-I'm sorry for such a long wait for this chapter, but I really hope I made it worth it! I'm so excited for this little story and I know you all are too. Send me a review to tell me what you liked or what you're hoping for! And thank you for being such devoted readers, you are all so amazing :)-
-DAY 2, PART 2-
"Minho, I'm not sure I should be here..."
"Nonsense! You're rich, aren't you?"
"Well, I—I suppose."
"So, you should be able to go wherever you want. Is anybody going to stop you?"
"...you have a point, but..."
"But what?"
Newt wasn't entirely sure how to explain. He had been raised as a child in a wealthy family and wealthy families generally did not socialize with poor families. Even speaking a passing word to those of lower class was met with curious glances and a few frowns. That was why Newt was anxious now, being pulled along behind Minho through the lower levels of the ship.
But it was impossible to deny that rush of adrenaline that came with rebellion, even a small one such as this. Newt was in unfamiliar surroundings and no doubt he was about to meet unfamiliar people. But he didn't mind, not when Minho's hand was on his shoulder, guiding him along the dim halls. He hadn't imagined that the Titanic would be this vast, holding so many labyrinthine hallways in its depths. The droning of machinery seemed louder down here and everything appeared dimmer than the luxury of first class.
Newt risked a sideways glance at Minho. "Is this really what it's like for lower class?" he asked.
"Are you surprised?" Minho returned drily. Adjusting his grip on his guitar case, he took his hand from Newt's shoulder to run it over his hair. "We aren't exactly treated like royalty down here while you sip wine out of crystal upstairs."
"I'm sorry," Newt replied automatically, though what he was apologizing for, he didn't know. It wasn't his fault people were treated this way.
"Don't be. You didn't do anything wrong."
"But doesn't it bother you?"
"I'm used to it, Newt. I've been living this way for a long time, remember?"
"No, I mean—" Newt halted, which made Minho stop too. They were nearing the end of the hall by now and at the end of it was a little metal door. Beyond it were flickers of light and a hint of music and voices, but Newt was too involved in this conversation to be curious. He looked at Minho in his worn button-down and scuffed shoes, and then at himself, still in a fitted suit. "I mean, does it bother you to be seen with me?" he asked hesitantly. "You want to introduce me to your friends, I understand that, but...aren't they going to want to be rid of me as soon as I walk through the door?"
Minho shook his head, chuckling. "They won't mind. They're lower class, not a different species. They're not that different."
"But we're not the same either," Newt mumbled, and Minho seemed to sober, watching him carefully. Newt was looking anywhere but at Minho. "You and I aren't the same."
There was a long moment of silence. Then Newt jerked slightly when he felt Minho's hands resting on his shoulders. Meeting Minho's gaze, he fought the urge to tremble at their proximity in the lonely hall. "Do you know what I see, when I look at you, Newt?" Minho asked, quiet and measured.
Unable to speak, but not knowing why, Newt shook his head.
"Well, I see someone who thinks the same way I do, who doesn't see upper class as a badge he wears when someone walks by and who cares about me because of ME, and not my status." As though unmoved by the weight of his words, Minho released Newt's shoulders and gave him a little smile. "So, no, I don't think we're all that different."
Newt stood there. Vaguely, his brain registered that when Minho had been that close, he smelled like dark chocolate. "I don't know what to say..." He struggled with the words, because no one had said something so meaningful to him before. Finally, he settled for, "thank you."
Minho stayed there a second longer, smile beginning to fade. It was as though some serious thought or emotion had crossed his mind and he didn't take his eyes off of Newt. It approached a length of time that made Newt fidget uncomfortably, but then Minho shook his head as though coming out of a daze. "Right then, um." Minho toyed with his collar and Newt was foolishly delighted by the sight of a flustered Minho—flustered by HIM. "We should get going, yeah?"
"Yeah," Newt agreed, grateful when he didn't stutter. His nerves jangled worriedly inside of him when Minho took hold of the handle of the door and wrenched it open with a shrieking creak. The sounds of trumpets, clarinets, and people grew louder, washing over Newt like a wave of warm water. Minho bobbed his head invitingly toward the lamplit interior and Newt followed him through the doorway, careful not to bump into his guitar case. As soon as he stepped inside, he was overwhelmed and out of place. There were men and women he had never met before, all of them clustered around wooden tables and exchanging laughing words over drinks.
