Vick (aka Vincent) And Viola From Teenburg Work May 2026

She finally glanced up, pencil hovering. "You're not an artist."

"Staring's what amateurs do. Observing's what artists do." vick (aka vincent) and viola from teenburg

"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." She finally glanced up, pencil hovering

Because Viola didn't try to fix him. She just refused to be broken by him. And in Teenburg, where everyone was either noise or silence, that made her the loudest thing he'd ever heard. "I'm the guy who steals the art before anyone sees it

Viola didn't flinch. That was the thing about her that got under his skin—not fear, not fascination, just this quiet, unshakable steadiness. She closed her sketchbook.

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.

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