-Hi everyone! I'm so happy you're looking forward to this fic as much as I am. I'm not even gonna say another word, read this and tell me what you wanna see next :D-

DAY 2-

Sipping wine from shining glasses and watching while a band played some horribly slow music was not how Newt wished he was spending his evening. It might have come as a shock to the well-dressed people around him. He would rather be out, exploring the ship's hidden alcoves and corners. Yet here he was, at another lavish dinner in the upper class quarters of the ship. Expensive food steamed on his plate and a pleasantly light conversation was taking place all around him. He was literally surrounded by luxury.

Yet, he couldn't stop his own distracted thoughts when they wandered to a certain musician. He wondered when he'd have the chance to see Minho again and why he thought of it so often anyway. It wasn't as though he knew much about him, other than why he was here and his name. But he still couldn't deny that inexplicable urge to see him again and listen to that voice full of mischief. He fiddled with the sleeves of his dinner jacket, suddenly self-conscious. But it wasn't as though his company, Mrs. Sonya Silverston and her husband, James could read his thoughts. It was a miracle they noticed anything other than themselves, actually.

"Oh, aren't they marvelous, James?" Sonya asked, bright and cheery as she applauded the band. The clapping of her hands was muffled by the arm-length white gloves she wore and all Newt really heard was the jangling of a crystal bracelet. "I so adore the saxophones; the sounds they make are lovely."

James chuckled at his wife and sent Newt a glance across the table. "I don't know why we bothered to spend all this money on tickets for a boat ride," he joked, "when all she wanted to do was listen to a few saxophones."

"They do sound very nice," Newt offered politely.

"Yes, listen to Isaac," Sonya said, hands flitting up to check her pile of curls atop her head. An intricate silver pin gleamed from the swirls of blonde. "He's a smart one; he knows what he's talking about."

"I hardly think anyone has the slightest clue what they're talking about when it comes to instruments," James put in, dark green eyes flickering in amusement. "Unless they happen to be a musician, of course."

"Oh, you're ruining my fun." Sonya pouted.

Chuckling, James slung his arm across her shoulders and pecked her cheek. "I'm sorry, darling," he murmured. "You're right, they are very lovely."

"Oh, James." She ducked her head bashfully, a light blush on her cheeks. The two were close enough for a stray curl of her hair to brush the soft bronze of his. James's hand lingered on her shoulder, bared by her elegant, red dress.

Newt had to shift his gaze away at the show of affection. It wasn't because he disliked seeing it. As a matter of fact, he didn't mind at all what couples did together. It was just that watching them act flirtatious and so entranced with each other made him feel...alone.

At that moment, there was a bit of a commotion over by the band. It seemed that several of the instrumentalists were packing up, placing trumpets, saxophones, and other things of gleaming brass into waiting cases. As Newt tried to work himself up some kind of appetite for the food in front of him, a tall balding man in a black suit stepped up the microphone. Clearing his throat, he gave it a tap to be sure it was working.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for staying around long enough to listen to our little performance," he said. Then he cracked a smile beneath his grey mustache. "Though no doubt there are a few of you yawning with boredom in the back tables." A mutter of laughter traveled through the crowd and a few husbands nodded in agreement, having been dragged along with their wives. "But I think that you'll find our next performance to be quite...interesting, to say the least. A taste of new and different music to some of you. It certainly was to me." He spread his arms invitingly, his large belly straining just a little at the buttons of his shirt. "So, please, stay for a while longer and enjoy the show."

As a smattering of polite applause followed his words and Sonya whispered, "ooh, I wonder what song he'll play," lazy guitar chords began to fill the air.

Newt very nearly dropped his fork.

A boy was perched on a stool before the microphone, spiky hair black as his suit, and a guitar held in his arms. His fingers moved over the strings as though they were old friends. Newt stared, utterly caught. A single dumb thought passed through his mind: I didn't know Minho could sing. And then Minho sang:

"See the pyramids along the Nile

Watch the sun rise on a tropic isle

But just remember, darling, all the while

You belong to me

See the marketplace in old Algiers

Send me photographs and souvenirs

Just remember when a dream appears

You belong to me..."

Newt's breath left him. As a matter of fact, the entire room was silent. Never had he imagined that someone could have a voice like that, a voice that could be so soft yet still so powerful. There was real emotion in the words, ringing in the still air. Minho's eyes were lowered as he sang, fixed on the vibrating strings of the guitar, and sometimes he closed them altogether. But it didn't matter that Newt couldn't see his eyes, because he knew the feelings were there. They were in everyone in the room.

"I love this song," Sonya murmured across the table, leaning back in James's arms. He hummed in agreement, holding her close. For once, Newt didn't feel lonely when he saw it.

He was too busy watching Minho and letting that voice sink into his veins.

