"Oh my God, shut up!"
Harry laughed quite loudly as I pummeled him with weak punches to his arm, while to me it felt like I was squaring off against a boulder. When my fist landed for the sixth time to compete against his visibly strong muscles, my strength—as well as the actual pain it caused him—took us both by surprise.
"Ooh, ouch, Lou," Harry whimpered. However, there was a faintly curious smile playing on his face. "When'd you get so strong?"
I stared at my upper arm in fascination, as if it sprang forth scales or some other kind of nonsense. "I dunno. You fancy a lad stronger than you?"
"Little tosser," Harry threw back, flinging an arm around my neck. "I'll teach this little tosser a lesson, now."
I laughed so hard as his weight forced me to double down, and as he rubbed his knuckles so hard into my scalp that it burned, my rear accidentally ground up against his waistline. In that short second that it occurred—and Harry didn't seem to notice at all—I felt my face blooming red like a newborn flower in the springtime.
Of course, I had to have a little more fun while we were at it. So I used my cheeks—the ones on the opposite side of my body, for clarity's sake—and pushed into his hips. The effect he felt was instantaneous, as he shuddered against my body and his lower half bucked almost automatically into me.
"Oh my God, that felt so good," he sighed, burying his head into the back of my neck.
"I know," I said matter-of-factly, "but now really isn't the time, Harry. Come on."
We still had a significant distance to cover until we would reach the First Class staircase, and because of the detour we took instead of merging with the crowd we left behind, it would be harder now to trace back our steps and go back to where we came from. Currently, we were a few floors beneath First Class, so the only way to reach the higher levels were to keep up the pace and hope we didn't drown first.
A waiter in full uniform came around the corner behind us, some five meters or so and with booming footsteps. The second he laid his gaze on us as we turned around, flicking from me then to Harry, his eyes grew dark with disgust and malice. I was taken aback by his sudden change in demeanour, because I didn't know him nor his motives. The two of us continued walking with no regard for the young man.
"Hey you, filth of Earth!" he hollered bullishly. "Get off this floor, or I swear to God I'll give you both a much-deserved earth bath!"
Harry and I stopped dead-center in the middle of the hall, our hands slightly slipping out of the other's. He turned to me, whispering into my ear, "Who says that anymore?"
I chuckled, more from his hot breath billowing onto my ear though. "I don't know, but does he even know we're on a ship?"
He shrugged. "Probably not. You can't bury anyone on a ship."
I looked at the boy with my head still inclined toward Harry. "Y'know, we happen to be on a ship." I flicked my hand to each of us. "All of us kind of . . . are." The man's face twitched in anger, probably to intimidate.
Harry brought my face to look to his. "Hey, come on Louis, if we don't move we won't be on this ship any longer." He started tugging me away.
"Yeah, that's right!" the bully shouted. "Go on. Yeah, and take your queer behaviours with you too—might've scarred me for life just keeping my bloody eyeballs on you."
Oh no, he did not. Veering away from Harry with fumes launching out of my ears, I hardened my facial features to stone and stormed up to the stranger, ignoring the wickedly cocky smile plastered on his rather handsome features. I yanked him by the collar, drawing him down an inch or so to my level. Damn, was he a tall one.
"Oh, so the queer's gonna smooch me now, yeah?" he murmured, his dark eyes sweeping my face for any sign of hesitation.
I balled up my hand into a rock-hard fist, the knuckles cracking as my fingers clenched tight. "No, you son of a bitch. But I think my fist is taking a liking to you."
Releasing his shirt collar for a fraction of a second, I fastened my legs to the carpet and swung with all of the power in me. I grimaced in slight pain as my thin joints slammed into the man's cheek before they struck his nose, and when he lurched back from the force of the punch, small drops of crimson landed onto the carpet and a few flecks onto the white-washed wall.
But I didn't stop there. While he remained on the floor, almost in a prostate position before me, I felt almost a rush of energy surging through my veins. And with this rush, my feet flew to his side, kicking and booting him with the fury of a dozen until the hands of my loved one took a tight grip on my arms.
"Louis!"
Harry almost sounded like my mother when she would chastise me. Save for the usage of my entire name, the tone of his voice and even the pitch was nearly identical to mum's. My violent limbs and anger all vanished in an instant, like water evaporating in the desert.
My eyes lifted to Harry, away from the grotesque sight of the victim. Funny how the tables have turned and the roles switched in the blink of an eye. What was even more hilarious was that I've never roughed up anyone in my life before: just minutes ago, Harry was the only person outside of my family I've ever inflicted physical pain on intentionally.
"Lou, stop," he insisted. Harry's arms manoeuvred from my shoulders to around my waist, holding onto me comfortably but firmly.
I was held in his half-ward embrace until I came down from my rampage completely and was stable enough to survey the damage I've done: the poor lad was pretty much beaten just short of death, or at least that's the effect the blood and various injuries had on me. He was unconscious, his eyes closed behind swelling, purple skin.
All in all, the unaware young man was not a pretty scene to look at without vomiting a little in one's mouth.
