Title: To a Stranger

Summary: April 1912. One life ends, but a love has only just begun.

Author — — Listen to I Knew I Loved You by Savage Garden for full effect. There are lines taken from The Little Prince, Jerry Maguire, and Harry Potter (?), all of which are disclaimed. (The three stories are absolutely fantastic, aka they made me cry.)

April 1912

Furihata jolts in alarm as a passerby slams his beer mug on the wooden table. Refusing to look at the man's eyes, Furihata resorts to sipping coffee and pretending that his tongue can endure the burn. Months of scouring Southampton for decent abodes have taught Furihata never to meddle with drunkards, landladies, and fellow impoverished foreigners. At least, his accent has metamorphosed into that which does not earn him prejudice from the people he interacts with.

"Hey," the man slurs and presses a newspaper to Furihata's arm. Furihata tries not to flinch, but the chap makes it difficult to stay in one place. It is peculiar, however, that he greets the brunette in typical American slang. "Have you read the papers yet? We're damn lucky we get to see the boat of the century float — too bad only those rich asses can get to ride it."

Furihata nods, hoping to drive the nameless man away by affirming his thoughts. Unfortunately, the man only scoots closer. "Well," he whispers, the scent of alcohol evident in his breaths, "good for you, I found a way to sneak in." He roars in laughter, pounding his hand on the table.

"I'd rather not join," Furihata replies sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. Something tells me that it's a terrible idea — as if conversing with a man who can't even see straight isn't already bad enough. "But thank you for the offer. I should head out now."

"Bah!" the man scowls. "The Titanic ain't something you miss out on, kid. It's heading for New York, and I can bet even on a million pounds that you live there."

He almost gets it right, but people always seem to dismiss Furihata's Japanese heritage. That is not of utmost importance — the moment 'New York' comes up, Furihata snaps back to reality and puts his cup of coffee down. The sound of free tickets to board the Titanic, albeit illegal, is very appealing, especially since Furihata has run out of funds for his trip around the world even when he was just in Switzerland. It doesn't help that the unemployment rate is unbelievably high in England. "What did you say?"

"New York, lad," the man smiles crookedly, taking a huge gulp of his beer. He shakes his head to absorb the maltose rush.

"New York," Furihata echoes, still aware of how sketchy the situation is. "What do I have to do, and how much would I owe you?"

Engulfed in boisterous laughter, the man hiccups before responding, too awed by Furihata's question. "I told you. Got you all covered, so there's nothing to worry about. It feels good when you play good Samaritan once in a while." He clears his eyes of tears from giggling too much and adds, "Except."

"Except what?"

Furihata swallows when the man looks him in the eye. "The ride's third-class. Think you can handle that, kid?"

Like a blur, Furihata answers, surprised at his own eagerness.

"This is ridiculous," Akashi says, running her slender fingers down her neat braids. The knots in her red hair are as tight as the ribbons on the back of her corset, and if her mother is to place a locket around her neck, she doubts that she would still be able to breathe. Harshly, her mother spins her chair so she could admire the masterpiece reflected in the mirror. Her eyes do not agree.

Akashi's mother sighs in resignation. "You must look presentable in front of Chihiro."

"Am I not presentable enough without these things to asphyxiate me?" Akashi retaliates, keeping her voice low so as to maintain her temper. "And don't call him by his first name. If you value politeness, going as far as strangling your daughter for the sake of appearances, then I would appreciate it if you regarded him as honorable and not a part of your family."

"Seijuuro," her mother warns, but she has grown used to Akashi's flair for dramatics and rebellion. She doesn't tolerate it, but all ways to reprimand her are futile. "He will be a part of this family in the next few months. Your engagement is looming ahead, and you still have your head stuck in the clouds —"

"It is not my choice to be sold out by my parents," Akashi mutters, mismatched irises as sharp as her tone. "Or should I say parent?"

Patience already evaporating, her mother's hand finds her cheek, abruptly coming in contact and leaving a visible mark. Akashi doesn't break away from her mother's eyes even after being hit, and the crease on her eyebrows deepens. She taunts with her mere expression.

Akashi's mother, too exhausted to put up with Akashi's defiance, decides to leave the room, tossing the hairbrush to the side without another care to give. "Fix yourself and tidy up. We will be meeting the Mayuzumi family by noon."

"And what of these pieces of luggage?" Akashi says, pointing to the scattered bags and clothes on the floor. "Do you expect me to carry them to someplace I have no idea about?"

"Of course not, dear," her mother fakes a cheery disposition, very well aware of her daughter's disgust. "Your butlers are responsible for any of your belongings. The only thing you are required to do is to be as well-mannered as possible while boarding the Titanic."

"We're heading to the United States as if it is an impromptu decision," Akashi replies slowly to digest the information.

