About me: Damian Augustus Styles. 30 (21 ooc) MDNI. he/him, the twin brother to Harry styles, the younger twin. Born on February 1, 1994. He was raised in Holmes Chapel, Cheshire, England, but he was born in Redditch England, but his parents later divorced when he was only 7 years old, and his sister Gemma was only 10 years old, he has a nephew named Archie, and has a goddaughter named Ruby Winston. A bit sensitive, shy at first. Non drinker, bisexual. Single. Singer-songwriter. The long hair, one of him, and Harry. 6'0. Romantic at best, Romcom lover. Cat and dog dad Can play guitar and piano, perfer guitar over piano. Always looking for friends, big teddy bear, and a lover of hugs. Wolf Alice, and The Beatles.
Monroe looked through the lens of her camera, capturing the picture-perfect shot of Italy’s city. She was in Italy for the summer, traveling for her work, and photographing models who lived here. In all honesty, she preferred photographing Italian models over American models; they were nicer to her. And she knew she was definitely in the business of finding nice people to work with. Since her latest stint at the hospital, she hadn’t really talked to anyone besides Abel and her boyfriend. The two guys she only wanted to spend time with. She knew that eventually, she’d have to go out and socialize with other people, but until then, she wasn’t in any huge rush to do that.
As she clicked her shutter, snapping several photos in a row, she looked on at the young model. Anorexia was the mental health disorder that claimed her and Roe honestly wasn’t surprised. You weren’t a model without a few scars to prove it. And she tried her hardest to take only flattering photos, to make the model feel good about herself, but it was hard when she was bones and no skin.
Roe wanted to talk to her manager; demand that the man feed her more. But she knew the way this business worked. Once you were in, you were in, no matter the price you paid to get there. That also meant you couldn’t back out of the agreement, and Roe felt for the girl - Charlotte - before her. She knew she was tired and probably wanted nothing more than a break. Roe didn’t blame her. “That’s great, Char.” She called. “Only a couple more.”
Monroe wanted to get the best shots possible but she also wanted to be mindful of her model. How tired she was; how she was doing. Monroe didn’t think she was faring all that well and it broke her heart.
Just then, she heard the sound of a dog barking joyously, and looked around. There was a guy with shoulder-length brown hair walking his dog. And about to walk directly through her photoshoot. Didn’t he see her? “Wait!” Monroe called as soon as he got within hearing-distance. She held up a finger to Charlotte, telling her to take a break, and Monroe looked at the guy. “Sorry, but this area is blocked.” She made sure her voice was kind; she didn’t particularly like telling strangers where they could and couldn’t walk.
