My heart will go on-a LAMS story

Icarus and the angel

John's pov:

I sat atop my king sized mattress in melancholy. Everyone was up top waving goodbye and I'm here awaiting a new life full of despair. I feel disgusted. Why am I here? Why did it have to be me? Why do I have to be his puppet and marry a girl I barely know.

 hey, at least dad will be rich and famous! 

And when yer famous, the world is yer erster.

I sighed, pulling out my sketchbook, leafing through the last remnants of London I have. Streets, people, the scenery. I already miss it.

I dragged myself off the bed, waving to a maid. "Please have a hot bath awaiting for my return. I'll be on a walk." 

She bowed and scurried off. "Then take a break, Helga!" I called after her.

I always had bittersweet feelings toward servants. Why do they insist on serveing me when I'm perfectly capable of doing my own shit? 

But they are all so kind. I can't bear to leave them. They are like family.

I trudge around the massive ship, breathing in the smell of salt, the merry chatter of lowerclassmen filling my ears. I lean against a railing, watching some children play ball. I feel a twinge of jealousy. I never had the freedom they had; I had to stick to schooling and etiquette. I never had many friends either.

 They look so happy, I yearn to join them. 

But what would father say? 

I continue watching their game as my mind wanders. One of the children is a little girl with a round face, cheeky brown eyes and tight curls. She looks like Martha, a little. I've only met the woman once but I remember her appearance. Tall, slender, brown hair and eyes, light skin, a confident attitude, etc. 

'A perfect woman for a man such as i' father said. 'She's quite extraordinary. And think of your children!' 

I shudder, looking back at the girl. If...I had to have children, would she be like that? 

I tear my eyes away from the joyful scene, scanning the rest of the deck. Men sat in huddles, playing cards. Women waltzed in groups gossiping while walking their pet dogs. Children play and romp. 

I decide to turn back around and mope in my room when something catches my eye.

And then I see him. The most beautiful man alive. 

He is surrounded by two men, friends of his I assume, by the way they joking act around him. I focus on the angel. His messy brown/black hair is pulled into a ponytail, his eyes shine with intelligence. His head is bent low as his hand moves vigorously in swirls on parchment, a pen in hand.

A writer' I think to myself, leaning lovestruck on the rail. One of his friends catches my gaze and nudges him, pointing up at me. He lifts his head, confused but relaxed. I freeze. 

He is like the sun as I am Icarus. He smiles softly and waves slightly, turning back to his work. I am hopelessly in love now. 

I grip the railing to remain steady. His gaze was like a fire, scorching my skin. I desperately wanted to speak, to beckon to him. I clear my throat to speak when I suddenly hear my name

My father appears, his gold pocket watch dangling at his gloved fingertips. "Johnathan Lauren's! Where have you been?" He grabs my arm, dragging me away. "You should not be around this filth." He hisses under his breath.

"I apologize, father. I needed some air." I decide not to tell him of my discovery of monsieur Icarus.

He tsks, releasing me. "Ah, no matter, come join us. I'll leave you to prepare. Lunch is in half an hour."