Chapter 2

Bubbles floated and passed through the waters, springing across the thick windows as the bathysphere plunged deeper and deeper into the ocean. Harry glanced about, captivated by the landscapes and scenery of the blue that engulfed him. It was like being swallowed up into an entire new world, and he was left gasping and sighing in awe at the tinges of color that dissipated throughout his mind. He absorbed each and every sight; from the reds and oranges of the coral, to the purples and grays of the various sea creatures he had never seen before.

To put it simply, Harry Styles was filled with an overflowing, superfluous joy that poured and exuded from his features, leaving a grin of flashing teeth in its wake. He smiled from ear to ear, looking like a fool with his ruffled hair and poorly ironed clothing. He tore his eyes away from the waters, and focused on the rest of the passengers contained within the spherical structure.

There was Zayn—standing next to the insolent man the two had encountered earlier—along with a burly blonde that operated and controlled the maneuvering of the bathysphere. There were men and women of a variety of ages; even a small child in the ocean craft. Harry's gaze trailed around the circle of people until his eye was eventually caught by a pair of wealthy-looking inhabitants.

That was Harry; always scoping out the rich members of society.

Although, this time, it wasn't necessarily the copious and evident amounts of money that nipped at his attention and plucked at his thoughts. Rather, it was the cascading hair and eyes full of energy of the man that drew him in. They locked stares intently and their gazes lingered for a moment, their eyes slowly and reluctantly pulling apart, neither of the two speaking a word.

It was quiet inside the bathysphere, except for the whirring of the motor, which was a constant reminder of the alarming truth and the unnerving reality.

Harry slid his back down the cool, rounded metal surface of the contraption, kicking out his legs and stretching his arms. He yawned, mouth opening wide as he received strange looks from all that were around him.

"Anyone care if I have a smoke?" he asked, breaking the grave and resonant silence.

Instead of being answered with a "yes" or a "no" Harry was given shakes of the head, indicating the indifference of his fellow sea-dwellers.

"A real talkative bunch, you lads are…" Harry said, chuckling to himself.

The smoke from his cigarette drafted up in wisps, folding and swirling in randomized patterns. Harry watched and traced its path as it drifted nearer and higher towards the ceiling. Upon reaching the top, it paused, spinning in a small circle before branching out, spreading in multiple directions at once. Its tendrils reached, diverging and diluting the compact, oxygenated compartment in which he sat.

His face grew serious and resolute, his eyes revealing the contemplative mechanisms that gyrated within his mind. His lips wicked around the butt of his fag as he inhaled the nicotine-coated gasses down his throat and into his lungs. He blew out the smoke, concentrating hard to create a thin, straight line of the hazy substance.

His control over the vapor broke as he coughed, the strand of fumes disintegrating into the air as they coiled into nothingness. Harry sighed at his failed attempts.

The descent to the city of Rapture was taking much longer than he expected, and his cheeky and upbeat personality was nowhere to be found. He snuck a glance at Zayn, who in turn, was examining the man next to him.

He had never seen his best mate survey anyone with such regard; such curiosity.

It was the way that men looked at women.

The way that Harry looked at the wealthy man.

He had heard of those occurrences before, in which a man and a man were…together. It was uncommon and near unheard of, and it confused him. He wasn't malevolent towards the subject, he just didn't understand it.

And yet at the same time, his stomach filled with a strange fluttering he had never felt before as he returned his attention to his cigarette. Once again he tried forming a line with the releasing fumes, and once again, he failed.

Harry moaned and was shaken as the underwater vehicle underwent turbulence from the changing pressures.

"Almost there," the blonde man said. And he was right.

A magnificent, eclectic combination of structures and sights came into view moments later. Buildings pierced the skies of the ocean floor and neon signs glowed, sending a rippled and distorted view of color inside the walls of the bathysphere. Octopi skittered past, stretching and kicking their tentacles, propelling themselves forward. The sphere glided through the waters, winding around the superstructures in a well-executed pathway.

The bathysphere steadied and headed for a series of cylindrical, semi-circular bands of metal that it latched on to as it dragged along, headed towards an opening. Each band it passed lit up, a message visible to all of the people aboard.