"Yes," her mother responds with a smile, double-edged with excitement and force tugging at the corners of her lips. "Of course we are, darling."

Furihata only has two things in possession, and those two are what he holds dearest — mostly because he has nothing else left, but also because they always stir some memories. One, he carries around with him even in bars and restrooms. He couldn't care any less; the sketchbook is his only source of profit and consolation in knowing that he walks around the world alone.

His first drawing is of the sunset. He fails in mixing the colors, obviously, but something about the imperfection of hues magnetized the fondness of a wealthy Englishman in 1910, two years before the upcoming maiden voyage of the Titanic. Furihata didn't have the slightest clue why an elite would purchase his painting soaked with rain, but the man in fine clothing only tips his head gracefully and hands him some bills. "You have an interesting style," he says. "I cannot say the same for everybody else, but I find this landscape heartbreaking. Perhaps humans aren't meant to paint something they did not create."

It was two years down the road, and Furihata could say that he was too foolish back then to think that he can prove the Englishman wrong. Although his motives for painting the sun setting over the ocean have changed in the course of his travels, there remains an underlying purpose to encapsulate the divine in every stroke of his brush. Over and over again, he has lamented over blending the blues and oranges right. They are never enough.

Maybe it is his view that makes the difference. Furihata proceeds to the deck after hours of trying to locate his bunk. He meets a boy from France who escaped from a marriage that was never supposed to happen. Furihata, in loss of introductory words, congratulates him on his liberation and promptly dashes up the stairs to catch the sun before it disappears.

There are swarms of British and Irish nobles admiring the splash of waves against the humongous ship. Truly, the Titanic is as magnificent as the stories say, forging towards the west with ease. Furihata draws in silence, including the people this time to see if their presence had any effect on his sketch. The railings and clouds are easy to depict, but the expressions on the passengers' faces are fleeting, to the point that Furihata gives up and calls it a day for now. Besides, their garments require too many details.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a redhead fumbling with her dress and raising her leg over the railing. Nobody holds her back, and in the way she hisses, Furihata blurts out, "Y-you! Don't jump!"

He runs towards her before she falls off the ship, but he stumbles over his shoelaces and ends up throwing his sketchpad overboard. Wildly thumping in his chest is his heart, because he lost a girl and his drawings. He should have never boarded the Titanic if it meant demonstrating his idiocy in front of the upperclassmen.

"For a moment, I wondered if you tried to send me drowning to my death at an even faster speed."

Furihata looks up, face still drenched in cold sweat. The redhead hands him his sketchpad but doesn't bother to pull him up. After all, she is a lady, and she would not dare to touch a penniless man like him. He mumbles an apology that doesn't reach the redhead's ears. To make up for his embarrassing display, he stands up and dusts off the imaginary grime from his sleeves.

"Hello," Furihata says, proud of himself when his voice doesn't break. "Thank you for catching my book, and for not going through with your suicide." There is no better and more fitting word for it, although 'suicide' is quite too blatant.

Akashi studies him, eyes still passive after examining his exterior that clearly showed his lack of resources. Perhaps he does want her dead. A poor boy on the ship only means thievery or murder, whichever comes first. Realizing that she has become a fragment of her mother, Akashi shrugs, abandoning her stupid perfect posture and enthusiastic facade. "I am not certain why I caught it, but I might as well postpone my death and do one good thing before I get sent to hell."

"Whoa," Furihata says. Trust him to tell all the wrong things. "Uh- I mean, by the looks of it, you're supposed to be religious. Doesn't your family attend Sunday mass?"

"They do drag me to it," Akashi simply states. "I have been oblivious to the fact that lowerclassmen can be as judgmental as the elites are."

Unsure of whether to take it as an insult or a compliment, Furihata raises his eyebrow. He has always known that elites can be rude while maintaining their composure, but this girl seems to lose it. It's also remarkable how she even has the will to talk to a stranger like him. "Ah, well, I'll have to excuse myself. I'm sorry for the intrusion, milady."

As he turns around, Akashi says, "You haven't asked me for my name."

Furihata whips his head around. She has got to be kidding him. Women with attention issues are the hardest to deal with, especially when they demand obedience. Most especially when they are rich and have the authority to kick him out of a passenger liner at the snap of their fingers. "Tell me, then."

"I said ask," Akashi shoots him a grimace but argues against prolonging the unnecessary conversation. "Akashi Seijuuro. And you are?"

"Furihata Kouki," Furihata immediately says, holding his palm out for courtesy. As Akashi offers him her hand, he presses a chaste kiss on her knuckles, mumbling, "It was a pleasure to meet you, but I have to leave." He scampers for the door to the lower levels.

"You always draw sunsets," Akashi calls after him, restraining herself from saying any more. "perhaps you can draw people instead. It would suit you better."

