LEGENDS | taylor swift

seven.

ROUGH CUSTOMER STUDIO
61 GREENPOINT AVE, BROOKLYN, NEW YORK

November had fallen upon New York City rather quickly in the wake of Taylor's departure to Nashville. The wind that blew through alleyways was colder now, and the atmosphere felt drier; a climate curated perfectly for bloody noses and scratchy coughs. It was unavoidable for most city occupants to at least acutely acknowledge the approaching change of season, and yet Emma Collins actively protested the thought of up and coming winter. Her avoidance didn't stem from hatred, even if she passionately detests how beautiful trees become barren and winter coats suffocate style choices, but rather, it blooms as a result of what the coldest time of year means for day to day routines; holiday parties, family dinners, Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, New Year's Eve and New Year's Day, the list continues on — all in all, winter brings holidays and celebrations that Emma had not been at liberty to participate in for nearly half a decade.

Nevertheless, life did not stop even with the persistent cold weather. Rather, it seemed to grow busier; heavier. Emma spent her mornings and afternoons answering emails from every person she'd ever crossed paths with within the industry, or at least that's how it felt to her. With reshoots out in Atlanta approaching quickly, she'd been in daily contact with not only her personal trainer, but the creative executives and producers that had to green light every aspect of her physical appearance. She practically had both her manager and publicist on speed dial, and with gritted teeth she corroborated with her incessant co-stars that didn't know when to leave her alone. Her evenings however, were all spent with Taylor without fail — some nights at her own apartment laughing over homemade cookie dough and childhood comfort movies, though most were spent at the musicians new (and temporary) Cornelia Street residence, almost always revolving around Meredith. The Scottish-Fold had still yet to show Emma any attention at all, and while she claimed to have all the patience in the world, she couldn't smother her desperation to win the cat over for much longer.

That's where Emma had been when her phone pinged with a text message from Taylor, the musician asking if the actress wanted to come down to Jack's home studio and 'fuck around' with them both as they fiddled with different instruments and melodies, having called it quits on their writing session already. Taylor always had a pen nearby nowadays, scrap pieces of paper laid neatly on the corners of random tables and flat surfaces throughout the Cornelia Street apartment, so it was surprising that not even three hours had passed before she and Jack apparently called it quits for the day. Nevertheless, Emma was out the door ten minutes later dressed in sweatpants that pooled around her ankles and a Tim McGraw tour shirt hidden beneath a well-loved black sweatshirt. Had she ever seen Tim McGraw on tour? No. But, Taylor had held onto that shirt for nearly a decade and Emma adored the thoroughly worn material, so on her body it would stay.

Jack's home studio was more than a couple of blocks away, and while the vultures swarmed the front of the building hoping for just a single glimpse of Taylor, the back entrance remained undiscovered and quiet, so Emma crept into the radiant daylight like a fleeting shadow and began the journey to the subway station she'd initially had to Google. Jack was located in Brooklyn, a newer apartment building the exact location of his residence, and with the name repeating in her head like a sacred assurance, Emma conquered the subway for the very first time in her life, only slightly disoriented when she stepped off the platform with her hood up and the weather rainy despite the sunshine. She'd have never taken the subway if the sky was clear, but with the exquisite excuse of long layers and thick hoods at her disposal, she pushed the boundaries of her self-prescribed isolation further than she had before, thankful to feel even slightly normal for the thirty-seven minutes it had taken for the express train to make it into Greenpoint Avenue station.