just call my name, [open]

[mëduså]

One thing Beau liked about Ireland was its climate. Germany wasn’t frozen or scorching, but somewhere in the middle. Sometimes it was nice to have a warm car to drive to school in, and sometimes it was nice to walk without a jacket on. Today, the weather was just perfect for a jog. It wasn’t too chilly- it was early morning, dew still in the grass and the track’s blacktop slightly shiny. It was quite attractive for the odd track-nut. Slightly cool air to keep the skin cool as one jogged, just bright enough to see the lanes along the track. Beau figured there wasn’t any sports team that would assemble this early, so he’d get up at the crack of dawn and take an early run.

It was warm enough for the removal of Beau’s sweater and shirt. A thin layer of sunscreen had been applied over the mass amount of tattoos along his arms, his chest and legs. He’d been sporting his former school’s track pants, black with white German writing along the sides. A pair of expensive, but worn running shoes were on his feet, cushioning from the harsh cement and asphalt he’d been planning to run over today. The forecast, as predicted by Weather Channel, had called for a decent amount of sun, and a decent temperature.

Beau’s porcelain skin had already begun to develop a healthy glow from former jogs and runs. His appearance had changed slightly; he began to ponder as he started a brisk jog around the large track. The bags beneath his eyes had become darker, most likely from home sickness, and his weight had begun to get back on track. He took a few longer strides to increase his meager speed. Days like this, he noticed, squinting as the sun began to peek over the horizon, he enjoyed being alone.