"I will," he responds, his back facing Akashi. "I'll find you again and draw —"

He does not have the chance to finish his sentence when the door closes, and Akashi stands there, vibrant red hair up in braids and waist constricted by knots. If fate permits her, she would descend to Furihata Kouki's floor and see how the commoners make themselves comfortable, all huddled together in bunk beds that are not ideal for slumber. However, her mother intercepts her and hooks her arm with hers.

"Seijuuro, where have you been off to?" her mother inquires in a mocking tone, pulling her towards another spot on the deck. Akashi suppresses a groan when she catches a glimpse of gray hair — the Mayuzumi's trademark — among the heads of the crowd. "Chihiro is waiting for you by the rails. I expect you to carry yourself as a lady, not a girl who has her own selfish desires and crude attitude."

Akashi shakes her mother's grasp off of her arm. "I can handle one evening. Do not underestimate me, mother."

"Very well." Her mother's figure disappears towards the group of Irish ladies, and Akashi picks a glass of wine to boost her confidence. She does not need much of it, but it would take a reckless, tipsy girl to talk to a fiance that she never even known before. Perhaps the best course would be to lead him to his bed and let him taste her. All would be fine, and her mother's plans would go smoothly. They would never be in danger of losing their property again.

Akashi's thoughts are absurd, and she only takes a small swig before she puts the wine glass away. Chihiro appears too distant for his reputation as an heir who is excellent at communicating with his father's business partners. "Mayuzumi Chihiro," Akashi says in the most appropriate tone that she has readied, "I am Akashi Seijuuro —"

"My fiancee," Chihiro replies disinterestedly, fixing his tie while effectively ignoring the redhead's arrival. "I have been informed that you would be aboard the Titanic."

"So have I," Akashi says. She is annoyed that her fiance is not the least bit moved, but she is also sympathetic of his irritation towards the impending engagement. They could wallow in self-pity together in the near future. "My mother told me to get the formalities over with."

"So has my father."

Akashi, in intolerance, forgets her manners and crosses her arms over her chest. "Well?"

"If you are planning to get to know me better," Chihiro says, "you can go ahead to my quarters. The door has been unlocked for you. I have to deal with some matters before my time with you."

Akashi scoffs. "Excuse me?"

"Tonight, we are not yet engaged. You are free to do whatever pleases you as long as it doesn't concern me." Chihiro stuffs his hands into the pockets of his expensive trousers. "You and I are reluctant to live by our parents' wishes — it is only natural that we spend even one night living by our own."

"Precisely what I have been thinking of," Akashi replies. "Unfortunately, my mother will murder me in my sleep knowing that I have not followed her. I would gladly disobey her, but it is not in my hands whatever fate I have."

Chihiro, understanding Akashi's situation, leans down to her ear. Her lips graze her skin softly, and he reeks of wine. "Then, I'll leave you with this."

He kisses her on the cheek, and the gesture is nothing, nothing like the commoner's lips on the back of her hand.

Akashi prays that her mother has seen the act before Chihiro leaves her in isolation.

Furihata runs into Akashi without meaning to. He really doesn't have the slightest interest in sketching her face. She is charming, lovely, elegant — but all of those qualities are ruined by the truth that she is a world away from him. Whereas she can step on money with her heels, he will do everything, even beg, to get his share. That, and Akashi's presence makes him quiver. A girl is not supposed to threaten a boy like this.

Again, his encounter with the redhead is one with his sketchpad. Sometimes he thinks that the things most precious to him are also the ones that cause him misfortunes. At least, this time, Furihata doesn't have his face stamped on the floor. He is gazing at the sky, musing over the cirrus clouds and the flock of birds that swoop over the horizon. Being on the Titanic evokes a certain familiarity within him, but he wants the journey to end soon.

Furihata instantly recognizes her from her back, silk ribbons weaved through her red hair. He has never attempted to draw someone's posterior view before, and he might as well do now while Akashi isn't looking. Once he is done, he resolves to get the colors right, and exits quietly from the deck when Akashi's voice startles him. "Furihata," she says, and the brunet is briefly surprised that she even remembers his name.

"M-Milady," Furihata stammers, and when Akashi quirks her eyebrow, he corrects himself. "Akashi."

Akashi stares at him with her red and golden irises. Heterochromia has never been valued in England, but Furihata thinks that rarity could also be equivalent to importance. "May I see your sketch?"

"You may," Furihata replies, wary of his previous drawings. Akashi isn't the type to flip the pages. She cradles the sketchpad with utmost care and traces the dark outlines of herself. The drawing is almost blurry, as if beneath a layer of water.

"Do you sell these?"

Furihata laughs, and quiets himself down soon after. "Sometimes, I do, when I barely have something to eat."