ALL GOOD THINGS

OF THIS EARTH

FLOW

INTO THE CITY

The sphere unhooked itself, driving forward through a columnar passageway and into an octagonal shaft. It was dark and stony, the small light of the machinery sending a faint glow across the walls.

It darted upwards, engulfing the contraption in darkness as it ascended.

Harry glanced around at his tablemates, laughing as he lit a smoke.

"To think we'd all end up at dinner together…" he chuckled. A piano played in the background, accompanied by several other jazz instruments and a melodic female voice.

All of the citizens of Rapture had arrived now, eyes wide with euphoria, brains still feverish in trepidation. After listening to the invigorating, motivating and inspirational speech given by Mr. Ryan in Apollo Square—of which Harry had ignored—everyone was given a number each. That amenity, which was written on a crinkled, soiled piece of standard paper, had corresponded with a table number in one of the many dining places scattered about Rapture.

Harry's had been for the Kashmir Restaurant.

The Kashmir was a high-class, luxury establishment that served the finest cuisine in the entire city. The table at which he sat was large and rounded, made of smooth, hard wood. Upon it lay various folded, velvet colored napkins along with ivory silverware. The plates had an edging of gold that swerved and pivoted in elaborate, distinguished patterns and the cutlery was embellished with Victorian motifs.

"Well, since we're all here," Harry began, "Might as well introduce ourselves. I'm Harry Styles." His voice was raspy and his words were slurred slightly.

"I'm Louis Tomlinson," a man said, "And this is my wife, Eleanor." He gestured to her with his free hand, and she nodded.

"Niall Horan."

"Zayn Malik."

There was a long pause, drowned out by the boisterous conversations of the people around them as the five strangers exchanged glances of welcoming.

And once again, Harry's eyes lingered a bit too long with Louis'.

She's a fool and don't I know it…

The song played in the background, a hush falling over the customers of the Kashmir. Liam stepped into the lavish restaurant, receiving looks from all in the room. He was late—he knew that—but he didn't care.

He unfolded the tattered piece of paper and found the small number inscribed upon it.

Table 27. The Kashmir.

Liam turned his head, in awe of the room. The main foyer was large, adorned with maroon carpet and massive, exquisite chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. In the center of the room was a large dessert plate, stacked high with cakes and other pastries that made his mouth water. There were two dining areas on the first floor; one to the left, the other to the right. Across from its center lie a twisting staircase which led to the second floor, complete with two balconies, and two more banquet areas. In the back of the foyer was a stage with a piano, a double-bass, and a dark-skinned woman with a microphone. She was singing the show tune Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered from the popular musical Pal Joey.

Liam had never seen such an extravagant and formal establishment, and he certainly was not dressed for the occasion. His lab coat still draped over his shoulders and his slacks were laced with stains of sweat that absorbed into the fibers.

He showed one of the waiters his number, and was guided to his table. He followed closely behind the man, all the way up and around the spiral staircase to the second floor. Liam glanced out the windows on his way, gazing at the beautiful seabed of the ocean.

Reaching his area of dining, Liam sighed. He had hoped that he would spend his time alone this night, free to enjoy the relaxing dinner alone; it had been so long since he had some time to unwind. He settled down in the only open seat at the table, next to the one person he wished he would never have to see again.

"You again," Zayn said, noticing Liam for the first time. His words were not acidic, not venomous. They were friendly, welcoming.

"And you," Liam replied, lowering his wall of hostility only slightly. The words felt strange coming from his own mouth; unnatural. He was unaccustomed to acting amicable, and it was difficult to morph abhorrence and aggression into civility.

Difficult, but not impossible.

Zayn smiled and Liam returned it, a thing he had not done in years.

What am I doing? He thought to himself. I'm not here to make friends; to socialize. I'm here for science.

Biology.

No boundaries, Liam. You have one chance.

Do not screw it up.

"Everyone, it seems like there is another joining us tonight," Zayn spoke, catching the attention of his dinner mates. None of them had noticed Liam, for they were too immersed in the performance in the small theater-like area below.

