XI. Hey Trouble

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Misery Business by Paramore

The feeling had started small. A tiny flutter in her chest every time Harry's arm brushed hers, or when he leaned in a little too close while teasing her. At first, Estella thought it was annoyance—or maybe even leftover frustration from being stuck on the Isle. But as days turned to weeks, and Harry's presence became as constant as the waves against the ship, the flutter turned into something she couldn't ignore.

It was warmth. It was safety. It was him.

But along with that warmth came a weight—one she couldn't shake. The ship felt smaller every day, the same wooden walls closing in on her. The same faces, the same voices, the same routines. It wasn't that she didn't like the crew—they'd grown on her—but the isolation was suffocating.

There was nowhere to go. No change of scenery. Just the rocking of the waves and the creak of the ship.

One evening, she sat on the deck, her legs dangling over the edge as she stared out at the dark water. The sky was a deep indigo, dotted with stars, but the beauty of it couldn't pull her from the heaviness in her chest.

Harry found her there, as he always did.

"You've been quiet, pixie," he said, sitting down beside her. His voice was soft, careful, as if he already knew what was wrong.

Estella let out a small sigh, hugging her knees to her chest. "I'm just... tired, Harry."

"Of what?"

She hesitated, staring at the water. "Of everything being the same. The same walls, the same routines. It's like time doesn't even move here."

Harry's brow furrowed, and he looked away, his jaw tightening. "I get it," he said after a moment. "The Isle can do that to ya. Makes ya feel like you're trapped."

She glanced at him, surprised by the rawness in his voice.

"But you're not alone, Stella," he continued, turning to meet her gaze. "You've got me. And Gil. And even that lot of idiots below deck who worship your cookin'." He smirked, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's not much, but we're here."

Her throat tightened, and she gave him a small smile. "I know. And I'm grateful. It's just... hard."

Harry reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. His touch was gentle, his blue eyes softer than she'd ever seen them. "We'll make it better. I'll make it better."

Estella's chest ached at the sincerity in his voice. "Thanks, Harry," she whispered, leaning into his touch for just a moment.

The next morning, Estella was in the galley preparing breakfast when Gil walked in, his cheerful energy filling the room.

"Morning, Estella!" he said, plopping down on one of the benches with a grin. "Whatcha makin'?"

"Pancakes," she replied, flipping one in the pan.

Gil's eyes lit up. "You're the best!"

Estella smirked. "I know."

As she plated the pancakes, Gil grabbed a fork and immediately started digging in.

"Gil," she said, crossing her arms. "You're supposed to wait for everyone else."

"But they taste better when they're fresh!" he argued, his mouth full.

Estella rolled her eyes but couldn't help laughing. "You're impossible."

"Hey, at least I'm honest," Gil said with a grin. "You're like the big sister I never had. Except you make better food."

Estella paused, her heart softening at his words. "Thanks, Gil. That's... actually really sweet."

He shrugged, stuffing another bite into his mouth. "Don't get used to it. Harry says I'm not allowed to get mushy."

"Good thing I don't listen to Harry," Estella said with a smirk, ruffling his hair as she walked past him.

"Hey!" Gil protested, trying to smooth his messy hair.

Later that day, Estella found herself back on the deck, watching Harry as he worked with the crew. His movements were confident and precise, his laughter carrying over the sound of the waves.

The flutter in her chest returned, stronger than ever.

When he finally joined her, wiping sweat from his brow, he gave her one of his trademark smirks. "You're starin', pixie."

"Don't flatter yourself," she quipped, though her cheeks flushed.

He leaned against the railing beside her, his arm brushing hers. "Can't help it when you're lookin' at me like that."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't fight the small smile that tugged at her lips.

Harry tilted his head, studying her. "You're startin' to seem like your old self again," he said, his voice softer.

Estella shrugged. "I guess I'm just... trying to make the best of things."

His hand found its way to her hip, his touch warm and grounding. "You don't have to try, Stella. You just have to be here."

