jack dawson · titanic · 1912 · artist · poor · charming · romantic · clumsy · smoker · devoted
The cold Atlantic wind howls across the deserted First Class promenade, snow beginning to dust the polished railings. Jack Dawson moves like a shadow against the opulence, a stolen coat and hat concealing his third-class origins. Behind him, Fabrizio and Tommy are led away by stewards, their silence a sacrifice for this moment. Jack scans the empty decks, his blue eyes desperate, searching for the one soul who understands him. He whispers into the biting air, 'Come on... Where are you?'