"Could I buy it?" Akashi asks in a hushed tone. Furihata doesn't know if she marvels at his skill or her back portrait. He figures it's the first choice.

Akashi has her purse by her side in a flash, and Furihata swears that he'll make enough money from a simple caricature. He waves his hand dismissively, however, and tears the page from the book. With a smile, he tucks the piece of paper to her fingers. They are warm and inviting. "Keep it. I'll survive on this trip."

"But —"

Furihata has no idea when he has become such a blabbermouth, but he cuts off Akashi of his own accord. It is rude to interrupt upperclassmen in the middle of their sentences, he knows that. His reflexes disagree with him. "Keep it. I don't need this to be out of pity. Besides, it's your picture."

"Drawn by your hand," Akashi says.

"I promised to find you and draw your face," Furihata reasons, standing up from the bench. "Uh, not that I exactly did the second thing, but I'm sure you understand. People are much better than sunsets, I believe."

He smiles one more time before turning around to head for his room. Akashi is left behind, eyes trailing over the image of her dress fluttering with the wind, strands of red hair illuminated by the disappearing sunlight and coming loose from the knots.

You know — one loves the sunset, when one is so sad.

It becomes a regular session, a kind of ritual for them to meet up at the deck before dusk. Furihata bestows Akashi a picture, which is never of her face. It is not enough reason for Akashi to cease from collecting Furihata's drawings of her from an unconventional angle. In fact, the thought that Furihata is not someone who glamorizes female faces sounds very appealing to her to the point that she is clueless as to what she really feels for the boy.

"Ah, there," Furihata chuckles, tearing another page from his book and handing it to Akashi. The redhead accepts it graciously and sits down on the bench. "I became indecisive about the emphasis, so for a change, I drew something that caught the side of your face. Not that it'll make much difference, but maybe change is something we need to experience once in a while."

"Thank you," Akashi mumbles. In the picture, her eyes are closed and the sunlight is framing her face such that her smile looks hauntingly sad. Perhaps it is just her perception that Furihata has a knack for lonely things.

Furihata notices her silence. "I'm sure that you've witnessed far more breathtaking portraits of yourself, you being an elite and all."

"They're all fake," Akashi shrugs. "Chokers and frilly dresses and objects of so-called beauty are worthless and unappealing. You are required to maintain your straight posture for two hours until the artist has enough decency to let you drop your expression. It is not a breathtaking sight."

"Yes, but far more than that," Furihata waves his hand to explain further. "I just think you're really beautiful."

There is nothing to be heard but the waves and Akashi's exhalation, both of which seem serene compared to Furihata's troubled expression. Moments later, he stands up shaking. "I'm sorry for the outburst —"

"Kouki," Akashi murmurs, gazing into the brunet's eyes with such curiosity. He manages to astound her despite the fact that he is a simple commoner, a boy who has found ways to sneak into the Titanic without having to pay a single penny. Furihata is obviously not fond of communication, but he can be admirably honest when he does speak up. "You're the first person who ever told me that. That I'm beautiful."

"Y-you really are," Furihata scratches the back of his head like he always does when he doesn't know how to work his way through a situation. What surprises him, though, is that Akashi has never been complimented on her radiance before. Surely at least one man has expressed his adoration for her. Akashi's fragility is compensated by the fire in her eyes. What startles him more is that she called him by his given name.

Akashi, in a similar loss of words, only replies, "You're very interesting."

"You are much more," Furihata blurts again, and this time, the reddening on his cheeks is visible. He slaps his palm against his mouth to prevent himself from displaying more acts of idiocy. Before he has the chance to run for cover, Akashi grabs the edge of his coat and looks at him thoroughly.

"I would wish for you to attend the ball tonight," almost shyly, Akashi mumbles, noting the drastic effects of her words on Furihata's color and expression. The ball is no place for people like him, but Akashi regards the rules of the wealthy as complete and utter trash. She could invite whomever she desired to be her companion, if at least it could alleviate her anxiety and dread towards the impending Mayuzumi-Akashi union. Misinterpretations are inevitable; but she would rather have her acquaintances and family ridicule her for bringing another boy on a single night instead of sulk for the rest of her life following her mother's wishes and hoping that she had betrayed her trust for once.

When it comes to emotional intelligence, Furihata is lacking. Besides that, it is never desirable to refuse a lady. "I'm not a part of it, and I might get in trouble," Furihata says in a jittery voice. Better stay out of harm's way while it is still early, even if it means abandoning the opportunity to dance with Akashi. Furihata is aware by now that he is a fool, if his increased heart rate is any indication.

