Vick (aka Vincent) And Viola From Teenburg | Premium & Genuine

Viola spotted him from the picnic table, knees tucked under her chin. She wasn't trouble. She was the emergency broadcast system that announced trouble was coming.

Vick—Vincent, if you wanted to be formal, which nobody in Teenburg ever did—leaned against the rusted jungle gym like he owned the sunset. Hands in his pockets, cap pulled low, the ghost of a smirk permanently etched onto his face. He was the kind of quiet that made teachers nervous and kids curious. Trouble, but the slow-burn kind. vick (aka vincent) and viola from teenburg

And for the first time that evening, Vincent—not Vick the ghost, not Vick the shadow—smiled like he meant it. Viola spotted him from the picnic table, knees

"No." He pushed off the jungle gym and ambled over, dropping onto the bench across from her. "I'm the guy who steals the art before anyone sees it." Vick—Vincent, if you wanted to be formal, which

"What do you want, Vick?"

"Is there?"