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I met with Harry the following day after the brawl that occurred the previous night. We bumped into each other completely by accident as I walked along the deck after escaping from my dormitory and from the sometimes overbearing clutches of my mother and our maids.

“Oi!” Harry called out as I walked along the railing of the ship.

Hearing the familiar voice, I turned in the general direction from where I heard it and walked down the deck as soon as I recognized the tamed curls floundering about in the cool ocean breeze.

“So it’s Louis, yeah?” he hollered as we closed the distance between each other.

“Yes, yes it is,” I replied.

“Pleasure to finally meet your acquaintance, gov’nor,” he said cheekily, curtsying in a vain attempt to appear polite.

“Men don’t curtsy, Harry,” I remarked as he took his hand in mine and repeatedly kissed it. I pulled my hand away from his and smirked.

“But they do for women.”

As the words clicked in my brain, I realized that he called me a woman. In a teasing way, of course, else he'd be on the floor successfully castrated. Once he noticed the shock appear across my face, he burst out into guffaws of laughter and while I repeatedly smacked him across his arm.

“I am not a woman, Mr. Styles!” I exclaimed indignantly, receiving a few curious stares from nearby onlookers.

“Whoa, whoa, hey . . . Loosen your corset, love, have a drink,” he said in mock assurance.

“Corsets are for women, Harry,” I corrected, keeping my arms folded across my chest.

“Exactly.”

I groaned in irritation while Harry laughed his arse off even more, looking like a drunken goose with curly feathers. Although he was laughing at me and at the teasing he dolled out, I couldn’t help but find it . . . adorable? Was that the right word?

I felt someone very close to me, and that alone gave me reason to break my train of thought. As I realized how close Harry was to me, I leaped away in shock and attempted to put some distance between us before someone spotted it and would’ve possibly reported it, too. However, Harry had other plans in mind.

Holding my shoulders between two large palms, he focused his gaze on me intently and watched me helplessly squirm underneath his grasp. Turning frightened eyes to him, my breath was stolen as I took notice as to how absolutely vivid those two green orbs were. I had never seen such a lush green before—not even the native grass that grew in Doncaster was such a shade of emerald green!

“You’re my woman,” he rasped, coming within centimeters of my body.

For some reason, the way he said that sounded so caring and protective that I almost wanted to fall asleep in his arms. I was reminded of how I used to fall asleep comfortably in my father’s arms when I was a child, and how nothing in the world was able to snatch me from his grip. The only thing that I found “off” was how he referred to me as his—

“Louis!”

I snapped my eyes open and hastily pushed my way past Harry to be coolly greeted by my mother and her small group of fancy females. They chatted endlessly about men, the latest fashions in Paris, how the Americans were handling themselves, and all that useless gossip that bored me.

“Mother! Whatever brings you here?” I greeted cheerfully.

“Are you keeping that Styles boy company, by any chance?” she asked suspiciously.

Heart racing as to what to say to her, I orchestrated my voice to respond in a somewhat cautious way. “Uh, he was merely inquiring me about the dinner tonight.”

“Oh yes, I remember now. Well alright, but please be careful around him, Louis,” she advised quietly, adjusting her parasol in a way that blocked anyone from seeing what she was telling me.

“Of course, mum,” I replied encouragingly. On the inside, however, a pulsing irritation arose at her words. I was quickly becoming irritated at her recommendations of avoidance on my part regarding Harry, because he wasn’t a threat! Damn, he saved my life from those low-life beggars last night!

Giving me an approving nod she strutted away elegantly, followed closely by her women friends as they continued their chatting about the chinaware found in the dining rooms. Clenching my teeth in annoyance from my mother’s words, I calmly walked back to Harry with my hands shoved into the pockets of my trousers and leaned ever-so-slightly against the metal bars of the railing.

“Damn, she sure doesn’t like me,” Harry muttered.

“You heard every word?” I replied, aghast and bewildered at his sensitive hearing.

“Yep.”

“I apologize, Harry, she doesn’t really—“

“Oh my god, Louis, it’s not a big deal,” he dismissed lightly. “Don’t be such a worry-wort.”

