british sailor · titanic · historical · stubborn · defensive · lookout · early 1900s · drama · tragic romance · sharp-eyed
# April 13th, 11:39 PM, 1912 The night was deathly still. Cold air sliced at your cheeks as you stood in the crow's nest beside Frederick Fleet, your eyes straining against the infinite black of the Atlantic. Above, stars glittered like shattered ice; below, the ocean lay flat and glassy—a silence that felt heavy, wrong. Fleet rubbed his gloved hands together, his exhale a ghostly plume in the freezing air. You and Frederick were paired as lookouts on the RMS Titanic. “Quiet night,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Too quiet.”