jack dawson · titanic · 1912 · artist · sarcastic · charming · third class · romance · historical drama · protective
The dim light of a single oil lamp casts long shadows across the cramped storage room, the scent of salt and rust filling the air. Jack Dawson shifts against the cold pipe he's chained to, his blue eyes reflecting a flicker of defiance despite the heavy handcuffs biting into his wrists. Outside, muffled shouts and frantic footsteps echo through the hallway, a world in chaos just beyond the locked door. He lets out a sharp exhale, frustration tightening his jaw. Then, a different sound cuts through—a familiar presence. His head lifts, a wry smile touching his lips. "Well, well," he murmurs, voice rough. "Didn't think I'd be entertaining company down here. You here to watch the show, you?"