"I'll be so alone without you

Maybe you'll be lonesome too...and blue

Fly the ocean in a silver plane

See the jungle when it's wet with rain

Just remember till you're home again

You belong to me..."

God, his voice was beautiful, Newt thought. He'd forgotten that the rest of the room existed. All there was was Minho's voice, low and smooth and filling up the world. It was frightening, actually. Newt had never been held so still just by the sound of someone's singing, by their presence in a crowded room. If he hadn't known Minho for a mere day, he would've said he was falling head over heels for him at this moment.

He shook his head as though rising out of sleep. No, he shouldn't be thinking such things. He had only talked to Minho once before. That wasn't enough time to fall for someone. Yes, there was...some kind of attraction, Newt didn't deny that much. But it was NOT the beginnings of love. It was much too early for that.

But there's nothing wrong with admitting that I like him, Newt reasoned, because he did. Now, watching Minho strum his guitar with drowsy fingers, he was sure that his feelings toward Minho were...distracting.

It could be assumed that the suit was borrowed, because it outlined Minho's shoulders in a way that suggested it was too small. But it looked good on him, too good for Newt to admit. He sighed at himself, shocked that he was even thinking this here, in front of all of these people. No, he did not have any sort of romantic feelings toward Minho. But, yes, he admitted, Minho was quite handsome and there was nothing at all wrong with noticing that. As long as he didn't act on it.

God, he was in trouble.

"I'll be so alone and without you

Maybe you'll be lonesome too and blue

Fly the ocean in a silver plane

See the jungle when it's wet with rain

But remember, darling, till you're home again

That you belong to me..."

The song ended with a lifting of guitar notes and the last ringing echoes of Minho's voice. The room remained silent for a few more moments. Sonya sighed softly, as though enjoying the sheer calm of it all and James skimmed his hand down her arm in a gesture of affection. But Newt only had eyes for Minho and he watched as at last the musician lifted his eyes from his guitar. It came as a pleasant shock when his gaze found Newt's across the room. Half of a familiar smile tipped up the side of his mouth and he actually winked.

Newt felt a funny tingle along his nerves, but he couldn't say he didn't enjoy it.

Then the crowd was awakened, applause rattling the lamps at the walls, and the plump man with his grey mustache stepped proudly up onto the stage once more. Straightening his jacket, he tipped up his chin grandly. "Thank you, thank you all for such a wonderful evening," he said. "Tomorrow, I assure you, the performances will be just as memorable. I hope to see you all here again. And please, enjoy the rest of your trip on the Titanic."

Sonya nodded in reply to his words. "Oh, I am most certain we will, won't we James?"

Newt didn't hear James's reply. His gaze was following Minho as he gathered up his guitar and set it lovingly into a worn case. Then he'd picked it up and crossed the stage without a second glance, pausing only to raise a hand in a polite wave to a few girls clapping for him. Newt was standing before he could think better of it.

"Newt?" James asked, curious. "What are you doing?"

"I—" Newt glanced at James, then back toward the stage. Minho had reached a side door and was slipping through it. "I think I've forgotten my camera," he lied quickly. "I'm going to try and catch some of the musicians before they leave, if you don't mind." Trying for a casual tone, he flashed a quick smile. "We'll run into each other later, though."

"Of course!" Sonya replied brightly. "Go on, we'll be sure to look for you at the next dinner."

Glad that the excuse had worked, he darted across the room, weaving between tables. He had to mutter a few apologies to people's ankles he hastily stumbled over, but he made it to a side door and hurried outside. A few other musicians headed past him and he had to skid to a halt to avoid being trampled. All carried their cases and talked happily to each other; although there were a few complaints about "that blasted guitarist" being allowed to perform with high-paid professionals. Newt found it absurd that this statement made him happy, just because it meant that Minho was still somewhere nearby.

As if on cue, there he was, placing his case down against a wall and letting out a long sigh. Newt tried to calm the giddy jumps in his heartbeat as Minho shrugged out of his jacket and loosened the collar of his shirt. "God," the guitarist muttered under his breath. "You'd think I was stealing their money while I was at it, the way they're going on..."

Deciding he was tired of just looking at him like a fool, Newt stepped forward from the doorway. "Hi," he said, managing not to stammer sheepishly. "Minho?"

Minho glanced up with a look on his face that hinted he thought Newt was another unhappy musician he'd have to speak to. Then he saw who it was and his eyes lit up. "Newt!" he greeted in return, straightening up from slinging his suit jacket on his guitar case. "Didn't expect to see you so soon."

Something in his tone hinted at a sort-of light flirting. Newt didn't know whether he was comfortable with that or not. "Well, I came for the music," he replied. "I honestly didn't expect to see YOU so soon. I had no idea they'd let you play with them."