"Come on, Lou." He was getting impatient.
Sidestepping down the hall with Harry holding me still, my eyes took a little bit to detach from the gruesome sight. It was almost like a painting: a clean environment all around, prim and proper, but in the middle, a horrifyingly beautiful sight that you couldn't take your eyes off of no matter how hard you tried.
"Wow," I said with little enthusiasm, "I beat him good, eh?"
Harry smirked, and a small flash of vivid green flickered to me for the briefest second. "Yeah, and you stayed on him like a dog with no sense of self-control."
I made a face, as if thinking deeply. "Hm, no dearest Harold, that's when I'm on you."
When we reached another staircase forever later—at least, that's how it felt like in comparison to about twenty minutes in real time—panic looked to be setting in. The air of a good time and lightheartedness was hardly there anymore, and everyone knew that the sinking was in fact, happening. It was also fairly evident, as the ship's incline was getting close to a steeping angle.
Harry and I reached a hallway crowded with people of all kinds and all classes, ranging from filthily rich to just plain filthy. Most of the people there were clearly from First Class, as their apparel and raised chins defined them from the rest of the commoners with heads bowed and lowly slouching. Some, though, were running, not caring for their appearance as much as their lives.
"I'll be damned," I muttered.
"What?"
I waved my hand angrily, generally in the direction above me. "They're still playing goddamn Beethoven!"
Harry shrugged. "Their business. Can't save everyone, Lou."
My hand drooped to my side as the reality washed over me, yet again. Can't save everyone. Lots of people were going to die tonight, lots of souls that only wished for a better life. Now, the only life they'd get would be in the Afterlife, and even that I was unsure of.
"We need to get up higher," I stated firmly. "Come on."
I saw Harry's taken aback expression on his face at my demand for action, but really, we needed to get off this ship. If everyone wasn't going to be saved, then I'd at least try to save someone. Harry and I were secondary priorities.
I heard the cries of a small child somewhere as we finally managed to slip through a window onto the boat deck. Looking around, I saw panic everywhere: people running up and down the deck, officers barking orders, lifeboats barely full rowing away, men and women pushing and punching at others thoughtlessly, earsplitting gunfire, and then a series of snaps as one of the funnels of the Titanic fell with a magnificent crash into the ocean.
The crying child was soon heard over everyone, and all the noise. My head snapped into the direction nearest the sinking bow, and behind one of the abandoned pulleys used for lowering lifeboats was a small boy with platinum blonde hair wearing an overcoat much too big to have been his own. No one around him seemed to pay him mind or hear him.
"Over here!" I shouted, making my way there. Lifting the small-built child, his arms wove around my neck instantly as I kept a hand on his back and searched for a lifeboat.
"Lou, what are you doing?" Harry shouted from behind me.
I kept searching, scouring the deck for available boats with limited steps to avoid the throng. "I'm saving a life while getting off this ship." There, just a couple meters away.
"You can't just use an innocent to save yourself, Lou!" Harry exclaimed.
I came to a gradual halt, ignoring the two boys that slammed into my shoulder from behind. "Harry, you said yourself that not everyone can be saved. Give me a break, at least I'm trying to save one."
I didn't wait for a response as I strode up to the officer by the ropes and attempted to get into the boat. I heard a shout of surprise followed by a flurry of mad whistling, then a crushing blow to the face as his pistol snatched the breath out of my chest.
"Women and children first, you blundering idiot!" he bellowed into my ear. The child was coaxed into the lifeboat by a couple middle-aged women already inside.
"I was just tr—"
"Yes, I've heard the excuses before. Now move it, or I'll send you Home right now!" Judging by the gun positioned at point-blank range beside my head, I quickly moved out of the way and up to Harry's side.
"Where were you?!" I screamed.
"Whoa," he said, "what the fuck happened to you?!"
"If you'd been with me, you woulda known!"
Suddenly, Harry did the most odd thing: in light of the anger clearly between us, he gently removed my hand from the bleeding spot on my head from the gun and patted away at it with the sleeve of his shirt. Then he embraced me.
"Harry, I'm so sorry," I muffled into his neck.
He sighed into my hair, making them flutter and ruffle up like the feathers on a bird. "Lou, let's not get angry at each other. I'd hate to leave this world, away from you, with bitterness and-and anger still in my heart."
His words meant well. Now that my attempt at a subtle way of escape has failed—at least the little boy was all but guaranteed to live longer now that he wasn't in danger of drowning—there was still the very likely possibility that Harry or I was going to die. And to leave your loved one with words of malice as your final words was something undesirable to us both.
"Okay," I whispered. It was barely heard over the pandemonium. "If either you or me leave this world first, or both of us at any given time, I'll still say that I love you."
He smiled understandingly—much more than understandingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced—or seemed to face—the whole external world for an instant, and then concentrated on you with an irresistable prejudice in your favor. It understood you just so far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to convey.
"I love you, Louis Tomlinson." If this was going to be the final defining moment of my life, it would be this kiss that we shared. This beautiful thing of bonding even in the face of utter despair.