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Suddenly curious to investigate what the sudden halt of the ship's engines was about, I pulled on my night-gown to cover my nakedness and went into the main room of the cabin. Dahlia and Anabelle were up and running around, tending to Mother and Father and trying to care for the children all at the same time. And surprisingly, they managed. Those maids were the best.

Someone rapped the front door of the cabin impatiently, and before long a male steward suddenly barged in holding what appeared to be white coats made of some foamy material. "Please put your life belts on and head on up to the deck!" He dropped the life belts onto the floor and swung the door shut.

Mother gasped in offense. "How dare he simply barge his way in here? On whose authority does he speak of?"

"It's probably nothing to fret about, dear," Father said calmly. "Perhaps this is just a drill to stimulate our alertness for forthcoming predicaments. But damn it, they interrupted my sleep . . ."

I ignored Dahlia as she handed him a life belt. She shrugged and passed it to Lottie instead, patting her trembling hand to soothe her. "Everything is perfectly fine, deary. Please be a good girl and don't cry."

But as I overheard, I couldn't shake off the unwanted feeling that not everything was fine. Well, I knew something was dreadfully not fine. People didn't normally storm into your suite and order you to put on a life belt just minutes after an iceberg passed the ship. No, something was wrong and I needed to find out quickly. Speed was on my side while I raced the clock.

But why? Why was in a hurry? Maybe the panic just beyond the walls of the room drove me and my heartbeat insane with adrenaline and the need to be fast.

I approached Anabelle. "Anabelle, do you know what's bloody going on?"

She shook her head timidly. "I'm sorry, sir. I am just as confused as everyone else at the moment."

I groaned in disappointment and abruptly departed from the suite, ignoring my family's protests for me to leave on such short notice. But I didn't have time to dilly-dally. I needed answers promptly, and I'd get them regardless of where it took me aboard the vast, floating palace of a ship.

Climbing up stairs and ducking into halls, I frantically pushed my way through the hordes of people while seeking that one person who would know what in blazes was happening. The man would probably brush me off, but at least he was not from a different class. That was my sole advantage at the time to get the answers I would want. 

I'd have to confront Captain Smith.

As I emerged onto the deck directly from the dining saloon, the chilly air nipped at my uncovered skin and seeped through my night-gown. My face flushed red as I came to realize that I was dressed in only a thin piece of clothing and nothing else underneath.

Ha, I should be ashamed of myself, I thought grimly. For some reason I managed to find a bit of humour in it.

On the decks of the ship, there was a mixture of chaos and a kind of party feel. The majority of people didn't know what was going on and didn't bother to ask, while the few who did were ignored. Everyone else mingled with everyone else on the deck and waited for something to happen otherwise they departed to the warm interior.

Just as I turned away from the chaos and resumed my mission, I was shoved right into none other than the captain of the ship. But as I awaited a scolding for my apparent clumsiness, all that Captain Smith did was gently move me to the side as his ocean-colored eyes were looking off into a distant space. He seemed very out-of-touch with reality, and in another world where chaos was non-existent.

"Captain Smith!" I said.

He looked away from the alternate dimension that held his attention, and his exhausted eyes focused on me. "Yes?"

"What's going on, sir?"

He seemed taken aback by my forwardness. For a moment he looked hesitant to reply, evasive of my persistent stare. But then he looked me in the eye and replied:

"Young man, please get a life belt on. You and your family, please." Then he turned and began to walk away.

Then it was my turn to be taken aback. I expected something more, but then again, it was probably him that ordered his crewmen to dish out the order to everyone. A neediness swelled up in my gut like none other before, and placing part of my respect to the side, I marched up behind the man and yanked him by the shoulder to face me.

"Damn it, Smith, I need answers! My family is waiting on my return, and my—" I hesitated for a moment, "—lover is at the bottom of the ship. Please, for the love of God, tell me what's going on."

His hesitation returned after indignation swept his gaze at my utterly disrespectful manner. But I guess he realized at last that my persistence would only be quenched with answers, and therefore, he would be wise not to withhold them from me. Taking a deep breath, he told me what I needed to know. And when I heard it, I wish I didn't.