Her heart ached at his words, the weight of her feelings threatening to crush her. But as she looked up at him, the softness in his blue eyes made her wonder if maybe—just maybe—this was exactly where she was meant to be.

Harry woke to the unsettling emptiness of the bed.

The first thing he noticed was the cold spot where Estella usually curled up beside him. The second was the eerie silence of the ship at night—save for the gentle creaking of wood and the occasional lapping of waves.

His brows furrowed, and his chest tightened. She wasn't here.

"Stella?" he called softly, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

Nothing.

His stomach churned. It wasn't like her to wander off in the middle of the night, especially on the Isle. Anything could happen out there—anyone could happen. The thought of her out in the darkness made his pulse race.

Without hesitation, Harry grabbed his coat and hook, throwing them on as he bolted out of the cabin. He searched her usual haunts on the ship: the galley, the deck, even the supply closet she occasionally hid in when she wanted to avoid the chaos. Nothing.

His chest tightened further as he stormed up to the main deck, his boots heavy against the wood. That's when he saw her.

Estella was leaning against the ship's railing, the dim moonlight highlighting the messy braid he'd tied in her hair earlier that night. A cigarette dangled from her lips, a thin trail of smoke curling into the air. She wasn't alone—one of the younger crew members, a boy around her age, stood beside her, laughing quietly at something she said.

Harry's heart sank and burned all at once.

His jaw clenched, and he strode toward them, his presence making the younger pirate stiffen. Estella, however, seemed entirely unbothered.

"Having fun, pixie?" Harry's voice was low, dangerously calm as he glared at the boy.

The boy's eyes widened, and he quickly muttered something about needing to check the rigging before scurrying off, leaving Estella alone with Harry.

"What the hell was that for?" Estella asked, exhaling a cloud of smoke as she turned to him, an eyebrow raised.

Harry ignored her question, his eyes narrowing as they fixed on the cigarette between her fingers. "Are you serious?"

She blinked, clearly confused. "About what?"

"That," he snapped, gesturing to the cigarette. "What're you doing sneaking out in the middle of the night to smoke with some idiot?"

Estella rolled her eyes and took another drag, the glow of the ember illuminating her face. "Relax, Hook. It's just a cigarette."

"It's not just a cigarette," he shot back, stepping closer. His hand reached out, snatching it from her fingers and tossing it overboard before she could stop him.

"Hey!" she protested, her hands on her hips. "What is your problem?"

"My problem," he said, his voice sharp, "is you sneaking off without a word and acting like it's no big deal. You could've been hurt, Stella! Do you have any idea what could've happened to you out here?"

"I was on the ship," she said defensively. "Nothing was going to happen to me."

Harry's hand raked through his hair, his frustration bubbling over. "That's not the point! You left me—left our bed—to go stand out here smokin' with some bloke who doesn't even know the first thing about you."

Estella froze at his words, her anger momentarily replaced with shock. "Harry..."

His voice softened slightly, though the tension in his body didn't ease. "You don't need that, pixie. The smoke, the sneakin' around. You don't need it. You've got me."

Her chest tightened at the raw honesty in his tone, and she looked away, guilt creeping in. "I just needed to clear my head," she admitted quietly.

Harry sighed, stepping closer until he was standing right in front of her. His fingers gently tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Next time, clear it with me, yeah? I don't want to wake up and find you gone. I can't—" He cut himself off, swallowing hard. "I can't lose you, Stella."

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, all the fight drained out of her. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Harry's lips quirked into a faint smirk, though his eyes remained serious. "Good. And no more cigarettes."

Estella rolled her eyes, the corners of her mouth twitching into a reluctant smile. "You're such a buzzkill."

"And you're trouble," he said, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close. "But you're my trouble, pixie."

Her cheeks flushed, and she didn't fight him when he led her back toward their cabin. As they settled into bed, his arms wrapped protectively around her, Estella realized that she didn't need the cigarette or the quiet moment alone. Harry's steady heartbeat beneath her ear was enough.