-Hi, beautiful readers! Sorry about the length; this chapter is a little shorter than the others. That's why I decided to make this day another two-part one haha. Well, I'm not gonna say another word, you're just gonna have to read to find out what happens between these two ;). Enjoy-

-DAY 3, PART 1-

Soft soft waves against the hull. The emptiness of a quiet room. Something digging into his back and the dream of someone's kiss.

"...Newt? Newt... Wake up..."

Wrinkling his nose, Newt slowly crept toward wakefulness. Someone was shaking his shoulder. Biting back a yawn, he rubbed a hand over his eyes to rid them of the clouds of sleep. When he finally opened them, the first thing he saw was a dim and abandoned room. There were tables scattered about and a small, raised platform for a stage. The second thing he saw was Minho, with sleepy eyes and rumpled hair. He was sitting in a chair across from Newt's, hand still resting on Newt's shoulder. "You know, for someone who's awfully nervous during the day, you're a deep sleeper," he teased.

He'd fallen asleep down here? Oh god... "Christ," Newt mumbled, burying his face in his hands and dragging his palms down his cheeks. It did nothing to wake him up more and the gloominess of having not slept in his own room deepened when he saw his wrinkled suit. "I don't even remember... When did I fall asleep?"

"Late at night, after Gally tried that atrocious performance with a trumpet." Minho gave a dramatic shudder, before going back to rolling up a shirtsleeve that had slipped down his arm.

"Why didn't you wake me up?"

"You looked tired. Not to mention scandalized by Thomas and Gal."

"Oh." Face heating, Newt pretended to smooth his hair so that he wouldn't have to meet Minho's eyes. "Well that was rather...surprising."

There was a pause. "...in a bad way or...?"

"No, I meant—" Newt stopped, because he wasn't sure what he meant. Thomas and Gally were against everything he'd been taught before and they could even find themselves imprisoned for what they were doing. Newt had always felt that he'd best stay away from people like them. Yet...last night...

He remembered being so close he could see the golden flecks in Minho's eyes.

Shivering, Newt wrapped his arms around himself as though warding off a chill. "I don't always agree with the law," he confessed, and he sensed Minho's gaze on him. It was an intense feeling, almost physical, and Newt wasn't sure whether he liked it or not. "Especially when it targets people who don't harm anyone, who are just being themselves. It would be like imprisoning you for playing guitar." Realizing the true ridiculousness of it all, Newt laughed, silly with lingering sleep and not focusing on his words. "I mean, what harm are they doing, really? No one is hurt by it and I certainly don't have a problem with it, I mean, half the time these days, I'm too busy trying not to stare at you—"

He didn't even realize he'd slipped up because at that moment, Minho had grasped his chin and dragged their mouths together. Newt's eyes grew wide, astonishment rooting him to the spot, arms still around himself. Minho's lips were softer than Newt had ever dreamed they'd be, in the deepest of his dreams. He smelled wonderful, like chocolate and sin and home. Newt closed his eyes before he could think and, tilting his head slightly, leaned into it. Warmth thrummed inside of him when he heard the tiny sound Minho made in response. There was a single bright moment of color, and heat, and devastation in Newt's heart, but the kind that was a wonderful, aching devastation.

Then he jumped back so hard, he fell off his chair.

"Ow! Shit—!" Newt hissed as he bumped hard against a table leg, his tailbone stinging from hitting the hard floor. Rubbing his head, he stared up at Minho, who was, predictably, laughing.

"Are you, um...are you okay, Newt?" he snickered in between breaths, hand covering half his mouth and a broad smirk.

"F—fine!" Newt snapped, mind still spinning. His lips tingled and there was a gasp of Minho's cologne on him. Dear god, they had just— "You...kissed me!" he stammered incredulously.

Minho blanched. "I..."

"You actually kissed me!" Newt couldn't move past this. His hands were shaking, hell, all of him was shaking. He'd kissed another man. And he'd LIKED it. "God," he managed, covering his eyes with a hand. He couldn't look at Minho.

"Shit, Newt, I'm sorry." He heard the words drag themselves out of Minho as though they were shards of glass, knotted with shame and mortification. His heart constricted. He never wanted to hear Minho sound like that. "I thought—I actually thought you...felt something. I'm stupid, all right, that was completely stupid of me, and I'm so sorry, Newt. Just—" Minho's voice shook and now Newt looked up. He was horrified to see a glimmer of tears in Minho's eyes and the musician swiping a sleeve over his face. "Just don't turn me in, please. You don't know what they'd do to me."

Despite every doubt inside of him, Newt couldn't hold back the dread he felt when he thought of the things that would happen to Minho in prison. The sudden surge of protectiveness that came next surprised him.

Instead of thinking of every law and every disapproval, Newt focused on clambering to his feet. Instead of thinking of his father and his family, he looked down at Minho sitting forlornly and even a little scared. Instead of thinking of the sin, he bent with hands on Minho's shoulders and kissed his forehead as tenderly as he could.

"Newt, you don't have to," Minho whimpered, as Newt's fingers moved to his neck and traced small lines in the skin there. He was trembling, his hands afraid to move in his lap. But he leaned up into Newt's touches as Newt traced his lips down Minho's nose.