The ship, this ship, collided with the iceberg that passed us by a mere ten minutes ago. Big deal. The grandest ship in the world would've been able to strike ten more before something serious occurred. Or so we thought at the time. This iceberg in particular ripped out the side of the ship for a distance that would flood more than she was able to bear.

"She can only flood a few compartments and still be able to run. But in this case, she flooded one too many," he said sadly.

"And?" I said impatiently.

"And so, as a result, the ship will . . . sink."

I was completely dumbfounded. I was speechless. No. The ship couldn't sink. Hell, not even God Himself was able to sink it, or so I heard! So how on earth did His own creation prove stronger than Him? A random, floating piece of ice thousands of miles from the closest pier put well over two thousand people's lives on the line.

But I still held onto some hope. Any hope. "B-But there's enough lifeboats . . .?"

He gave me a look. A knowing one, too. Those clear eyes searched my soul and knew what I did. There weren't enough, there never was. Not when every soul aboard Titanic foolishly believed it was unsinkable, and foolishly decided against thinking of the worst-case scenario when two thousand people were stranded in the middle of the Atlantic.

"How much time do we have?" I demanded.

He sighed. Which I barely heard over the noise. "At best, no more than two hours."

Shit.

A hard-faced officer and a rather young lad approached the captain, shouting into his ear about what their subsequent orders were. I was much too curious what he would say than to turn away for the sake of privacy.

"Sir, what are you orders?!" one of them shouted. It was hardly distinct.

"Women and children in, and lower away," Smith ordered briskly after a moment's pause.

I walked away slowly with so much on my mind. Of course, who was I to blame? Hardly anyone knew the truth, and it seemed that most of the people who did paid no mind to it or simply regarded it as a joke to pass around. But the captain cannot lie. And why would he, anyways, when he had just given the order to his crewmen to evacuate the ship?

I entered my suite expecting Dahlia and Anabelle or at least my parents to greet me. But all I met was silence. Looking around the dark room, I realized that everyone packed their luggage and left rather quickly in the ten minutes I was gone. They even managed to leave the cabin relatively tidied up. But it wouldn't matter, it was going to the bottom of the ocean in less than two hours . . .

Snapping out of my thoughts, I felt a strange strain on my neck and in my head. As I removed myself from my mind completely, I realized that my breathing became shallow as the stress took over me. I had to calm down. I collapsed onto an armchair nearby and pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to deflate the balloon of mounting pressure inside of me.

I stayed like that for several minutes, regaining myself. It was very, very difficult to put aside all hopeless emotion that either I would not make it into a lifeboat alive or not be able to rescue Harry before he was swallowed up by ocean water. At least my family was safe. Then again, it was never safe to assume things. Especially when one was aboard a rapidly sinking massive ship.

Taking a deep breath, I stood up with my stress level in check and calmly retired to my bedroom. I closed the door behind me and looked around to see that my own luggage was still present. Dahlia—or Anabelle—were smart enough to leave it here just in case I would return. And they were right, thank Heavens.

I slipped out of my frozen night-gown and draped it onto the bed before getting dressed in my beggars' clothes. It felt like years when I last wore these, although it was just the other day when I did. They were comfortable and obviously much warmer on my skin than my sleep cloth, but how would it fare out in the open air? To push aside that problem, I took on a black overcoat on top just to be sure.

It was probably a few minutes following up to midnight when I left the cabin once and for all. Hell, I didn't even bother closing the door let alone locking it upon my departure. I felt compassionate enough to allow strangers inside if they needed more formidable clothing or just wanted the sensation of looting something from a First Class person. It would be suicide to try and rescue all of my things from my room, anyways.

The corridors were surprisingly much more empty. There was no longer a crowd of people wondering what was going on, and the feeling of panic in the air almost evaporated as a classical piece was being played in the saloon to the right of my cabin. There were few valets ordering people to strap on the bulky life vests, and yet even the ones that did were strolling around the staircase sipping tea nonchalantly. Everything was nice and cozy and a pleasant atmosphere was in place, but the truth of what was happening at that moment haunted my brain.

"Harry," I said to myself. He was my first priority. I assumed that it was safe to assume that my family were safe. I was being passive, but I did not give one flying fuck.

Taking advantage of the virtually empty hallways, my overcoat flew in back of me as I ran down the halls and climbed my way further down the vast ship. I groaned impatiently as I passed the lifts on the way and found them to be closed. The staircases were my only alternative, and hopefully, they would not be closed either. The closer I got to the bottom, the more I thought it smelled like seawater. Or was it just me?

