow band mates, crew members, the competition, or even fans. None of his usual drugs, alcohol, or bad habits. Just him and dear mother nature.

Being the arrogant boy that he was, he relished in the attention that being in a band garnered him. He basked in the glory, one could say, but despite his love for the spotlight, the boy appreciated his privacy immensely. Oh hell yeah. He was all about his privacy, and any who invaded it treaded in dangerous waters.

Taking in another deep breath, he ran quickly down the field, pulled his leg back, and kicked the ball once again, even fiercer than the last, if that was possible, placing all of his aggression from the past few days into the kick. A disgruntled noise escaped his lips, followed by a myriad of swear words as the ball escaped from him. fuck, he had kicked a little too hard. Definitely beyond the goal range. Obviously his mind was preoccupied. It was more than just soccer, and the festival. It was the competition that was making distracted. Instead it was a fucking girl. What else? After all, men's downfall were women. At least that's what it felt like to Reagan. The shit that was going on with Envy was driving him insane, making him tenser and more wound up than he honestly preferred to be. It was just so fucking frustrating, that girl, their nonexistent relationship. Damn. This was why he had the philosophy of bed 'em and leave 'em. It was an asshole type of philosophy but it worked.

But all that was completely besides the point. It was one of the major reasons why he had gone to the park in the first place. One of the things he was intently attempting to drill out of his mind, apparently by kicking soccer balls. He wanted to escape all the shit about the Euphoria Music Festival; as always he was running as opposed to facing the damn drama.

Leaning down, he rested his hands on his knees, and breathed out repeatedly. His breath coming out in puffs of white smoke that revealed the low temperatures he found himself in. Honestly, the cold didn't bother him. It only brought on a wave of nostalgia. Playing soccer with his mates in the dead of winter. No parents hollering at him to come back inside for the good of his health, but the memories were fond ones that made him smile awkwardly.

As he brought his gaze up deep cerulean eyes finally caught sight of her. He raised a quizical brow, his mind slowly processing the events occurring before his eyes. She wasn't hard to miss though. Stark blonde hair amongst the greens of the park, wide baby blue eyes, and pale skin. A large black camera sitting in her hands, cradled like a child. It didn't occur to him that she was a photographer, despite the honest way she held the camera. Didn't occur to him at all that photography was her passion. Much like across the spoiled sea was his. Instead he came up with two conclusions, well, more like jumped to two conclusions. After all, the boy infamously was one to prejudge before even speak one word to another. He'd come up with: A rabid fan or something he loathed entirely with the fire of a thousand suns. Paparazzi. His lips just curled at the thought of the despicable profession. You would think that a guy as arrogant as himself would jump at any chance he could get to pose in front of the camera, but that wasn't the case with him.

He was always one for jumping to conclusions, another poor trait of his. He was temperamental, and it didn't cross his mind that maybe, just maybe, she was taking pictures for recreational purposes. No harm done. And no harm intended.

Deciding on his plan of action, he decided on being his confrontational, pig-headed self. "Hey, what the fuck do you think you're doing?" He suddenly hollered in that smooth baritone voice of his. He didn't care if others were offended by his language or if he obnoxiously disturbed the peace that had settled upon the park that morning. He was much more offended by the harmless girl who was, to him, invading his privacy.

He began a swift walk in her general direction. He wasn't sure exactly what he would do. Hopefully nothing too rash, but with Reagan, there were no guarantees.

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[emery asher]

Emery felt almost like she was watching a movie. It really seemed like it so simple and yet she could feel the a sense of purpose with every picture she took. It was moments like these that reminded her that she was a real photographer not some fresh out of high school armature. A smile warmed her face and she thought about this, she could do this and not be fucked up to do so.

Cold winds sent shivers up her spine but she felt that if she left she would miss the end of this movie. Emery just couldn't bear to look away or to miss a moment of this. She defiantly didn't want to miss something like this a one in a lifetime moment. Then again she did feel a slightest bit of guilt taking pictures of some random person playing soccer. But all art was unplanned it was something that just happened no question asked. and thats how this would work. Among the green backdrop the soccer player seemed almost imaginary in such weather.

Her hands automatically clicked her camera as he smiled. It seemed her hands were trained to snap when a smile appeared after those taking pictures of screaming toddlers. She desperately wanted to know the cause for his bad weather practice, she loved knowing the passion in such acts. Hopefully one day she could tell someone the story behind these photos. She would say that she was inspired by the lone soccer player she was inspired to be just as dedicated.

Then he looked up. He was now watching her. His eyes like the ocean watching every thing she did. Emery instantly felt awkward and the seed of guilt exploded. His expression seemed to go from shock of being watched to thought and then to anger. Blood rushed through her veins and she suddenly felt light headed. He seemed only to get angrier by the second. Emery begged her legs to move to go any where but here but she was frozen. Adrenaline pumped through her veins uselessly.

Then his voice crippled her thoughts. Yea he wasn't just going to let her off the hook. She let her camera drop and felt the tug of the strap on her neck. Her mind stopped thinking of how to leave and moved to how to get out of this.

Then he started walking her way. He took deliberate steps toward her almost like a warning. Emery decided to stand her ground she didn't do anything wrong. "I think I was taking pictures, hence the camera." Emery said in a calm voice she didn't want to make him even angrier after all he could snap her like a twig if he wanted.