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When breakfast was over, Mother decided to take the little ones out onto the decks for some fresh ocean air and sunshine. The twins, in particular, were in need of some open space as their bickering seemed to agitate everyone at the dining table. To make matters slightly worse, Father's head was about to explode as they fought over his lap.

"Girls, that's enough. Now, if everyone will excuse the three of us, we will compose ourselves and make our way to the deck outside," mum said.

"Please do, Johanna," Father muttered. He looked to be completely fed up with everything at that point.

"C-Can I join you, mum?" I said tentatively. Hopefully, I wouldn't get a harsh word from Father or worse, make him explode like a cannon.

"Yes, Louis, you may go accompany your mother." Father straightened his jacket coat and cleared his throat before going with the Count of some county in Eastern Europe to the smoking rooms.

As we arrived outside, I felt the muscles in my neck relax as the warmth from the sun high above us seeped into my skin. A shudder ran through me, expelling all the cold in my body. I looked over at mum and the other girls, sighing in frustration at the scene all of them were causing:

"Daisy, Phoebe, stop this nonsense at once!" she said, while pleading with Charlotte and Georgia, the eldest half-sister, to quiet the two. I picked up Félicité, who began crying as a result of all the fighting, and tried my best to quiet her.

"Shh, you're alright, little one." But our situation was very not alright. A scene was already caused, just something else needed to hurt our reputation—the Tomlinsons were unable to soothe their own family in times of distress.

"Hey, hey, look. There's a man here who wants to give us a tour of the upper decks!" Mother exclaimed. Although her excitement was obviously faked, there was clear relief in her voice when the twins got distracted from each other.

I looked up to see one of the officers from the bridge tip his cap to the ladies and shake my hand firmly. "How do you all do?"

"We're stuck in a bit of a turmoil, here." Mum laughed nervously, gesturing to the red-eyed criers and pouting fighters. "Would you mind giving us a tour of the boat deck? I think we all need to stretch our bones."

"No problem, miss. Come this way, please," he said. We all followed behind him as he showed us the bridge where Captain Smith was keeping watch with the Master-at-Arms at the time, and then back down to the deck where he showed us where all the lifeboats were kept. We weren't the only people who were touring the deck, up ahead was another small clique of people with Mr. Thomas Andrews, the builder of Titanic.

". . . the sum in my head, and with the number of lifeboats times the capacity you mentioned, forgive me, but, it seems that there are not enough for everyone aboard," a pretty girl said. I recognized her as the same girl from steerage with that boy from Third Class the other day.

I immediately became intrigued by her rather intellectual observations, and pulled closer to hear better over the chatter between my sisters about the pulleys holding the boats in place. As he spoke to her, I overheard her name being Rose. Mr. Andrews confirmed her observation, and congratulated Rose for being able to "miss nothing".

"Oh dear . . . Louis, would you be a dear and fetch that for me?" Mother called out to me. I turned to see her overgrown-weeds-and-flowers hat on a bench near a lone man sleeping with a top hat covering his face. I paid no mind to him as I took the hat and gave it to her as she trailed closely behind Mr. Andrews with the girls, but as I followed them from a distance, I noticed the man coming up behind me and take a hold of my arm.

Naturally, I struggled against his vice-grip as he pulled me behind one of the lifeboats while one of his hands were covering my mouth. He shushed me frantically, trying to get me to quiet down. But since he was going to do bad things to me with nobody watching, I only panicked all the more.

"Lou, shut the hell up!"

And that was exactly what I did at the sound of Harry's voice. Once he came to grips with my realization of his appearance and sudden stiffness, he removed the hand from my mouth and replaced it with warm lips instead. I didn't expect it, but went along with it until he pulled away from my selfish tongue.

"Harry, you're going to get in so much trouble—"

"I don't bloody care, Louis," he said. "Look, I could fucking care less. I just wanted . . . want . . . to see you. Is that such an awful thing?"

"Yes, it is," I said. "You heard what my dad said last night."

"Well, your dad can go to hell," he said impatiently. "Look, I love you, Louis. I love you a lot. And I'm sorry about everything that's happened that's caused you trouble because of me."

"Harry?"

He looked at me expectantly.

"Haz, you can't keep doing this. We can't keep seeing each other any longer. I have my life to live, and . . . well, you have yours, I suppose. We're not allowed to blend together, alright? It's forbidden. No, wait, hold on one moment. I-I-I enjoyed our time together on this ship, but this can't continue. It can't."

It broke my heart to have to say that to Harry. No, it broke all of me when the words came spilling out of my mouth. But no matter how much I wanted to be with him, no matter how defiant I became, there would always be consequences for both of us. And to have to bear the weight of that fact was too much for me, and I was sure would be too much for any one person.

"I'm so sorry," I said tearfully. I searched his gaze for any sign of understanding, for any sign of emotion indicating that he can cooperate with my needs.

"Louis—" he kissed me, "—I know how you feel. And I can imagine the pressure on your shoulders. But one day, I'll make you see sense. You'll see one day that living with me is better than living the life you are now."