"Sir, you're heading the wrong way! Sir!"

I ignored the screaming crewman as I ventured away in the opposite direction the commonfolk came from. I received many odd and estranged glances, but I glared defiantly at those that gave them to me. I knew what I was doing, and even if I didn't, it was my business and mine alone. Save your own life.

I almost stopped in the middle of the hall in shock. Jesus, when did I become so independent and self-centered? Oh yeah, damn Harold Styles . . .

I concentrated on my thoughts and stubbornness to get to him as I climbed yet another metal staircase downwards. All thoughts of claustrophobia and cowardice of continuing were ignored, and the whole time I constantly psyched myself mentally before descending to another floor. It was difficult and stressful to make myself keep going, even while the ship's power source flickered discouragingly.

Suddenly, as I was jogging through Second Class, the electricity completely dimmed out for about ten seconds and the ship gave a thunderous groan as if I was inside a gigantic whale. The electricity flickered back on briefly, and after waiting momentarily for it to shut off again, it didn't.

Footsteps approached me just seconds before someone rounded the corner. I turned to look and found that it was that pretty red-headed girl, Rose. I swallowed nervously as her deep sapphire eyes met mine, and familiarity flickered in them briefly. Her delicate fingers brushed the wall, keeping her steady, and yet she looked as sturdy as a bull.

I gulped and wiped the sweat from my brow. "You're looking for him." It was more of a statement than a question. I already knew, as did many of the First Class passengers, that there was some scandalous drama going on between the Dewitt-Bukater family and a boy from steerage. The same one she was with two nights ago. I probably knew exactly what she was going through more than anyone else on the ship . . .

She didn't respond immediately, but looked at me blankly as her chest heaved for more air. When she blinked back to reality, she nodded in confirmation. "As are you."

My eyebrows raised up onto my forehead. But as I scrutinized her words, I realized that of course she knew about Harry. Or at least "the boy from steerage", as I knew hers in my mind. The four of us had become "acquainted" in the cargo hold at the absolute bottom of the ship. When Rose saw the surprise on my face, she released something between a chuckle and a gasp for air.

"You and your, uh, friend are quite the scandal on this ship," she said.

I snorted. "That sounds familiar, doesn't it?"

Rose chuckled nervously before giving me one last fleeting glance and sprinting away. Someone shouted in the distance moments later. My ears perked up like an excited dog at the sound that came from below me, and I quickly began to run down with my heart racing. That had better be Harry yelling.

"Harry?!" I shouted.

Silence. There was no one there. I was probably going paranoid and thinking he was near. But then I heard it again, louder and more distinct. I still wasn't able to make out what words were embedded in that frantic call for help, but at least I heard it.

"Harry?"

There it was again. I picked up the pace and passed the Second Class dining room before I noticed a gentle slope to the floor. I was currently walking up the slope, so at least I was not going to touch the presumably sub-freezing water for awhile. Hopefully, I would not come into contact with it at all.

"Harry!" I shouted again.

I heard it. It was muffled, but I heard him. Barging through a pretty heavy door off to the right of the dining room, I ended up in the kitchen of the Second Class. I heard Harry screaming again, but he sounded more distant than when we communicated last. Backtracking to where I was, I headed down an alternate path before finding myself just about talking to him through a thick, metal door.

"Harry, thank God you're alright," I said breathlessly.

"Louis . . . love you."

"I love you, too, you little bastard." Gripping the handle with both hands, I pulled and pulled until my hands went red. But the door would not budge.

"Hold on!" I shouted. "I'm coming back."

I sprinted into the kitchen and found it littered with all sorts of stuff. The incline of the ship became more significant to the point that things were beginning to fly off the shelf and onto the floor. Navigating my way through the mess of seasonings and china and silverware, I sought out to find the keys to the locked door. But as I continued scrounging through the mess and the cabinets and drawers, I began to lose hope of finding them.

"Where are you?" I muttered as I entered a storage room behind the kitchen. After successfully trashing the room, however, I managed to find them. Hanging on a nail beside the entrance.

"Well, fuck me sideways . . ." Hm, Harry would.

