For the Open Category Comp (AU)
i. Seamus
"Seamus, dear," his mother says, "come look!"
The eighteen year old groans, shaking his head, but he moves closer to the railing. His legs are too wobbly, and even the gentlest sway of the boat makes his stomach knot.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
"It'll be more beautiful when we're on land," he mumbles. "If it doesn't kill us first."
His mother laughs, ruffling his sandy hair. "Don't be so morbid. You know she's unsinkable."
He shrugs. That's what they keep saying. The RMS Titanic is one of a kind. Unsinkable. Absolutely safe. But Seamus has yet to meet a ship that he likes. If humans were meant to be in the water, they'd have gills and fins.
He doesn't tell his mother this. She is far too excited to reach America, to start a new life and leave Ireland behind them. Seamus can't ruin it for her.
"Will either of you be needing anything?" a young black man asks, making his way closer.
Seamus thinks the man can't be much older than eighteen, but he looks far more at ease on the water than Seamus, almost like he's been at sea his whole life.
"No. I think not."
"And you, sir?" the man asks, offering Seamus a shy smile.
Seamus feels heat flush through his cheeks. A simple smile shouldn't have that effect on him, but somehow it does. "N-no," he says, quickly turning his gaze back to the water.
His stomach is in knots again, but this time it has nothing to do with rocking ship.
..
"Going out for a drink, dear," his mother says.
Seamus nods, but he isn't really listening.
"Met a man from first class. Can you imagine it? Me, an old seamstress, rubbing elbows with all them posh folk," she giggles.
Seamus can't remember ever seeing his mum look so happy. He can't help but to smile. "Be safe," he says. "And be back by midnight, young lady. I mean it."
She leans in, kissing him on the cheek and leaving and smear of lipstick in her wake. "Yes, Dad," she laughs, pulling away and wrapping her shawl around her shoulders. "Be good, Seamus."
"Always am.."
When she leaves, he throws himself onto his small bed, staring up at the ceiling. He sees dark eyes and a shy smile, still floating in front of him like a ghost. He shouldn't think about that. Not about a boy, and certainly not about a boy he'll never see again once his feet hit American soil.
But he does, and he wonders what the young man is doing now. Surely he won't be working now, late as it is.
"Stop that," he scolds himself.
But he can't help it.
Seamus climbs out of bed, still shaky on his legs, and wanders out of his cabin, not really sure where he's going, only sure of what he hopes to find.
ii. Dean
Dean leans against the railing, taking a drag off his cigarette. He'll need to sleep soon. It's far too late, and he has to get up far too early. But he's restless. Sailing has always made him feel too alive to stay still for too long.
He smokes down to the filter before snuffing out the barely there remains on the sole of his shoe. It's time to turn in for the night.
With one last look at the ocean, he pushes himself off the railing and turns. If he stays up here for too long, someone might mistake him as being on duty. Dean shudders, nearly knocking someone over. "Terribly sorry, sir!"
"S'all right."
Dean smiles at the heavy Irish lilt. The boy from before who had looked like he might throw up at the sight of the water.
"Do you need anything, sir?"
He had hoped not to have to run any more errands, but Dean thinks that he wouldn't mind if it's for him.
"Seamus. Call me Seamus."
"All right, then. Do you need anything, Seamus?"
He shakes his head.
"Have a nice night, Seamus," Dean says and starts to move past him.
"You smiled at me."
Dean freezes, swallowing dryly. The last thing he needs is for someone to report him for being inappropriate. It would cost him his job, best case scenario. Worst case scenario... Dean clenches his jaw. He can't bring himself to think of what had happened last time. "I smile at everyone."
"Oh."
Dean turns curiously, brows raised. He's certain he hadn't imagined the hint of disappointment in that lone syllable.
He knows that he should keep walking. This is a dangerous game, one he's played enough times to know that he should quit while he's ahead. But he can't help himself. "But especially at you," he says softly.
..
Seamus' lips are awkward against his. Dean wonders if this is his first kiss. He doesn't want to break away long enough to ask as he pulls the passenger into his cabin.
Heat flushes his face. The crew cabins aren't much compared to the other living quarters. If Seamus is first class, he might turn his nose up at it and march out, realizing the stupidity of trying to fall into bed with the help.
But Seamus says nothing as he pulls away, a smile creeping over his face. "I like this," he says.