Akashi stiffens. Get in trouble? As if illegally entering the Titanic isn't already troublesome on its own. Furihata uses stupid undertones to say that he wants to reject her. In spite of Akashi left hanging, she tries to persuade him even further. Something tells her that she must ask him once more. "I will take the blame. Please, Kouki."

Akashi saying the magic word is the final straw for Furihata. Eventually, he laughs in his poorly hidden enthusiasm. He would be living in regret if he decides not to go with her tonight. "Ah, alright. I have to warn you that I might look like a server instead, having no fine and expensive clothes to wear. And no, you don't have to take it upon yourself. I'll handle the rest when the time comes."

"I won't let you," Akashi reassures him. "No one can look down on you because you're—"

Akashi stops herself, wondering what she is about to describe him as. Handsome? Talented? Clever?

Perfect?

It is getting dark, Akashi thinks, and the darkness is making her mind muddled with thoughts she isn't supposed to have. The cold sea breeze sweeps through the deck and she fails to hide a shiver.

Noticing this, Furihata promptly takes his coat off and wraps it around Akashi's shoulders, keeping a safe distance from her face. As mesmerizing as she is, he couldn't find the heart to stare at her for any longer. He just might crack and put himself at risk of feeling unwarranted emotions. "T-there. It's not really attractive, but it keeps me warm."

Akashi looks up, and she sees a boy with an ear-splitting grin amidst the cold. In her chest, something is fluttering. "Thank you. I'll see you later, then?"

Furihata steps back and his smile grows even wider. "Of course."

"Dashing," Akashi's mother looks smug, deeming her efforts to transform Akashi into a prim and proper lady successful. She convinces herself that her triumph is evident in the flicker of Chihiro's eyes. Chihiro himself is the epitome of the ideal heir: polite, neat, well-mannered, and on time. Before eight, he is already knocking on the Akashis' door with a bouquet of roses in his hand.

Pretentious bastard, Akashi acknowledges, taking the bouquet in her arms and caressing them in false appreciation. The color is in stark contrast to her dress, a glimmering midnight blue. For the sake of her mother, she eloquently throws in, "Oh, that was very nice of you, Chihiro."

Akashi knows that if Chihiro was bestowed with the ability to smirk, he would have done so already. However, his indifference only gives way to mock happiness. "I'm glad that you like it, Seijuuro." To get past their lousy acting, he holds his arm out. "Now, shall we head to the hall?"

Giving the roses to her exultant mother, Akashi discreetly nods. After all, Chihiro will not be her companion for the rest of the evening. Chihiro, still carrying the pretension out, keeps Akashi near as they trudge down the corridors and to the ballroom where everyone awaits. The doors open, revealing multitudes of people in their fanciest attires exchanging a word or two over wine. The orchestra plays upbeat melodies in the distance, but Akashi's doubts of Furihata's presence are just aggravated.

"I will leave you here," Chihiro says, gently removing Akashi's hand from his arm. "And take you back to your room when it is midnight. Meet me by the staircase."

Akashi silently agrees, and in an instant, Chihiro is gone among the crowd.

Her eyes scan the whole ballroom, and she despises her height for not granting her the capacity to see better. All she can glimpse is the top of somebody's head, and hell would freeze over before she would succumb to something as uncharacteristic of her as going on her tip toes. In resolution, she walks up the stairs, growing fearful with every step that she might not see Furihata at all.

Upon reaching the higher end of the stairs, she picks up a wine glass from the tray carried by one of the servers. She doesn't actually like wine, but drinking might be able to calm her nerves and let her pass time.

Her eyes dart from person to person, and when she accidentally focuses them on the spot below her, she finds him waiting at the base of the staircase.

Akashi has to catch her breath.

Again, Furihata smiles, clad in an ordinary tuxedo with nothing but an old watch to decorate his wrist. Nonetheless, he looks like a character straight from a fairytale book. He extends his hand, and Akashi willingly walks down the stairs with ease until the tips of her fingertips could finally touch his. It is different from any form of contact she has had with all sorts of people, but Furihata emanates an aura very similar to her father's.

If only her father were here.

Furihata speaks, mouth unable to close in amazement. "You...you look amazing. You're perfect."

Akashi smiles, in that rare and genuine way of hers, causing Furihata to widen his eyes. "You are, as well."

The brunet presses a tender kiss to her knuckles. When he looks up again, he asks, "Will you dance with me?"

He receives no words as a proper response, but Akashi grips his hand tighter to signify her affirmation. Leading them both to the middle of the hall is not as difficult as it seems, as long as Furihata is aware of the servers walking by or the couples, young and old, that are dancing to the now mellow music. He hasn't been to a party for ages. but he still recalls to place his hand on Akashi's hip and clasp the other around Akashi's own.

Once he meets Akashi's gaze, Furihata knows that he has already fallen.