"Let me," Minho scoffed with an eye-roll. "Most of them complained about it so much, I was surprised they even had enough air left to play their own instruments."

Newt chuckled, feeling like a child snickering at a school bully with his friend. "It seems they did, though. Everyone loved it. And you too." Minho's head lifted at that, from where he'd been rolling his shirtsleeves up. Newt gave him a warm smile. "Everybody noticed you."

Snorting, Minho glanced down again. "I doubt that."

"No, really," Newt insisted. "The entire room was so quiet, I couldn't hear anything but you. You, um..." Coughing into a hand awkwardly, he continued, "you sing beautifully, by the way."

The way Minho looked at him, as though he was barely holding back a joyful smile, sent Newt's mind spinning into directions he wasn't sure were very acceptable. Especially considering where they were. Not to mention quite a number of laws forbidding a man to have such thoughts about, well, another man.

"That's the second time you've complimented me and my outstanding music," Minho joked, earning himself a despairing groan from Newt. His dark eyes glinted, all play. "Keep it up, and I might start to wonder why you bother being so taken with a ragged, poor musician."

Spluttering, Newt felt his ears burn. "I find it very hard to believe that you think I'm 'taken' with you."

"Oh? You don't hide it very well."

"Minho, I barely know y—"

Suddenly, there were new echoes of voices in the hall, coming from the direction of the door Minho had left earlier. Newt froze mid-sentence, wide eyes meeting Minho's. He wondered why he was acting like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't, when Minho had the same alarmed reaction. Though, granted, that might have been because the voices were angry and saying, "I say, Harold, no professional musician is treated with any sort of respect on this oversized boat! Can you believe that? Letting some nothing up onto that stage with honored performers?"

"Personally, I think the bloke that organized this whole affair is too daft to recognize who he puts on his own stage."

Newt's eyebrows rose. "I don't think they're very happy with you."

"I'm not waiting around to find out," Minho returned, snagging his jacket and guitar case. "C'mon!" he hissed, voice lowered in case the approaching musicians overheard. Then, with no hesitation whatsoever, he grabbed Newt by the arm and hauled him down the hallway. Yelping, Newt tripped over his own feet twice before they reached a door sunken into the wall, creating a tiny alcove. Minho set his case inside first, then ducked around the corner out of sight. "What are you waiting for?" he asked. Taking Newt's hand again, he dragged the blonde into the small space with him.

Newt's shoulder collided with the wall first, because he hadn't expected the alcove to be quite that small. He pushed away from the wall, jerked to a stop when he almost tumbled straight out into the hallway again, and mumbled a curse when he fumbled over his own feet a second time. He brought his hands up to catch himself on something and ended up putting them right on Minho's chest. Instant mortification jolted up his arms. "God," he hissed. "I'm sorry." He tore his hands away, sure that he was flaming red by now.

It only grew worse when he looked up and caught Minho snickering at him, a hand over his delightfully crooked smile. "Relax, Newt," he whispered. "I'm not going to attack you for touching me."

Newt had to look at his shoes. For some reason, Minho talking about Newt touching him made him feel...uncomfortable. "What if they need to go through this door?" he asked pointedly, jerking a thumb at the door right next to them. The two men would have to pass straight between Newt and Minho to reach it.

Minho's gaze flicked toward the hall as the voices approached. "You'll have to take one," he whispered dramatically. "I can't fight them both off on my own."

"You're idiotic, do you realize that?" Newt asked between chuckles.

"I do. But I'm willing to put up with it."

"And why is that?"

"I still somehow attract people just as idiotic as I am." At this, Minho gave a truly brilliant smile. "Like you."

Newt's jaw dropped in mock outrage. "Now, see here, you—"

"Shhh!"

Suddenly, Newt found himself effectively forced into silence by Minho's finger pressing against his lips. He would've fallen over in shock had Minho not taken his hand away a second later. The two of them tucked themselves up against the opposite walls of their hiding place, listening as the voices grew closer. The two men appeared, flitting across the hall and disappearing in an instant. It only took a moment for them to pass the little hiding place and continue on their way, still griping about Minho's performance. Newt stole those tiny seconds to sneak a lingering glance at Minho in the shadow of the alcove. God, but wasn't he something: long legs and broad shoulders, a few buttons undone at his collar. A voice like magic and hair as careless as his smile. Newt swallowed, surprised at himself. Since when did he begin waxing poetry about another man he had only met a day ago?

Minho's eyes snagged his unexpectedly. Stifling a gasp, Newt shot his gaze away, as though searching for anyone else in the empty hall.

As he was busy pretending to play the lookout, he didn't notice the way Minho had to look away too.

-X-X-X-

-If you wanna be in the same lovestruck mood I was in when writing this, go on YouTube and listen to Jo Stafford's version of "You Belong to Me." Minho, of course, just sang it to you in this chapter c:-