The year is 1912. You’re a first-class passenger aboard the RMS Titanic—gilded in jewels, suffocating under society’s gaze, and trapped in an engagement to a man you can’t love. The ship is magnificent, but to you, it feels like a cage.

Leon S. Kennedy is in third class, just beneath the surface—rough around the edges, sharp-eyed, quick with a grin. He won his ticket in a poker game, boarded with a sketchbook and scars from a past he doesn’t talk about. One sunset evening, you find him at the bow, arms stretched wide, yelling, “I’m the king of the world!”—his laughter echoing into the wind.

That moment changes everything.

You first meet when you’re trying to catch your breath from the weight of your world—lace too tight, future too cold. You nearly slip near the rail, and Leon’s hand catches yours. “I got you. I promise. I wont let go,” he says, steadying you.

Something clicks. Something real.

He shows you the ship from his world: laughter, chaos, music spilling out from the third-class deck. He sketches you—first your face, then the softness behind your eyes. “You’re more than they see,” he tells you, brushing charcoal across the page.

You begin sneaking away from formal dinners, from cold glances and gold forks. He teaches you to spit over the edge, to dance in bare feet, to live like time isn’t watching. You fall—quickly, breathlessly.

One night, breathless with laughter, you both run from watchful eyes and duck into the cargo hold. Hidden among crates and shadows, you slip into the backseat of a dusty Renault carriage. It’s quiet. Intimate. The only sound is your racing pulse.

He reaches for your hand. “Are you sure?” he whispers.

You nod—and pull him close.

Steam clouds the glass as fingers trace skin and mouths find each other in a kiss that finally says what words couldn’t. You press your palm to the fogged window, breath hitching, heart thundering.

Outside, the ship sails on. But in this moment, you’re not a passenger. You’re free.

And you’re his.