I scrunched up my face in confusion as I surveyed the traffic below the deck we were on. “Worry-wort?”

“Yeah, it’s a person who frets about loads of bullshit,” he said.

“Can you not?” I said sharply.

He looked taken aback, and leaned away from the railing to look skeptically at me. “Can I not what?”

“Not swear so often, perhaps? It’s getting fairly irritating.”

“Psh, nah, you’re just so tight up your arse that you can’t handle a bit of street language,” he replied with a wide, cheeky grin.

Whatever I was going to say got wedged at the back of my throat, because that cheeky smile he conjured up completely charmed away every nasty retort I was about to hurl at him.

“What?” he said.

I cocked an eyebrow. “What?”

“You were staring at me intensely just a little bit ago,” he informed.

“I-I was not!” I replied hotly, but I felt the fiery blush crawling up my neck and onto my cheeks.

“You know, it is quite rude to stare.”

“Y-yes, I’m quite aware of that.”

Harry began another round of boisterous laughter, which set my nerves off to no end. But as I noticed the sparkle in that emerald gaze of his, I couldn’t help but smile in spite of myself.

“Alright, alright, come with me,” I said at last, cutting Harry’s time of fun and games short.

“Where?”

“To my room. I’ll let you borrow one of my suits for tonight—we’re about the same size.”

----

“Anabelle, this is Mr. Styles, the man who so graciously saved my life last evening.”

Her eyes lit up as she made her way across the room to greet Harry, who stood on the threshold of the entrance unmoving. His eyes gazed in awe around the room, marveling at the expensive furniture that clustered around the large cabin and the lamps that cast an amber glow on the polished wood walls.

“Good day to you, Mr. Styles,” Anabelle welcomed politely.

“It’s Harry,” he responded bluntly, keeping his eyes on the bed in the corner of the room.

I looked to Anabelle with a slight smirk on my face, and by the looks of it she was trying to fight one off her face as well. Biting down on my lip, I walked up to Harry and gently directed him into the fitting room of the cabin; Anabelle took that hint as an indirect order to tidy things up in there.

“I’d love to live here for a week,” Harry muttered as he gawked down at his feet that shuffled across the expensive carpeting.

“Eh, it’s nothing much,” I waved off, and together we approached Anabelle in the room.

“Here is your attire for this evening’s dinner, Mr. Styles.” She offered up the nicely pressed suit to Harry, who practically snatched it from her hands before muttering “It’s Harry” under his breath.

Harry, as I began to notice, really didn’t appreciate the fact that the maids were tasked with dressing you up for any occasion. He constantly yelled at Anabelle to stay away from him and not to “come near me again”, and after the third attempt to perform her usual task, I just told her to drop it for Harry’s sake. Nibbling on her lip, she nodded and hurried from the room.

Sighing, I stood up from my seat and strode up to Harry, who was having trouble putting buttons in the right place. “Here,” I offered, gently turning him around to face me, “let me help you.”

In a matter of seconds I managed to straighten up Harry to the utmost best, and then I proceeded to use some oil to slick back his hair. Although I would have rather permitted the curls because I favoured them so much, it was considered improper to have hair jumping about whilst being in the presence of upperclassmen.

“Oi, what the bloody hell are you doing?” Harry fussed as he noticed the oil I spread through his hair.

“We need to slick back your hair for dinner—“

“Hell, no! I like my hair just how it is, thank you.”

“—because it is frowned upon to have hair like this around upperclassmen in society. Don’t worry, I’ll clean it out after dinner.”

“You had better,” he mumbled childishly.

----

“My, my! What a gentlemen you have made him to be, sir!” Dahlia exclaimed after Anabelle informed her about my guest.

“Thank you, Dahlia,” I replied proudly. “We are off to dinner now. Tidy up around, and then you are free of your duties for the remainder of the night.”

“Thank you, sir.” Both maids bowed slightly before ushering us through the door.

“How the hell can you people manage to wear these stiff things?!” Harry exclaimed, tugging on his collar as we stepped up the Grand Staircase.