Dean isn't entirely sure which part of this he means. He doesn't really care. Seamus likes it, and that is enough for him.
iii. Seamus
"Where have you been?" his mother asks when Seamus tries to sneak back into the cabin the next morning.
He swears softly under his breath. He had hoped he'd get in early enough that she'd still be asleep. "Wandering the ship," he lies.
"Not a good enough reason to leave your mam worried sick!"
"I'm sorry! I lost track of time. Honest mistake. It won't happen again."
She softens at that and pulls him into a hug. "You're all I have left, Seamus. I worry."
..
Seamus finds himself in Dean's cabin night after night. None of the other staff seem to notice. Or maybe they just don't care.
"What's this?" he asks, pulling out what appears to be a tattered notebook.
Dean scrubs his hand over his neck, a shy smile on his lips. "I draw."
"Can you draw me?"
The other man takes the sketchbook, flipping it open. He clears his throat nervously, eyes pointedly fixed on the graphite-smudged page. "Already have," he admits in a murmur.
Seamus tilts his head, staring in wonder at his likeness upon the page. "Can I keep this?" he asks. "Something to remember you by when I'm in New York. And you're..."
He trails off. He doesn't want to think about this. The ship will dock. They'll go their separate ways, and all of this will become little more than a happy memory- one Seamus can never speak of, for fear of persecution.
"You can come with me," Seamus says. "America is a land of opportunity, right? We could-"
Dean silences him with a gentle kiss. "Keep it," he says quietly, tearing the page and slipping it into Seamus' hands.
iv. Dean
The ship rocks, and Dean bolts upright, gripping his sheets as though they might somehow offer some support. "What the hell was that?" he calls.
A moment later, someone pounds on his door. The sound quickly fades, and Dean listens as it starts again one door down, then the next.
He doesn't know what's happening, but he knows that it can't be good. He dresses quickly, jumping out of bed and rushing into the corridor.
"What's happened?" he demands.
But he's met only with chaos. Crew members run past him, some screaming, some half in tears, some muttering about icebergs.
"Unsinkable," Dean mumbles to himself, shaking his head. "No bloody iceberg is going to change that."
The ship rocks again, more violently this time, and Dean is thrown against the wall, his shoulder slamming roughly against a door frame.
Wincing, he forces himself forward. Whatever's going on, he has only one priority, and it has nothing to do with his safety or the ship's protocol.
..
"Women and children only, ma'am."
"That's my son!" a vaguely familiar voice wails. "That's my son, you bloody twat! Let him on! Please!"
Dean makes his way closer to the commotion. Seamus waits by the lifeboats, his hand grasped tightly around his mother's.
"Mam, it's going to be okay," he says, and Dean can tell that he's trying to be strong for her. "I'll be on another one."
"Please! He's my son!"
Dean rests a hand on Seamus' shoulder. "I'll look after your boy, ma'am," he says calmly, offering her what he hopes is a convincing smile.
"He's all I have."
"I know."
v. Seamus
"You listen here. My name is Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Let me on this boat, or I swear my family will take the lot of you to court!" a blond man pleads.
"Poor bugger," Dean mutters as they pass.
"There'll be a boat for us, right?" Seamus asks, looking away from the desperate scene.
He looks around. So many people are still out, still waiting for rescue.
"For you? Yeah."
Seamus doesn't like Dean's answer. "That's not what I asked."
"Crew members will be the last to evacuate, Seamus. I told your mother I'd look after you, and I will. I'm getting you onto the first available boat."
"I'm not leaving without you."
Their eyes meet. Seamus wishes Dean wouldn't look so sad.
"If you go down, I go down, Dean," he says, taking his hand.
"Seamus, you can't do that. You've got a life waiting for you in New York. You're not about to throw that away for me."
..
"Is there room?"
The red haired young man looks at Dean in annoyance. "You know the rules, Thomas. Staff-"
"Not for me, Percy," Dean interrupts. "Him."
The man looks at Seamus and nods. "One seat left. Come on, then."
vi. Dean
Dean leans against the wall, sprayed with the icy water, a damp cigarette resting between his lips. His shoulder burns, but he ignores it. Soon, there won't be any pain.
He closes his eyes, head tilting back.
Seamus is safe. That's all that matters.
The ship begins to shift. Dean doesn't fight it. He lets himself be carried away, crashing into people and furniture.
Seamus is the last thing that flashes through his mind as his body crashes against the railing and plunges into the water below.