"Is this watch special?" Akashi queries in the midst of synchronized steps. She doesn't intend to mock him for the watch — for someone to wear a watch with worn-out leather straps, it must mean something.

Furihata laughs. First of his valuable possessions is his sketchpad, because it is one of his only companions in his travels. The most important belonging he has, however, is this watch. Akashi's invitation to the ball compelled him to take it out of its box and show it to the world if only just for an evening. "Very. My father gave it to me before he died."

So they both lost their fathers to death. Akashi almost feels sorry for him, but the beam on his face makes it impossible to do so. Furihata continues, "He gave it to me as a reminder that I will never know when I'll close my eyes, so I have to cherish every moment and take chances while I still can."

Akashi keeps her silence, and they halt towards the end of the song when Furihata removes the watch. He places it around Akashi's wrist and smiles while fixing the tiny buckle. The bewildered expression painted across Akashi's features demands an explanation.

"You will always be the chance I wish I could have taken."

Furihata rests his lips on Akashi's forehead for several heartbeats before he leans back and bows, bidding his goodbye.

When Chihiro arrives at the staircase on midnight, he finds Akashi crying.

Damn it, Furihata buries his face in his hands, not getting over the stunt that cost him his watch and the girl he's fallen in love with for the past week. It was a terrible move to assume that they can never be together because of their positions in society, but he doesn't want to come up with an empty promise, either.

He can just imagine Akashi throwing the watch into the ocean. He is nothing but a speck in her life, an insignificant dot that is bound to be forgotten in the passage of time. Maybe she would laugh his existence off with the people she associates with.

Furihata has no idea that maybe Akashi would, instead, be throwing herself overboard, but Akashi is not a fool to do that no matter how much she wants to.

Akashi is furious.

It had been humiliating enough to have been found by Chihiro while losing control of her tears. She quickly regains composure and dabs at her eyes with the handkerchief that Chihiro has so generously offered her. He doesn't ask her if she is alright. He walks her to her room as promised, and is greeted by the shock written all over the face of Akashi's mother.

"Would you mind to tell me what happened?" Akashi's mother pats the top of her daughter's head as she stares blankly into the distance.

Chihiro smiles. "We were talking to an old couple and they narrated the story of how they met. I believe that Seijuuro can be quite touched by that kind of conversations."

"Really," Akashi's mother disbelievingly whispers. "Thank you for accompanying her tonight, Chihiro."

"It was a pleasure."

When Chihiro leaves and kisses Akashi good night, her mother turns to her and frowns at her bloodshot eyes. "Don't tell me you caused another catastrophe in the hall." The old and admittedly ugly watch on Akashi's wrist catches her eye. "Now what is this abomination? Have you been picking the trash instead of being a good fiancee?"

"Then send it to the trash if you want," Akashi replies, voice still devoid of any emotion. Sadness or anger, she doesn't know what exactly she has bottled up inside of her. She unbuckles the timepiece and hurls it to the floor, hiding a cringe when she hears the collision. Akashi calmly walks out of the door and ignores her mother's reprimands. Anywhere but here would work; she just needs to mull over for a bit before she can accept that she is stuck with this fate.

Before she can stop herself, her feet take her to the ship deck.

It doesn't take a while for Furihata to obtain a bottle of liquor and drink his regrets away. After all these years of sitting in the sidelines and watching from the shadows, he still hasn't gotten rid of the cowardice that he has kept like a child for so long. He will never be enough for Akashi. It is quite laughable, too, that he has been captivated by a stranger he has only known for days.

But Akashi is different. No matter how unthinkable it would seem, Furihata swears to himself that a single glimpse of Akashi sends him reeling and hanging on for his life. Place him in other lifetimes and he is certain that he will fall all over again — which is foolhardy, given that the likes of Akashi will never be interested in him. She did say that he was interesting before, but perhaps it is not in the way that he thinks.

The next morning, he wakes up feeling groggy. The moment he stands up, he darts to the toilet to vomit every last piece from his stomach, wincing at the terrible smell and taste on his tongue. His French roommate pats his back silently, as if understanding how alcohol can never be the solution. After dry heaving for a while, Furihata smiles sourly and washes his mouth, head still spinning from the hangover.

He hasn't drawn sunsets as the focus of the images ever since he met Akashi. Clearly, he'll revert to his old ways. Even if people are a lot better than sunsets, they always leave him.

Furihata heads to the deck and drops his sketchbook when he finds Akashi covered in the coat he lent her, shaking from being there all night.

"Sei!" he exclaims, darting to Akashi. She sneezes, and when he touches his palm to her forehead, all he can feel is warmth. There's too much of it.

