Author's Note: Me and my mom were watching Titanic a couple hours ago and I just had to write this. The thought just popped into my head. This took about 1 1/2 hours, so I'm not sure if it's any good... You probably won't enjoy it as much if you haven't watched Titanic. (If you have me on author alert and get this twice, it's because I posted it once, deleted it for edits and reposted it a tiny bit later).

Watching Titanic

I fumble with the key for a moment before I jam it into the lock and turn. When I open the door, I find myself face to face with a sassy red head. She inspects me, placing a single manicured hand on her hip. Her bright green eyes narrow for a moment, taking in my white tank top, grey cardigan and loosely fitting boyfriend jeans, held up by a brown belt. She grabs the end of my cardigan for a moment before letting it go.

“Come on,” she says, pulling me inside. “There is still time for you to change.”

I roll my eyes, closing the door behind me. “Change for what?” I ask her with a sigh. She is Jamie de Raine, my best friend since grade school. After college, we’d found a nice little apartment in Manhattan and moved in (note the little).

Jamie bites her lip. “Movie night,” she says quickly, with a brief smile. I push a bang of brown hair out of my amber eyes and inspect her.

“What, into PJs?” I ask, suspicious.

"Something like that," she says with a mischievous look.

She pulls me into the bedroom we share and begins to root through the closet. After ten minutes, I emerge, clad in tight grey jeans (Jamie’s), a red, cashmere red turtleneck (again, Jamie’s), and ridiculously high-heeled boots (once again, Jamie’s). “Remind me how this is PJs?” I ask, folding my arms across my chest.

Jamie shrugs her shoulders. “It’s for your own good, Brooke.”

I enter the living room where Jamie has laid out a bowl of popcorn and a bowl of Lays. Draped across our tan couch is a red blanket I don't remember being there before. Jamie runs to the DVD player and pops in the disc. As the menu comes up, a smile finds it’s way onto my reluctant pink lips. We’re going watching Titanic, my all-time favorite movie. I cautiously grab the bowl of popcorn and take a seat. As I pop the first kernel into my mouth, the doorbell rings. I glance at Jamie.

“Who could that be?” I ask, eyes narrowing.

“Did I mention?” Jamie asks innocently. “I invited a friend.”

She runs to the door and opens it up. At the doorway is a stunningly handsome man, that is, if you like the I-spend-more-time-on-my-hair-than-the-rest-of-my-life type... Which I don’t – I like my men with non-perfect hair...

Oh, but how perfect his hair is! The way it falls in perfect brown waves around his perfect face, the way it swoops just above his perfect eyes, the way it perfectly spikes in just the right I-don’t-care-but-I-do-care way... Did I mention his perfect face, too? The way his green eyes sparkle, the way his perfect lips form that perfect smile of sparkly white teeth?

This is so typical of Jamie! Ever since we were thirteen, she's been trying to set me up with someone. I'm 'that friend'. You know the one that just doesn't have time for guys? Don't get me wrong, guys are great, with their things and everything. It's not that I don't have time for guys, either; that's just what I tell everyone. It's just, I'm not a very good at the whole dating thing. So I try to stay away from it. If Mr. Right wants me, he'll find me.

“A – a friend?” I stutter, leaping to my feet, sending popcorn everywhere.

Jamie buries her face in her hands. “Yes,” she finally says with a sad smile. “Lucas, meet Brooke. Brooke, meet Lucas.”

Lucas takes a step towards me and gives a cautious smile. “Nice to meet you,” he says slowly.

Suddenly, I’m furious. How dare Jamie set me up, I’m perfectly capable of meeting my own guys (or waiting for Mr. Right to find me, same thing). I didn’t need her to set me up with some – some random guy! I march up to Jamie, pull her aside and tell her just this.

Jamie smirks. “Really?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“When was your last date?”

I pause for a moment, thinking. “Three months ago,” I say with a frown, looking at my feet, slightly embarrassed.

Jamie looks satisfied. We walk back to the living room and I sit on the couch, where Lucas has been sitting, absolutely bewildered, slightly subdued. Jamie glances at her wrist. “Oh my, look at the time – ” she begins.

“Jamie, you’re not wearing a watch,” Lucas interrupts, pointing to her bare wrist.

“I just remembered, I said I’d be somewhere now,” she continues as if Lucas hadn’t said anything. “Terribly sorry, I must go. You two have fun without me.” She gives me a final smirk and leaves with a short wave and a spin of her black skirt.

I glance at Lucas, blushing to my roots. “I’m sorry,” I say. “Jamie’s just – well Jamie is Jamie. You don’t have to stay, you can go if you want.”

