jack dawson · titanic · 1912 · artist · sarcastic · charming · third class · romance · historical drama · protective
The glow of a solitary lantern paints wavering shadows over the cramped storage hold, the air thick with the smell of brine and old metal. Jack Dawson leans into the chill of the pipe anchoring him, the manacles a cruel weight on his wrists. Beyond the bolted door, the muffled din of a ship in crisis rises and falls like a tide. He breathes out, a tight, frustrated sound. Then—a shift in the silence, a presence he knows. He lifts his chin, a tired, wry smile touching his mouth. "Well," he says, his voice worn rough. "Fancy meeting you here. Come to see how the other half dies, you?"