As Newt trailed after Minho into the cacophony, he noticed a few people flicking glances at him, all focused on the suit that was much more expensive than their dusty dresses and trousers. "Minho," he whispered, practically stretching on tiptoe to mutter into the other boy's ear. "I don't think they like my being here."
"Then we'll make them like you," Minho replied simply. "Don't worry too much, Newt." He raised his eyebrows at Newt over his shoulder. "You tend to do that too often."
"I know," Newt mumbled. "It's how I manage to stay away from awkward situations like this."
"If you think this is awkward," Minho said with a nudge at Newt's arm, "then you're gonna love these guys." He then called out into the noise, weaving between several tables as he did. "Hey! Thomas! Gal! What're you doing, fooling around again?"
Newt, in awe of how effortlessly Minho dodged around gesturing arms and chair legs, struggled to keep up as a voice deeper than Minho's answered: "What's it to you? I thought you were too busy showing off to the rich folk to bother with any of us down here!"
"Aw, Gal, you know I'm not like that!"
"Stop calling me, Gal, you shank—Hey, that's cheating!"
Not paying attention, Newt nearly collided with Minho's back. They had approached one of the small wooden tables near the center of the room. Clustered around it where men and women in worn clothes and boasting wide smiles. The two boys Newt assumed Minho was speaking to were seated at either side, engaged in what appeared to be a very intense arm-wrestling match. Newt looked on in awe; the two were evenly matched, though he couldn't imagine how. The one on the left, with the swept-back black hair, was showing off an impressive set of arms under his rolled-up sleeves. Newt would've pegged him as the winner immediately, but the smaller brunette across from him was holding his own.
"Dammit," the black-haired boy hissed, muscles tight in his arm and his free hand gripping the edge of the table. His green eyes were narrowed in concentration.
"What's wrong, Gally?" Minho taunted. "Losing to Thomas again? This is what, the fifth time now?"
"Min, I swear, if you don't close your mouth, I'm gonna close it for you."
Hands up in a signal of surrender, Minho sent Newt a sideways grin. Newt stood silently, not knowing which struck had struck him speechless: that mischievous grin of Minho's or the use of his apparent, quite adorable nickname.
"Don't worry about him, Minho," the brunette, Thomas put in. "He's just upset that he's about to lose to me." His soft brown eyes were alight with the game, even as he clenched his jaw in concentration.
Gally gasped suddenly, shifting his weight on top of his chair. "Son of a bitch," he bit out. "He's kicking me under the table!"
"It's called finding a way to win," Thomas said helpfully.
"It's cheating!"
"You're such a sore loser."
Crossing his arms, Minho surveyed the scene with interest. "You two aren't going to split up over this, are you?" he asked, and Newt went rigid in shock. "After all, this is my source of entertainment half the time."
"Go jump overboard, Minho," Gally growled, at the same time Newt spluttered out, "split up?" He almost jumped when Gally's sharp emerald eyes jerked over to him and narrowed suspiciously. "Who's— Ow!"
There was a loud bang as Thomas slammed Gally's hand down to the table in triumph. A chorus of whoops and cheers erupted from the spectators, as Gally swore and rubbed his knuckles. "Dammit," he snapped. "I'm getting worse."
"Or I'm getting better," Thomas replied with a wink, leaning back in his chair and linking his hands behind his head. Newt couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw Gally's face turn pink.
"As entertaining as always," Minho congratulated. He nudged Newt in the arm. "See, they aren't that bad."
Newt nodded dumbly, but he was more concerned with what he had just witnessed. Were Thomas and Gally...? No, no that was ridiculous. It was against the law, after all. Minho must've been joking around or something.
Gally sent Thomas a glare as he continued to nurse his hurt hand. "You didn't have to break my damn fingers, you know," he pointed out sourly.
"Aw, I was just fooling around. I didn't realize." Standing up, Thomas rounded the table, with Gally watching warily. Then Newt's jaw dropped as Thomas rested his hands on Gally's shoulders and bent to press his lips to the top of his head. "Sorry, love," he cooed, voice soft and quiet.
"Get away from me," Gally muttered. But he was fighting down a smile and a fierce redness in his ears at the same time. Grinning, Thomas grazed his lips to Gally's ear and whispered something only for him to hear. The smile broke free on Gally's face and he ducked away from the kiss placed just above his jaw.
