April 13th, 1912. (6:45 AM)

Nicholas lay in his bunk, his body restless and tangled in the sheets as he tossed and turned. Despite the gentle sway of the Titanic and the soft hum of its engines, sleep evaded him. And when he did manage to sleep, the darkest nightmares crept into his mind. Nightmares were everything that could go wrong did go wrong. Where Sebastian rejected him and worse, his tossing and turning were as relentless as Titanic's engines. Doubts had taken root deep in his mind, sprouting gnawing questions about his choices and their consequences. What would others think if they knew? Was he making a grave mistake? Could this secret, this burgeoning affection for Sebastian, be something that marked him as different, even sick, in the eyes of society? He knew full well that homosexuality was still a crime in the eyes of the law.

His mind churned with fears of judgment and rejection, his nerves frayed by the possibilities. The affectionate memory of the kiss seemed almost out of reach, obscured by the shadows of his anxieties. The Joyless liberation of Titanic now twisted in on itself, the old Nicholas threatening to make a sharp return. The darkness of the cabin seemed to press in around him, the walls too close as if echoing the turmoil within. The bunk, which had been so comfortable over the last couple of days, now felt like a cage trapping him with no chance of escape. Nicholas darted up in his bed, his eyes scanning the room, a sheen of sweat on his brow despite the cool air.  He drew his knees up to his chest and rested his forehead on them, his breath uneven. How could something that felt so right in the moment now feel so perilous? Had he been so blinded by the Gala and the drink, he had thrown away all his senses and kissed Sebastian. He rocked silently in his bunk.

Nicholas rubbed his temples, trying to calm the racing thoughts. He thought of Sebastian—their conversations, the dance, the undeniable connection—and wondered if the risk was worth the promise of what might be. Could he live authentically, embracing who he was and whom he cared about, or would the fear of societal retribution, such as ostracisation, discrimination, or even violence, hold him captive?  His head felt like it was going to explode, and his stomach felt like it was about to implode. The Nausea inside swelled like an unstoppable storm. He couldn't stay here; the tightness of the room was making him feel worse. He needed an escape. He needed air as his entire world felt like it was closing in seconds by second. The sweat on his brow grew thicker with every tick of the clock.

It was a little past 6 in the morning when Nicholas gave up sitting there and forced himself to stand. His legs felt like a bowl of thick jelly.  He turned to look at his cabin mate, who was still deep asleep, unaware of Nicholas's torment. He seemed so peaceful that Nicholas had to be careful not to wake him, for he did not want to deal with another issue.  The soft rustle of his clothes and the muted click of the door latch felt amplified in the stillness of the early morning; he stopped for a brief moment, fearing the noise would wake his cabin mate, but as soon as he was sure he had not, he set out on his way. As he stepped into the corridor, the first hints of dawn were beginning to touch the edges of the sky, casting a faint, bluish light through the portholes. It was a sight he would usually enjoy, but today, it could have been a sky made of rainbows. It would not have been able to drag him out of his torment.  His heart was a wild mix of emotions as he made his way to the Second Class Enclosed Promenade, seeking a place to clear his mind and perhaps find solace in the solitude of the approaching dawn.

The first hints of dawn brushed the sky with streaks of purple and pink, casting long shadows across the deck. The cool breeze of the Atlantic rustled his hair as Nicholas walked out onto the enclosed promenade, his steps echoing off the wooden floorboards. The promenade was nearly empty, save for a lone figure standing by the railing; looking out at the horizon, he had a cigarette in his mouth.  The man turned as Nicholas approached, his face marked by a kind, thoughtful expression. He was slightly older, with a gentle demeanour that immediately helped ease some of the burning fires inside Nicholas's mind. He wondered why the man would be up at this save; the only others who seemed awake at this hour were the crew members who had gone about their duties in preparation for the day ahead. 

"Good morning," the man greeted, his voice calm and inviting. "It's a beautiful sunrise. I'm Dr. James McLenchy" his accent was not English, though Nicholas could not place it. He spoke in near-fluent English, though his accents came through on some words more than others. For the first time, Nicholas realised this ship was carrying so many immigrants to a new life in america. Many of them can barely speak English but are ready to try to seek out a better life in the new world.  

Nicholas nodded, grateful for the company. "Nicholas Goodwin," he introduced himself, joining the doctor at the railing. The cold morning air was refreshing against his skin; he took deep breaths that eased his nerves further, but not completely.  They pair chatted idly about the voyage, the remarkable engineering of the ship, and why they were travelling. The conversations were flat and dull to Nicholas, though it was not the doctor's fault. He was not fully present, and last night's events were burning bright in his mind. The doctor could have been talking about the most exciting thing ever; he was not sure it would have kept him engaged right now.  He looked at the doctor and sighed as he realised this was a man of medicine; if he were to ask anyone, this man would be the perfect person to ask. Though he knew asking the question he wanted could have gone wrong, he had to do it. He needed an answer before the torment inside ripped him apart. Nicholas paused, the following words catching in his throat. Finally, he asked, "Is homosexuality a sickness?" The question hung in the cool morning air as Nicholas looked to sea. 

A heavy silence fell between them, so profound that Nicholas felt the urge to flee, to throw himself over the railing into the forgiving anonymity of the ocean. He repeated the words as soon as he spoke them, but now, as they lingered in the air, there was no going back. He gripped the rail harder than before, enough to cause a little pain. He deserved it for asking such a stupid question to an older man who clearly would not understand and would almost certainly react badly.  For a second, he pondered, hiding in his cabin for the rest of the voyage before the doctor finally spoke, breaking the intense silence that hung over them.  "Love is a curious thing, Mr. Goodwin. It can never truly be tamed or easily explained. The desire between two people isn't new, regardless of who isn't. It existed even in ancient Rome and probably long before”."

Nicholas looked at the doctor with one eyebrow raised as he continued to explain. "Is it sickness? That, I cannot say. I know the heart often seeks what it desires, and no force has ever successfully eradicated love." The doctor's response washed over Nicholas like a wave of relief. Though not a definitive answer, it offered a glimmer of understanding and the promise that he wasn't alone in his feelings. It was a lifeboat amid the storm of his nightmares and deepest worries. He knew that america was undergoing something called a progressive era across the ocean. It is a time of significant change and acceptance. Could it be a place where love like his found tolerance and acceptance? He was unsure but gripped the tiniest seed of hope that fluttered in his mind.

The doctor threw his cigarette into the ocean and then excused himself, leaving Nicholas to ponder their conversation. This journey was not just taking him across the sea but through his uncharted waters towards new possibilities. Maybe, just maybe, he could find a place where he could be himself without fear. As the Titanic forged ahead, so did his hopes for the future. He looked up at the crimson morning sun and smiled; he stood a little taller now than before. Nicholas watched the sunrise, contemplating his place in a changing world.

The doctor threw his cigarette into the ocean and then excused himself, leaving Nicholas to ponder their conversation. This journey was taking him across the sea and through uncharted waters towards new possibilities. He could find a place where he could be himself without fear. As the Titanic forged ahead, so did his hopes for the future. He looked up at the crimson morning sun and smiled; he stood a little taller now than before. Nicholas watched the sunrise, contemplating his place in a changing world.