Lucas eyes me for a second. “You don’t want me here?” he asks, I think I hear a note of disappointment in his voice, but chalk it up to my imagination.

“No!” I exclaim. “It’s not that. I thought – you know – well, you didn’t expect this, did you?”

Lucas laughs. “No. But I’ll stay,” he says, grabbing the bowl of Lays and the remote.

“I’ll get the lights,” I say, suddenly delighted.

--

“Don’t do it.”

I stare at the screen, mesmerized. “Stay back! Don’t come any closer,” I whisper along with Kate Winslet. I bring my hand to my chest. I feel a movement beside me and realize I’ve moved closer to Lucas and am holding his hand. Blushing, I let go. “Take my hand, I’ll pull you back in,” I recite with Leonardo DiCaprio.

Lucas turns to me, a strange look on his face.

This is my favorite scene. It’s the one where Rose and Jack meet, and Jack stops Rose from committing suicide. “I’ve memorized all the lines,” I tell him.

He says no more and I continuing whispering the lines until the scene finishes. When it’s over I turn to him. He’s smiling at me. “You’re strange,” he tells me.

--

“I want you to draw me like your French girls. Wearing this. Wearing only this.”

“Brooke, Brooke. What’re you doing?”

I glance at Lucas through my fingers. I've brought my hands to my face, to shield my eyes from Kate Winslet's body. “She get’s naked,” I whisper. Lucas shakes his head in disbelief.

“What are you, five?” he asks with a chuckle. I blush, silently thanking god he can’t see my blush in the light.

As Rose slips off her bathrobe onscreen, I shut my eyes. I feel a hand around my shoulder. Curious, I open my eyes and cautiously remove my hands from my face. Lucas has placed his arm around me. I study the hand resting on my shoulder. It’s a good hand. Large, tough, protective. What strikes me is his fingernails; they don’t match his hand. They stick out ever so slightly past his fingers and are slightly rounded – they seem almost feminine. I decide I like them. I rest my head on his chest and smile. Suddenly, the scene doesn’t seem so bad. On screen, Jack begins to sketch Rose. The camera flashes to a shot with Rose’s boob. Suddenly, I shut my eyes tight. Lucas’s chest shakes as he laughs.

--

“Where to, miss?”

“To the stars,” I mutter before Rose has the chance. I grin and look up Lucas. He is looking at me; he thinks I’m crazy, I know it. He probably only put his arm around me because – because he felt sorry for me, or something. Oh god, he only stayed out of pity and now he’s regretting it. I can see it on his face. He thinks I’m a loser who spends all of her time memorizing lines to Titanic.

I sigh inwardly. Jamie was going to kill me for ruining this. Fuck Jamie.

--

I’m crying.

“I d-don’t know a-about you, b-but I intend t-to write a s-strongly worded letter t-to the s-star line a-about all this.”

Jack is holding Rose’s hand in the water. “I love you, Jack.”

I wipe a tear from my face. “What’s the matter?” Lucas asks.

“I-it’s so sad,” I splutter.

“But – but,” Lucas says, dumbstruck. “They are waiting for a lifeboat, they survived.”

I let out a loud snort. Lucas has clearly never seen Titanic before. “You’ll see,” I mutter.

--

I don’t stop crying until the final dream sequence where Jack kisses Rose on the ship and everyone who died on the ship is standing around and applauds. When the credits roll, I get up and turn on the lights. I stand awkwardly, staring at Lucas. I vow to myself not to care if he thinks I’m crazy. He’s a complete stranger, right? Why should it matter if he never wants to see me again?

But I can’t get over those perfect eyes, and the perfect way he smiles. And that perfect hair.

“Well,” I say. “You should probably get going. I mean – you probably have work tomorrow. I know I do...”

“Well – yeah,” he says, standing up. “I guess so.”

Lucas walks to the doorway. I open the door but Lucas doesn’t head out. I turn to him, studying my reflection in his eyes. I feel ridiculous in Jamie’s clothing. I tug at the sweater, suddenly very hot.

“You don’t have to call me,” I tell him.

“What?” he asks, brows furrowed in confusion.

“I know this must feel totally ridiculous,” I say. “I mean, Jamie can be... Jamie. You didn’t have to stay. I know you think I’m totally crazy and all. Who wouldn’t? You were really sweet tonight. But you can just leave and pretend none of this ever happened. You don’t have to call.”

He studies me for a moment. “Brooke,” he finally says. “Kiss me.”

It’s my turn to say, “what?”

Suddenly, our lips connect. It isn’t a movie kiss, it certainly isn’t as grand or romantic the first kiss Jack and Rose share at sunset on the deck of the Titanic. It’s short, sweet, and to the point. Pleasant.

“I said: kiss me.”