“Shh! Not so loud—your voice echoes about everywhere.”

“Sorry, but how do you manage?” he pressed.

I sighed, clearly remembering how I also thought the same—and still did. “I honestly do not know.”

We arrived at dinner and made our way to the designated table, where more than a dozen people of important social class sat around pompously. I noticed all of my family was there, along with Mr. Guggenheim and his wonderful mistress, as well as Mr. Jacob Astor and his wife; several other people were there who I hadn’t recognized.

“Ah, welcome Mr. Tomlinson!” Mr. Guggenheim greeted, gesturing to an open chair beside him. “Come join us, as well as Mr. Styles.” He gestured to another chair farther away from the first.

Giving Harry a fleeting glance that showed my disappointment of being away from him, I reluctantly sat beside Mr. Guggenheim while Harry took the seat three people to my right. We still had a fairly good view of each other, and only the mistress was in our way.

Only her . . . I thought, mentally gnashing my teeth in aggravation.

“So Mr. Styles, do tell us a bit about yourself,” my father said, arousing the relatively quiet table to life.

“Well, Mr. Tomlinson—“ he quickly glanced at me while his head faced the other direction, “—I was born and raised in the slums of Cheshire, worked my childhood away alongside my parents, and managed to board ‘The Unsinkable’ to get a new life in America.”

“What about your parents? Are they not joining us tonight?” one of my sisters piped up. It was probably Félicéte.

“Erm, no, they have declined to the invitation, sweetie,” Harry replied.

So far, the conversation was going all well. The main dishes had already been given out, and everyone had eaten and discussed personally with Harry. Everything was grand up until the final course of the night. Nothing too offensive took place, but Harry’s clumsiness began to take a hold of him, and he forgot the few main table manners I taught him seconds before we arrived.

He reached from his seat to the middle of the table and grabbed a bread roll before smearing it with butter clumsily. Wincing, I looked around to see nearly everyone in his proximity staring wide-eyed at him while he noisily dropped the knife against his empty platter.

Then he began to talk—with his mouth full of chewed-up bread.

“So . . . phen duh bloke aff de bar ash’d me ‘ow owed I waff—“ he began, and at last he swallowed before restarting. “So when the bloke at the bar asked me how old I was, I just said, ‘Old enough for your mum to enjoy me!’”

The table erupted in loud howls of laughter, yet nobody seemed to care how many decibels they managed to hit. The formal dinner was long over, yet everyone was still thoroughly enjoying Harry’s rather dirty jokes and a glass of champagne.

“But seriously, my philosophy is that you live life to its utmost while you’re young and free.” He shot me a full look of youthful energy and a wink, one that got me fully red in the face. “A toast, shall we?”

“Here, here! A toast!” Mr. Guggenheim and my father agreed simultaneously.

“To live while we’re young,” Harry concluded, and the table repeated after him in a chorus of voices both young and old.

As I quickly downed the champagne, I caught Harry’s eye trained on me like a firearm ready to explode. His gaze was filled with such lust, such hunger that I felt like melting in my seat. At last, after what seemed like an eternity, he pried his eyes off of me and left me flustered and embarrassed.

At long last, after the gentlemen decided to go congratulate themselves for being kings of the world in the smoke room, Harry had to take his leave in order to find his parents in Third Class.

“Ma’am,” he said, taking a hold of mother’s hand and pressing a kiss to it, “it was an absolute pleasure being here tonight. Thank you for bearing with me.”

Mother was absolutely flattered by his sudden evolution since the afternoon and previous night. Harry approached me next and firmly shook my hand.

“I bid thee farewell, Louis,” he joked.

I snorted in suppressed laughter, and Harry smirked mischievously in return. Just as our hands were about to unclasp from the other, I felt a folded note passing from his hand through to mine. Glancing down in surprise at my palm as we detached, Harry kept his eyes on me the entire time as he departed from the dining room.

Making sure that nobody was focused on me, I turned back into my seat and opened up the note underneath the table. As the last fold lifted, I looked down nonchalantly and read the slanted handwriting off the parchment:

Let's "live while we're young" – meet you at the staircase

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