#v;?

Send 🍺 for a thread where my muse is drunk *hic*

Jack sat in the lobby of the boarding house, sketching on an unsold paper. He was drawing the boys, smiling faces for once. Usually, it was little slices of life; all of them waiting at the circulation center, one of them hawking a headline or selling a paper. This one was different. They were all out in Newsie’ s Square, goofing around with each other, their faces nothing but joy. He couldn’t let that memory go. He heard the door open and shut, not looking up as he assumed it was one of the guys.  “How’d you fare today? Headline good enough for––”

❝Which one?❞ Maybe that wasn’t the right thing to start off with, now that he thought about it. They all came from the same place, it wasn’t as though the answer would actually change any.

❝It was… just a bit of a fight, really, nothing to worry about.❞ Some vain hope of getting out of a worrisome gaze, even though he had his doubts.  ❝…You… looks as though you do not believe me…❞

Mirana did not mean to stare but she could not help it. She had seen such bruises before and they were never from a mere disagreement or a small brawl. Especially if that particular bruise was not the only one he had.

“It is indeed. I do not regret skipping those royal lessons as it was one way to read about it but an entirely different experience dealing with it.”

SEND ME A 💔 FOR MY MUSE TO TALK ABOUT ONE OF THEIR EXES. (CLOSED)