Eyes slitted against sunshine that had no fucking right to exist so early, Tyler Jackson scowled at the shirt he held out at arm's length. Supposedly white, various stains on the thin, greying fabric were now joined by a small burn on one cuff. Small, but fucking obvious.
โBollocks.โ He'd left the iron for two seconds to catch a notification. Story of his fucking life.
He only possessed two school shirts โ both second-hand โ and the other had splodges of grease and ketchup from the day