His fingers stroked my cheek, cupping it with coldness. I felt the tears swimming in my eyes, and some fell onto his hand. But no matter, his serenading me was going to have to end. Painfully.

"Leave me alone," I said at last. I rose to my feet, quickly wiping away the sadness from my face and my eyes. "We had some fun last night, isn't that enough for you?"

If I was able to become more of a disappointment in Harry's eyes, then I probably fell to that status as I walked away from him. Mother breathed a sigh of relief as she saw me from further up ahead, and turned around again to herd the sisters away from a poor boy with a spinning top farther out.

"Excuse me, sir, you're not allowed on this part of the ship," a voice said in the background.

I turned around out of curiosity, and found Harry approached by one of the officers from the bridge. Instinctively, I almost charged towards the scene to protect him from getting into further trouble while aboard the ship. But since our recent conversation, I decided it best that I was left out of it.

"No, hey, I was just talking to someone—" Harry began.

"Do you hold a Third Class ticket, sir?"

Harry hesitated. "Yeah, but I just came—"

"Then I must ask you to leave, please," the man concluded. But before he was able to carry out any further action, he looked inquisitively at Harry's face before hollering for another of the crew nearby. "Sir, this is the alleged Mr. Styles from Third Class, is it not?"

The other officer, who looked much more rugged and rough than the first, nodded briskly before grabbing one of Harry's arms and crossing it behind his back. "Mr. Styles, you are hereby under arrest for violation of trespassing on distinguishable property aboard the R.M.S. Titanic. Clearly, this deck is reserved for First and Second Class passengers, not Third."

"Look, I was just talking with someone, I was gonna go back—"

"Please, Mr. Styles, spare us your petty excuse," the gruff officer said.

Just before Harry was taken down from the deck and to God-knows-where on the ship, we locked eyes one last time. And that time I clearly saw the despair in his eyes, clear as day. And as I stood by helpless to do anything for him, I knew that it was my own fault for allowing him to get too attached to me.

----

"Sir, is everything alright? Mr. Tomlinson? Louis."

I turned around miserably at the mention of my first name as I shut the door of the cabin behind me. Dahlia was trying to talk to me, and I just passed by her as if she was non-existent. There was a bewildered look in her eyes, but behind that there was motherly concern.

"You look downright dreadful, sir," she said worriedly.

"Do I?" I hastily cleared my face of the supposed negativity. "Is this better now?"

If she would've been my mother, I would've gotten a good smack across the face and a pull on the ear or something of the sort. That was particularly a rude reply from me, something that Dahlia didn't need to be called out on.

I sighed in defeat. "I'm sorry. My behaviour is really all over the place today, is it not?"

Dahlia breathed a sigh before sitting me on the bed covers and taking a spot right beside me. Her hand found mine on my lap and stroked it soothingly. "No, your behaviour is not the problem, sir. Forgive me, but it seems as if your mind is all over the place. Hm?"

I shrugged indifferently. "Perhaps."

"Would you mind if I ask what's troubling you?"

I gave her permission, and she asked the most obvious question. "Sir, what happened today that's got you so down in the dumps? I have a peculiar feeling it's tied in some way with Mr. Styles."

I sucked in a trembling breath. "It is. I-I don't know. He just makes me feel all sorts of wrong feelings that cause me to involuntarily betray my entire lifestyle and my family."

"And what makes you think they are wrong?"

I scoffed. "Of course they're wrong. They completely go against our traditions and such. It's quite obvious how filthily wrong it is."

"No, it's not wrong, dear," she said. "It's just that you are different than all of your family past and present. Before you arrived on this boat, you were abiding by the tradition in your family as it has always been. But when you met him, I take it you abandoned that tradition for something . . . new. Now, new is not always a bad thing, is it not?"

I shook my head pitifully. Her logical reasoning still didn't have any weight in my mind.

"Do I have your permission to state something in regards to your situation, sir?"

I really didn't mind her at all, so I gave her the thumbs-up.

"Louis, I know you love Harry. And yes, I am aware of your plans to escape with him when we arrive in New York. But please, don't leave begrudgingly. Don't leave because you despise your family."

"Then for what reason shall I leave for?" I asked desperately.

She shrugged, chuckling. "I don't know. How about you make one up?"

I laughed at her attitude towards my plans for the near-future. It really was kind of funny seeing this uptight nurse suddenly turning into a rebel for the sake of love. Dahlia sat up from the bed and smoothed out the covers with delicate fingers before departing.

"Dahlia, how did you discover mine and Harry's plans?" I said openly.

She turned around to look at me with a crooked eyebrow. "Louis, dear, the maids know everything."

----

Lunch was uneventful, as usual. The ladies chatted and gossiped and drank tea and biscuits, while the men smoked their fat cigars and talked about the latest rugby match with professionally crossed legs. I sat in the middle of it, uncaring about anything except the thoughts whizzing around in my mind at a million miles an hour. Thoughts that made absolutely no sense, but were the most intriguing to think about.