"I know," Newt whispered. His fingertips rested beneath Minho's jaw. He could feel Minho's heartbeat racing. "I want to."

The confession hung in the air and it felt like the darkest piece of Newt was there for anyone to see. He scared himself when he thought, good. Let them see. This time, it was Newt who tipped up Minho's chin and pressed their lips together. Hands gripped the small of his back immediately, hauling him forward to stand between Minho's knees. Newt gasped a little, unused to the feel of someone holding him so possessively. He nearly smiled against Minho's mouth. It was exhilarating. Especially when he parted Minho's lips with his own, tasted his kiss, and Minho moaned drunkenly against him. Minho's fingers dropped, then slid up the back of Newt's jacket. His palms fit to Newt's lower back and burned his skin through the thin dress shirt underneath. In return, Newt carded his hands through Minho's hair, making a mess of it the way he'd wanted to since that first night. Newt had the wild thought of straddling Minho's lap, of kissing down his neck and working through the buttons of his shirt.

Then Minho stood up and took Newt by the wrists. Newt gasped raggedly as he was backed up against the table and Minho's mouth met his jaw. "Minho." He whimpered out the name, head dropping back as Minho kissed his way down Newt's throat.

"You drive me mad," Minho mumbled into the crook of his neck, growling at the collar blocking his way.

Newt leaned his cheek against the side of Minho's head, the black hair soft against his skin. Sighing, he closed his eyes. "I've only known you for two days."

"Love at first sight," Minho joked, nipping at Newt's ear and making him giggle.

"There's no such thing."

"You could say the same of an unsinkable ship."

"And if the ship does sink and proves you wrong?"

Chuckling, Minho nosed at Newt's hair. The blonde wrapped his arms around him in delight and pulled him in close. They were against each other from head to toe and Newt now understood how to fully appreciate body heat. His body relaxed as Minho whispered in his ear, "then I'll either swim to shore with you or drown happily in your arms."

"Oh, Minho," Newt chuckled breathlessly. He had never been spoken to in such a tender way before, but he had to admit, he could grow used to this feeling.

If only it weren't illegal.

Saddening, Newt tightened his hold around Minho's shoulders. "What will I tell my family?" he asked in a murmur. Minho stilled against him, but there was a clenching of his fingers in the back of Newt's jacket. "My friends?"

"You don't think they'd understand?" Minho asked cautiously.

Newt snorted, humorless. "My father would save me from jail. But he'd have you hanged." The word tasted sour in his mouth.

"I'll understand if you don't want to let this go any further."

Silently, Newt buried his face in Minho's neck and inhaled once. The wonderful smells of fabric and cologne and skin washed over him all at once, and while he was dizzy with it, he knew the truth. "I'll never be happy with anyone else as long as you walk the earth," he whispered.

-X-X-X-

They walked back to Newt's room together, foolish and stumbling over each other's feet. Newt hadn't imagined that another person's presence could do these things to him, make him stammer or bump shoulders together. Twice, they had to put a reasonable amount of space between them as a person passed by. Three times, they had to remember not to twine their fingers between them. Newt's heart pinwheeled at every close call. How was he supposed to hide something that made him feel like this?

I'll find a way, he thought, if it means I can keep him.

"Well, this is my room," he said, reluctantly stopping to lean back against the door. He met Minho's tired expression, grateful to know that he had stayed with Newt when he fell asleep at that table. Any other person would've surely left.

"I'll let you go here, then." Polite, Minho set his hand on Newt's shoulder, the way close friends might do when parting ways. Newt's body was frozen until the touch left him again.

Nodding in farewell, Newt turned away and fished in his pocket for his key. Once he'd found it, he got it fitted into the lock and was about to open the door, when he felt the most addictive thing: the heat of Minho's body against his back and breath ghosting across his ear. His hands shook and he would've dropped the key if it weren't for Minho placing a steadying hand at his side. "When can I see you again?" Minho asked in a murmur against Newt's neck.

"I'll be—out on the deck later," Newt managed. God, but it was impossible to hold back from pressing himself back against Minho to feel more of his warmth and that strong form against him. He hadn't known how bad he had it for the musician before now.

"Taking pictures?" Minho's mouth curved upward, brushing Newt's ear.

Cheeky, Newt thought, biting his tongue. "Yes."

"I'll look for you." Minho stepped back and Newt could breathe air again. Dear god, if this was what it was to be in love, Newt wasn't going to last another day on this ship with Minho. He risked a shy smile over his shoulder, and was struck with the lightning bolt of Minho's smirk. Backing away with thumbs hanging in his pockets, Minho winked once before finally turning to head back down the hall. Newt, behaving like an idiot, had to watch the lines of Minho's shoulders under his shirt until he couldn't make them out anymore.

Newt faced his door once more and hurried inside with the speed of a desperate man. Once there, he shut it harder than necessary and listened to the reassurance of the lock clicking into place. Exhaling long and low, he rested his shoulder against it and then the side of his head. He was here, at last, on the Titanic, and he was falling in love. With another man.

He could deal with this, surely. There were worse things that could happen.

Weren't there?