"Great," Harry scoffed, scowling in Liam's direction.

"This is Louis Tomlinson," Zayn said, ignoring Harry's remark and introducing the transient set of companions. "His wife Eleanor," he continued, "Harry Styles, and Niall Horan."

"Niall," Liam said, recognizing the familiar face. "Shouldn't you be with Mr. Ryan?"

"Gave me the night off," he replied, smiling and clinking his wine glass with Harry, who sat next to him.

The six of them returned their minds back to the song.

You give me your lips, and your lips are so heavenly…

Frank Sinatra's All this and Heaven Too began, and Liam hummed along. It had been a while since he heard music, and the sound of it filled him with joy. His foot tapped and a goofy grin splayed on his lips.

It was the best he had felt in years.

"Maybe I misjudged you pal," started Harry, "What's your name again? Liam something-or-other?"

"Liam Payne," he said, chuckling. Harry outstretched a hand, and Liam shook it firmly with his.

Another thing that hadn't occurred in a long while.

His day was turning out to be full of unexpected social flourishes and triumphs towards a more cordial self-being as he interacted with the group at the table. It was the beginning of a brand new, hot-off-the-press Liam Payne that was conversing and holding steady communications with various people.

But Liam was still…Liam. His replies were still distant and his thinking objective. He still appeared, for the most part, emotionless, compartmentalizing and separating himself from the rest of society. The most he had progressed in complaisant behavior was to simply act amiable. It took him a while to dig up the earlier, college-used predecessor mask of affability and suave that he applied to his counterparts in schooling, but once found, he was able to present himself as any other member of society did.

Despite the fact that most of his friendliness surfaced and materialized from fraudulent mockeries of his inner-self—and little to none of the spirited antics spurred from truly being jovial—it was progress.

And that was more than Liam could say about himself in a long time.

Welcome to Mercury Suites

Liam passed underneath the arch, listening to the hum of the neon sign buzz above him. His shoes clicked against the stone walkway, echoing throughout the spacious hall. He had no idea what time it was (it was not as if he could look out at the sky; he was underwater, after all), but he did know that most everyone else in the city was asleep.

As he staggered up the steps, he paused, looking out to the waters. They danced and jumped across the floor, rippling and distorted as a pair of Benthopelagic fish—a species of which he could not identify—glided by. They were large and gray, with thick bodies and stubbed tails. Their fins were small compared to the rest of them, and their eyes darted about. One of the aquatic creatures; the larger one; slammed its smaller partner into the glass. It recoiled and vibrated from the nudge, trailing off after the aggressor.

Liam jumped at the banging of the noise, afraid at first that the window would shatter and the tons of water would pour in, instantaneously ending his life.

Fool, he thought. A fish doesn't have the power to do that.

He continued his way up the stone steps, heels snapping as he went. He stumbled down the hall in exhaustion until he reached the room 312 B, his new living space. He was lucky that he had both the funds and fortune to find a home in the highest and most ostentatious place in Rapture.

He slipped the keycard in and sloppily flung the door open. There were double brick walls on both sides, with a beautiful fireplace that sat next to the window. It was covered with thick, red curtains and the carpet was soft against the padding of his feet as he kicked off his Brogues. He didn't bother to pull the shading back to see the view; he was left without energy, collapsing on one of the two ravishing sofas in the parlor room. The lids of his eyes shut and he drifted into a deep sleep.

Behind the blinds—behind the powerful and reinforced material of the aperture lay a mesmerizing, jaw-dropping glimpse of the city. In the altitudinous, towering building across from his lay the Artemis Suites, and none were awake except for one. The low-powered light of the room was barely visible in the midst of the ocean, the silhouetted man in the window hardly discernible. And yet if Liam had been looking, he would've easily been able to identify the being; for it was the man that had begun to haunt his thoughts, even in his sleep.

His light snoring filled the room and mixed with the soft sound of flowing water outside his flat to create an unsung tale of harmony, peace, and interwoven accord that would bring solace to any heart.

Even his.