When the time came for everyone to leave from the table, I was the first to sit up and leave without a care in the world who was looking at me. Or thinking how rude I was. I was locked in my own mind, where the drone of small talk and the violin players were all silenced. Where my unintelligible thoughts were louder than the ocean waves crashing against the Unsinkable.

Moving almost autonomously through the Grand Staircase, past the valets and crewmen and other passengers, I found myself at the stern of the ship. The back end where hardly a soul was found walking around.

I leaned against the rail and felt the sun on my face, further cooking my already burnt skin. I assumed a lax pose on the rail and pulled a disinterested expression on my face, while my brain on the other hand longed for Harry to be right here. Right next to me, murmuring in my ear that everything was going to be alright.

"Nothing's going to be the same," I whispered bitterly. "Harry is-is going to be handed over to the police in no time, and I . . . I'll just be dumbed back into my old life."

A tear trickled down my face, but I hurriedly wiped it off. I scorned myself for crying for my pitifully boring lifestyle, when in fact Harry was the one who deserved my tears. No, not even those. He didn't deserve me, nor the drops of saltiness swimming in my eyes. He deserved something, someone, much more and someone that can give him as much. What could I give him? If I was able, I would give him my world and so much more.

A trumpet sounded in the distance, signaling that dinnertime was imminent. Tonight Maggie would be joining us. Margaret Brown was one of the passengers aboard the ship, and a citizen of America. Her accent clearly identified her as a Southerner. She was also identified as quite the nuisance among the other First Class women. For some particular reason, they really did not appreciate her presence.

 ----

"Sir, you shall be tardy for dinner now. May I select your attire for this evening's festivities?"

I bit my lip as the laughs nearly spilled out. Anabelle also had a difficult time trying to control herself as she waited for Father to pass and leave the room. Her eyes glowed with humour as she made her way to the wardrobe and picked out a fresh bundle of clothes for me.

"Thank you, Anabelle," I said, my nose comically pointed upwards.

She snorted in suppressed laughter just as the door closed behind Father. When the knob clicked back into place, she waited in silence for his footsteps to recede to nothingness before breaking out in fits of uncontrollable laughter.

"Oh, Louis, you naughty boy!" she exclaimed.

I bounced my eyebrows flirtatiously at her, causing her to choke on her laughs as she held on for dear life to her ribs. But as the craziness died down, Anabelle regained herself and proceeded to clean my face as I put on the silky tuxedo.

"I extend my sympathies to what occurred earlier this day, sir," she murmured as she pulled back my hair.

I sighed. "Please, Anabelle. That's not what you wanted to say."

Her hand became still as the weight of my words hit home. Then came the fun part.

"I'm sorry for what happened, Louis. Mr. Styles . . . Harry . . . he seemed to brighten your entire boat ride. You became someone else. And each day, I continued to observe you and I continued to see this tiny glimpse of true happiness and glee in your eyes."

As always, Anabelle amazed me with her quiet observations taken as she slaved away at her job. I never took into consideration how much the maids really knew what was happening while they went about their arduous tasks each day.

"Please don't notify your family that we had been talking, Louis," she said anxiously.

I shook my head. "No worries. Anything between us stays between us."

When the conversations between us were over and I was fitted into my evening clothes, I groaned in silent displeasure as I made my way to the saloon upstairs. Men and women stood around the massive staircase, congregated in smaller groups as they chatted away and drank champagne with dainty, gloved fingers.

I didn't remember what I had for dinner. Every single course was served before being whisked away in front of my very eyes. I had a feeling that I was not "in tune" with anything as my food lay untouched. I quietly examined the rest of the table, watching the members seated around laughing and chuckling as Maggie told something funny regarding her husband and a firepit. After dinner, I decided that life was too short to be ignored by everyone. I received no double looks as I removed myself from the table, side-stepped the valets and food carts, and went to my bedroom.

"Back so soon, sir?" Dahlia said.

"Yeah . . ."

"I detect boredom, yes?"

I nodded as she chuckled wryly to herself and assisted me with removing my clothes. Dahlia led me to the bathing room and deposited various soaps and spices into the tub before washing me down. Snatching my night-gown, she slipped it over my clean skin and directed me to bed.

"Good night," she said, taking the glowing candle and closing the door.

The minute that the door clicked into place, I removed the garment from my body and laid naked in bed. Being uncovered, the hairs on my skin sprang up as a cool draft swept over me. My mind drifted off, thinking about Harry and the odds of his freedom when we would dock in the States.

But the thoughts were short-lived as a wave of arousal hit me when Harry became stuck in my mind, and I suddenly felt an urge to pleasure myself. Reaching down to my waist, I grasped my rising member and flicked the tip with my thumb to stimulate it to full length.

"Oh, God . . ." It didn't feel as good as when Harry pleasured me the night before, but it was enough.

But even my test-trial of pleasuring myself was short-lived as a rumble sounded from the bottom of the ship. The low rumble reminded me of an animal's grumbling stomach. Soon after, the rumble stopped abruptly and a floating mass of ice passed by the porthole as I looked out.

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