Holy shit. It was all Newt was capable of thinking. These two men were in an obviously open relationship and nobody was saying a word of protest around them. What kind of place was this? He was about to whisper a question to Minho about it when suddenly, Gally was glaring at him again. "Who's this?" Gally demanded, jerking his chin at Newt as he spoke to Minho. "Are the upper class growing bored up in their castles?"
"Shut it, he's with me," Minho answered. Then, at a raised-eyebrows expression from Gally, his ears turned a light shade of red. "Not in that way, you idiot. He's a friend. His name's Newt." Minho shifted on his feet after that, awkwardness in his motions after the slight misunderstanding.
Of course, Newt then had to wonder if it would have been a normal occurrence for Minho to be here with another man in..."that way." He wrinkled his nose at the idea. Perhaps it was because he as uncomfortable with men violating laws in such a way.
Or perhaps a tiny part inside of him felt a prickle of jealousy at the thought of Minho with another man.
"Oh, don't be silly," he mumbled to himself under his breath. Then he started in embarrassment to realize that Gally and Thomas were looking at him expectantly. "Erm," he tried, standing a little straighter, "yes, I'm, uh, I'm Newt."
"Pleasure to meet you," Thomas replied with another one of his thousand-watt smiles. This boy was just so fun-loving, wasn't he? "I'm Thomas and this is Gally."
Gally turned up his nose distastefully. "You're not going to do anything stupid, like turn us in are you?" he asked.
This was met with a hissed, "Gally!" from Thomas and a flicker of Minho's eyes toward Newt. Newt didn't meet Minho's gaze directly, but he sensed an emotion there, something dark that he hadn't seen before on him. Was Minho...nervous?
"Well, it's a perfectly legitimate question!" Gally argued. "Who knows what kind of posh little mansion he lived in? Probably had his parents teaching him that we're all going to Hell and we're the spawn of Satan. I just want to be prepared for when he drags the police after us later."
Minho bristled. "He wouldn't—"
"You don't actually think that, do you?" Sniffing, Gally shrugged away Thomas' hand when he tried to rest it reassuringly on his shoulder. "I've seen his type before. He'll land us in prison the first chance he gets."
Defiance boiled inside of Newt. He didn't appreciate being spoken about while he was standing right here and anyway, what did Gally know? Yes, this was very much against the law, but Newt wasn't one to turn in people whose worst crimes were falling in love.
And, though he'd never witnessed a couple like this before, he was sure that what he was looking at was love.
Something like that didn't belong in prison or in hell.
"If you find yourself in prison, it'll be your own fault," Newt spoke up suddenly. He recoiled at the flash of anger in Gally's eyes, but summoned his courage to go on. "I won't be the one to turn you in, not for this. I may have lived in a 'posh little mansion,' but I'm not heartless and I won't send two people to prison because they've chosen each other over the law." The steel behind his voice wavered near the end, as he didn't tend to speak to people in a way that wasn't shy or quiet. But he meant it, so he straightened the hem of his suit jacket at the end and gave Gally a look that said, so there, have at it.
Gally's mouth hung open slightly, evidently shocked at having Newt speak with such conviction about this. But Thomas had raised a hand to his mouth to cover a smile and the gratitude in his expression was only for Newt. When he smoothed his fingers down the back of Gally's neck, Gally finally let himself relax in his chair. "Well then," he coughed, clearing his throat. "I'm glad to hear it."
Thomas let out a bark of laughter. "You're not going to apologize?"
"I had every reason to worry about it, so no," Gally quipped. He was then reduced to yelping like a startled girl when Thomas stuck a finger in his ear. "Bloody hell, knock it off, Tom!"
"You only call me 'Tom' when you're trying to sound angry," Thomas teased.
"I'm really going to be angry this time, if you don't stop it!"
Newt caught a snicker to his left and looked to see Minho with a half-grin on his lips. He was startled to be caught looking when Minho's gaze flitted to him, that ghost of a grin still on his mouth. But for a moment, there was a softening in Minho's eyes that had Newt's heart flipping head over heels in his chest. It only intensified when Minho reached out to tug at his sleeve. "C'mon," he said. "I wanna show you something."
"Okay," Newt replied, quiet among the talk and music, but unable to get his voice above a murmur. For unknown reasons, Minho's presence required quiet to fully appreciate at times.
He was growing worse at concealing the treacherous feelings rustling in his chest around this beautiful, charismatic musician.