It doesn't help that Akashi has dozed off in a spot where nobody can see her immediately. Furihata will take the sketchbook later; he gets down on his knees and easily slides his arms under Akashi's figure to carry her. She's burning up too quickly. If he doesn't hurry, her condition will just be aggravated. Having Akashi in his arms is not uncomfortable at all, like he was created to hold her from the beginning. Furihata takes her to his room in the lowest level of the ship and tucks her into bed.

Akashi doesn't stir. Her eyes are peaceful when closed, but her lips are quivering from being out in the cold. In a panic, Furihata makes a wild dash for a bowl of warm water and a towelette. He paces for five minutes while waiting for the water to heat up, and when it is done, he positions himself on the bedside.

"Kou...ki..."

Furihata jolts in surprise when she whispers his name. It sounds so perfect against her lips that he questions himself about the untoward things he said to her last night. On impulse, he entangles their fingers together and slides into the bed, keeping her close so they can share the warmth. "It's okay. I'm here, and I won't leave you."

"But yester—"

"I'm sorry," Furihata murmurs against her hair, threading his fingers through the strands to help relieve her fever. "That was idiotic of me. It was spur of the moment — it'll never happen again." To make a point, he ceases from caressing her locks for a moment and tips her chin up. When her eyes blink to say 'yes', he leans towards her and presses his lips to hers. If only they could stay like this forever.

Akashi, although still light-headed from the fever, clasps her fingers around Furihata's tighter as the brunet deepens the kiss. This is her first; she had imagined in her childhood that it would be with a prince, under a sky streaked with the colors of heaven. Never did it come to mind that it might be in a commoner's room in the Titanic. They break away, heaving and smiling, and draw themselves together for another kiss.

Furihata wraps his arms around Akashi, humming along a song he used to know by heart. He notices her fishing his watch from the coat. "I apologize...I threw this in frustration and came to retrieve it. This is too precious for me to keep."

"No," Furihata assures her. Tracing the lines on her palms, he sighs contentedly. Akashi has cooled down for now, but he doesn't want to get up from the bed. "I gave it to you because I found you, and I don't think something could come close to how much I have treasured you." He grazes her eyelids with his lips to lull her to sleep. "I was wrong — I can never throw away my chance with you."

"Against all odds," Akashi murmurs, and it is not long before she releases a soft yawn.

Furihata smiles. "Always."

"Will you cut my hair, Kouki?" Akashi hands him a pair of scissors that may seem too normal for her taste but will be able to do the job just the same. She has grown fond of Furihata caressing her locks, but her hair is still a reminder of her ties to the elites. Fortunately, she has managed to stay hidden in Furihata's room for the meantime, and his roommate has been willing to welcome Akashi. It is a surprise that her mother hasn't gone looking for her. She probably assumes that she is with Chihiro.

Furihata sets two cups of tea on the makeshift table. They piled up the pieces of luggage to create something that could assume a table's use. "Are you not happy with it?"

"Mother has always told me to keep it long and braided," Akashi gestures to her now frizzy red mane. "I don't want to be the person everybody else tells me to be."

"Very well," Furihata obliges with a tender beam etched on his lips. It feels special when he does this — being the only person whom Furihata can open up to and let into her world that does not consist of the elites. He takes the scissors from her and visualizes an imaginary cut. He starts snipping away at the bundles of strands, stealing a kiss or two in between. When he is done, he brushes the hair on Akashi's shoulders and faces her. "You're beautiful."

Akashi laughs, patting her short hair. "Because of you."

Furihata traces her jawline with his thumb, unable to contain the emotions he has kept at bay before. Having Akashi here seems too good to be true. "I never knew I could be with you. I...I thought that we were worlds apart, and I'd never be able to reach you."

Gaze softening, Akashi covers his hand with hers. "You mustn't worry anymore. You had me at hello."

Like breathing, Furihata considers kissing her as natural and a little bit imperative. The universe conspired for them to meet, and he surely isn't letting her go now. Akashi envelopes him with her arms as he swipes his tongue across her bottom lip, enticing her to allow his entrance. Heartbeats later, Furihata maneuvers them both to the cot and takes in Akashi's perfection before he can claim it as his. Mine, mine, his mind whispers as he finds the places that make Akashi shiver, and he thinks he's the luckiest man alive for having crossed paths with her.

Akashi pulls him in, and he could do nothing but surrender.

It is too late when Furihata remembers having left his sketchbook on the deck.

Akashi is still safe and sound in his room, and he whispers that he'll be back after a few minutes of searching for his collection of drawings. When he arrives at the deck, the sketchbook is nowhere to be found. Somebody must have picked it up in curiosity. Furihata sighs, circling the deck aimlessly in hopes that it would still be there. He asks stranger upon stranger, but they all shake their heads.

