| open to liam ( backdated to first time meeting! :D ) |
[Oct. 11th, 2009|11:06 pm] |
If someone had told Reagan Avery a year ago that he would be one of New York's most wanted up and coming artists, he simply would not have believed them. A year ago, he was barely scraping by, and things had been so tough that he'd nearly packed up and headed back home to Texas. Now he was glad that he hadn't given up, not that he really would have. Reagan had always been a fighter. And now, not only was he one of New York's most talked about artists, he was quickly being spoken of up and down all along the East Coast. It was insanity. His shows had gained slow momentum, but steadily he'd been making more and more sales. For more money than he'd bargained for, too.
Tonight, his friend was sure, would be the night that Reagan had a sold out show, where every single piece was bought, and nothing would be left. Reagan, of course, didn't think that was possible, but as the red dots started to show up on every painting he was wondering if he'd be eating his words.
Dressed in a pair of navy pinstriped slacks with a matching vest over a pale blue long sleeved dress shirt, he stood off to the side by one of the windows as he sipped at his wine and gazed about the place. He smoothed a hand gently down along his tie, looking terribly professional until you got down to his shoes... Which were navy chuck taylor's. But that was just Reagan.
His gaze swept about the place curiously, trying to read the expression on everyone's face when his eyes locked with a man across the room. A very beautiful man at that, who surely wasn't from New York. It wasn't that he looked out of place, no, it was just that he looked... different than everyone else. Moved different. Felt different. Reagan hadn't ever seen him before, and knowing his luck, he never would after tonight. The mystery man was probably visiting New York on business, and then he'd be gone, never to be seen again, and Reagan would paint him and wonder about what his name was and dream that they'd spoken. There was an instant connection that he couldn't describe, and he felt deep down that this was someone he would move for, move to be with. New York was tired, anyway. He could always fly back when needed. The train of thoughts were absolutely ridiculous, especially since they hadn't even spoken and not to mention Reagan didn't even have a clue as to if the man was straight or not. |
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