Especially when Minho guided him away from the noise of Thomas' and Gally's table and to an empty corner of the room. Hefting up his guitar case, he set it with care atop a nearby table and flicked it open. "I've been meaning to play this for you," he began, eagerness unmissable in his hurried motions. "I'm planning on performing it tomorrow at the next dinner, but I wanted someone else's opinion before I did."
Newt's mouth fell open, dumbstruck, as Minho pulled out his instrument without another thought and looped the strap around him. "You're trusting ME before any of the other friends you have here?"
"Well, of course," Minho laughed. "You're my friend, too, aren't you? Or have I been reading you all wrong from the start?"
"Oh—no. You haven't. I would, um, I would very much like to be friends." But Newt knew he was swallowing a lie.
Minho's expression, alight with Newt's answer, made it worth it. "Great. All right, now, just listen and then tell me what you think at the end. I won't play all of it, just a bit..." Fingers roaming about the strings, Minho plucked out a few chords and let them flutter in the air. This close, Newt could appreciate every one without them being drowned out by the other clarinets and saxophones still being played by the band in the room.
As smooth as the waves crashing against the ship outside, Minho sang just for Newt:
"Everybody's looking for that something,
No one ever wants to pay the price.
Everybody's scared of going nowhere,
But we aren't going anywhere tonight.
I should be more cynical and tell myself it's not okay
to feel this good when I'm with you.
Try my best to fight it, say I hate you, but I always stay.
Ain't nobody love, ain't nobody love like you do
Ain't nobody love, ain't nobody love like you do,
Ain't nobody love, ain't nobody love like you do,
Ain't nobody love, ain't nobody love like you do..."
The song dropped off, unfinished, but with a pleasant release of guitar notes. Minho's lips tilted up self-consciously when he noticed Newt gawking at him, transfixed. "That's the beginning of it, anyway," he told Newt, running a loving hand along the neck of the guitar. "It'll sound better once the rest of it's added."
Newt linked his hands in front of him nervously as Minho shrugged out of the guitar strap and set the instrument back into its case. "I thought it was lovely," he confessed. "Did you write it yourself?"
"Yes. Which was why I wanted someone's opinion first before I make a fool of myself in front of an audience."
"You could never," Newt argued. He had to fix his gaze on his feet as he said it. "It'd be stupid to think that you'd make a fool of yourself, when you're so talented and—and extraordinary in everything..." He caught himself, biting his tongue. How had he said that, and to Minho's face?
He could barely look at Minho, sensing the other boy stop with his hands still closing his case. He was inexplicably and suddenly terrified. But he didn't run away when Minho's footsteps scuffed the floor in front of him or when he felt Minho touch his chin and tip his head up. He let it happen with a barely-stifled gasp, as he was coaxed to meet the other boy's eyes. The expression on Minho's face struck him somewhere deep inside. Trembling, he struggled to comprehend how the barest contact of Minho's fingers on his chin was enough to hold him still.
Minho shook his head slightly, releasing a small breath as he studied Newt's face. "I don't think you understand," he murmured.
Newt hated that he sounded as breathless as he did. "Don't understand what?"
"The way you make me want to play music in a way I never have before." Careful, Minho took his hand from Newt's chin and skimmed a fingertip down his cheek; Newt felt woozy and unlike he'd ever felt in his life. "Like you're a song that I've got stuck in my head."
This time Newt made the mistake of watching Minho's mouth as he spoke and the desire to kiss him overwhelmed every other sense. He wanted Minho to touch him the way he touched his guitar. "Minho," he managed, fingers reaching of their own accord to curl in the front of Minho's shirt. "You're not...like anyone..." His voice faltered and then disappeared; because Minho was bending down, Minho was resting their foreheads together, Minho was angling his head and when he breathed, he breathed in Newt, and so close, so close, soclose—
The band struck a sudden, brazen note that had the whole room exploding into sound and dance.
Minho jerked back with a gasp, touch leaving Newt at once. Newt let go of his shirt and struggled to find the air that Minho had stolen from him. His mind reeled. Had they really been about to—? After all the laws and warnings against it? Shaking as though coming out of freezing water, he raised his eyes to Minho's face. When he saw the tangle of feelings there—disappointment, fear, longing—he knew.
There was nothing that could shake him more than Minho Park.
-X-X-X-
-If you'd like to hear THIS acoustic cover of Nobody Love, go on YouTube and search Nobody Love cover, by Gabe Bondoc. It is incredible c:-