A sudden chill came from underneath my feet, like ice started growing through the carpet. But when I looked down, a steady pool of water accumulated around my shoes and penetrated through to my skin. I sprinted out of the little puddle and to the big food storage where Harry was in. I was able to tell the moment I opened the door.

"Harry, oh my God!" I said ecstatically.

Harry looked almost dead, despite being locked up in a box with food everywhere around him. His hands were handcuffed to a metallic stand, and despite looking flimsy, the thing must have weighed several kilograms. A pile of vomit sat spewed up around him, and the stench of bile radiating off of it was horrendous. Blood outlined his face, even when sweat seemed to have diluted it over the many hours he was in there.

Not caring about how disgusting Harry's face was, I kissed him passionately and with everything inside of me. His breath smelled awful, his face was grimy and dirty, his clothes drenched in sweat and blood, but his lips were still enough to send my insides churning and my head up into the clouds.

"What happened to you?" I said.

He sniffled. Apparently he had been crying for joy when he heard me. "They just roughed me up a bit for snogging you that night. Nothin' I can't handle."

"We have to go. The ship is sinking," I said straightforwardly.

"I heard," Harry replied grimly. "Kinda hard to believe, yeah? But I reckon it'll be awhile before the whole bloomin' thing drops down to the bottom."

As Harry talked, I steadily began removing the contents on the metal frame. Boxes of meats packaged in paper came from the bottom shelf and made the thing lighter, while crates full of vegetables came from the upper shelves. Before long, only Harry was still attached to the frame.

"Oi!" Harry said with a whistle. "You can take off the shelves, and I'll just shimmy right down."

Relieved that it wasn't necessary to break the metal as Harry had tried doing during his imprisonment, I quickly took off the shelves starting from the top and working my way down. But a new problem arose: the very last shelves were permanently attached to the frame. Harry's chains were going to have to be broken by force.

But how?

I felt myself going into a phase of panic that was, simply put, impossible to remove myself from. Emotional detachment, I reckon they called it. Where my stress levels were so high that all I would do was freeze up and try to hide away from the world and its issues. I'd only gone to that place once before during my childhood years, and it was a very inviting place.

". . . Louis. Louis!"

I snapped back to the real world and all its issues, and with Harry still chained to the frame. I blinked once, twice, thrice before distinguishing his words and processing what he was saying.

"What?" I said stupidly.

He motioned his head in the direction of the storage room behind the kitchen. "See if you can find a tool there, maybe a hammer."

Nodding fervently like a child, I rushed into the room while stepping gingerly through the heightening puddles of water on the floor and scoured through the mess I made looking for the keys earlier. Throwing aside books, papers, recipes, notes, and the like, I finally managed to find a small hatchet.

"Will this work?" I asked as I returned.

He shrugged. "It's worth a try. Just—here, bang out this part I'm still connected to, and then we can unchain me from these things."

Motioning for Harry to step away from the frame as far as he was allowed to, I cleaned off a chunk of the frame and partially freed him. The water had reached my ankles by then, and I was beginning to get anxious that we won't make it to the upper decks on time.

"Alright, now cut the chain here, Lou," Harry instructed.

My hands trembled as they feebly gripped the hatchet. I was losing confidence in myself. "I-I can't, Harry."

"Yes, you can, Lou!" he said. "I know that you'll still love me even with one hand."

I rolled my eyes, yet I felt relieved when his humour overruled my slight anxiety attack. "Thank you, love."

Taking a deep, reassuring breath and aiming for the small metal tendon linking the braces around Harry's wrists, I swung the hatchet with all my might and hoped to make a clean cut. But as it descended to where Harry's wrists were on the carpet, I felt it lean slightly to one side.

Harry screamed. I gasped, wondering what part of him I sliced open. But as I opened my eyes expecting blood and displaced body parts, I found Harry chainless and embracing me with his all and just a small cut on his left hand where the blade accidentally got him. But it was too small to be considered a wound.

"Oh my God, Louis!" he screamed, kissing me repeatedly. "Oh my God, I'm free!"

I was shocked, joyful, and speechless all at the same time. When Harry calmed down, we were waist deep in icy water and had to move. It was probably close to forty-five minutes after midnight.

"Come on," I said, giving him one last peck on the lips. "We have to go."

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