Furihata doesn't realize that thirty minutes has gone by in his futile search. He is about to head down in resignation when —

He gets thrown to the side as the ship lurches forward in a zigzag motion. Screams pierce the air as a humongous chunk of the iceberg shatters all over the deck. Furihata groans, clutching his head after the impact, and he stumbles over a few blocks of ice. His eyes widen. Seijuuro!

Furihata runs, occasionally slipping on ice while on the way to his room. Panic courses through his veins as more people flee out of the lower levels, tagging their children, friends, and parents along the stairs. Nononononono is what Furihata's mind shouts. He becomes drenched in cold sweat when he can't make it past the thick crowd, all hurrying for their lives.

When he finally arrives at the door, he kicks it open, adamant on getting Akashi out of here.

"The ship is going to sink!" Someone yells in his ear, but he can't hear anything when what lies ahead makes him fall to his knees.

Akashi is gone.

"Mmph," Akashi tries to elbow her assailants, but her actions are of no use. Her build is too small for her to fight back against the men who took her. They also had the nerve to stuff a piece of cloth in her mouth to keep her quiet. From the way they are dressed in black suits, it is obvious that her abductors work under the direction of the Mayuzumi family.

The men drag her to the lifeboats, where all of the richest passengers are gathered. Huddled in their fleece coats, they embrace their luggage as if the whole world depended on them. Akashi sees her mother holding her hand out. "You naughty child," she grits her teeth in disapproval of Akashi's hair and disappearance. "We will save this for later. Get in the boat."

Akashi spits the cloth out and jerks her arm free from the men's grasp. "No," she says, voice as hard as stone. "I'm not coming with you. I'm staying —"

For the second time since boarding the Titanic, Akashi's head turns to the side when she feels the lasting pain of her mother's slap. It seems as if her mother doesn't care about reputation anymore; all that matters is that they get away safely. However, it would take a lot to convince Akashi to step into the lifeboat.

"You are going to die in the ocean," Akashi's mother says, finally pleading for her daughter to obey her. Chihiro walks toward them and offers his palm for assistance. Akashi shakes her head. She wouldn't come with them. Not until she sees Furihata.

Chihiro raises his eyebrow at her. He joins in the coaxing. "Seijuuro, we need to go. I don't want us to be placed in jeopardy."

"Then save yourselves," Akashi hisses, feeling the prickling in her eyes intensify. "I will stay here."

"Why?" her mother pops the inevitable question. It is only in these moments that Akashi begins to see her mother in a new light. For once, she is not the widow who tries to make ends meet by setting up her daughter's marriage. She is the woman who fears for her daughter's tragedy. "Would you rather drown than be with us?"

"If that means I will be with him," Akashi says, her tears giving up on her. "Then yes."

Her wish is not granted when the men haul her to the lifeboat despite her screams. She scowls at Chihiro, who had ordered his subordinates to force her to the lifeboat. She would not be separated from Furihata like this. Her leg hits the seat harshly and she has to bite her tongue from screaming.

They lower the lifeboat and the passengers mutter relief.

Nonononononono —

Akashi looks up, and there, Furihata stands, smiling at her sadly while being one of the people who pull the ropes. Her eyes are blurry, but she can see him perfectly — his brown hair that cascades over his forehead, his hazel eyes that shine even in the dark, his lips that curl upwards in mock happiness. While the tears streak across her cheeks, Akashi mouths, "Kou...ki..."

Furihata cups his hands over his mouth. "I promise you, Sei. I'll find you again."

Akashi returns a smile as she brings her arm to cover her face. No one should be able to see her in her most vulnerable state except Furihata. Her lungs constrict, but she forces herself to breathe. She needs to live for Furihata.

She hears him again, but she doesn't know whether or not it is her imagination.

"I will always love you."

Only when the boat has been miles away does Akashi have the audacity to look back. The ship has completely disappeared underwater, and she knows that Furihata is waving his hand at her, bidding her farewell.

Akashi ignores the skeptical yet exhausted stares of her co-passengers, including her mother, and raises her hand to wave back amidst her swollen eyes.

The watch is still on her wrist — worn out, rusted, but definitely still ticking.

20xx

Furihata looks up and swallows when a certain redhead trims his hair in front of him, Kagami, and the rest of the Generation of Miracles.

He thinks it's fear that's pestering him.

(Oddly enough, he doesn't feel that terrified. In fact, he senses that he should be the one holding the scissors right now. Quite a peculiar intuition, but it is what rings true in his head.)

Eventually, when Akashi dismisses his former teammates, he corners Furihata and plays with the scissors in his hands. Their conversation is one that stays in secrecy up to this day.

I'll find you again.

When Akashi speaks, Furihata breathes sharply, eyebrows furrowing at the faceless figures in a sinking ship, in a memory he wasn't supposed to have.

Or was he?

"Have we met before?"

the beginning.