VII. Sea sick or Harry sick

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pretty world by alessi rose

descendants two

Estella sat on the edge of the small cot in the dimly lit room, her knees drawn up to her chest. Her chin rested on her arms as her gaze stayed fixed on the tiny round window across from her. Beyond it, she could see nothing but the endless stretch of water, the waves lapping against the ship as if mocking her.

She hadn't spoken much since her friends had left. She hadn't eaten either, despite the plates of food Harry shoved in front of her multiple times a day. The most she could bring herself to do was sip from the metal cup of water left by her bedside.

The door slammed open, making her flinch, though she didn't turn to look. She knew who it was.

"Right," Harry's voice growled, sharp and clipped, as his boots thudded against the floorboards. "This little act of yours? It's getting old, pixie."

Estella didn't answer, her gaze never leaving the window.

Harry's hook clinked against the wooden table as he set down another plate of food—a bowl of stew, still steaming, with a hunk of bread on the side. "You're going to eat," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Now."

Still, she didn't respond.

Harry's patience, already thinner than the ship's sails, snapped. He crossed the room in three long strides and crouched down in front of her, his blue eyes blazing as they tried to catch hers. "Look at me," he demanded.

Estella's eyes stayed glued to the window.

"Look. At. Me."

Her head turned slowly, her green eyes dull as they finally met his. For a moment, Harry faltered, taken aback by how hollow her expression was. The usual fire in her gaze—the spark that had drawn him in and driven him mad all at once—was gone.

"What do you want, Harry?" she asked softly, her voice devoid of its usual bite.

"I want you to stop acting like you're already dead," he snapped, though there was a flicker of something else in his voice—concern. "You think starving yourself is gonna help? What? You think your friends are gonna sail back and find you in a heap on the floor?"

Estella flinched at the mention of her friends, her throat tightening. She turned back to the window, her voice barely a whisper. "Why do you care?"

Harry froze, her words hitting him harder than he cared to admit. His fingers curled into fists, the hook at his side gleaming in the dim light. "Why do I care?" he repeated, his voice low and sharp. "Because watching you waste away is driving me bloody insane, that's why. You're not some ghost, Estella. You're alive. Start acting like it."

She didn't reply, her face turned away from him as she stared at the water. Harry let out a frustrated growl, running a hand through his messy hair.

"I get it," he said after a long pause, his voice quieter now. "You're angry. Sad. You feel like they left you behind, yeah? Like you don't matter." He leaned back on his heels, his blue eyes piercing as they studied her. "But you do. You matter. More than you know."

Estella's hands tightened around her knees, but she still didn't speak.

Harry pushed himself to his feet, his temper simmering just beneath the surface. He grabbed the bowl of stew and shoved it onto the windowsill, right in her line of sight. "Eat," he ordered, his voice rough but laced with something softer. "I'm not askin' anymore, pixie."

She glanced at the bowl but made no move to touch it.

Harry stared at her for a moment longer before letting out a frustrated sigh. "Fine," he muttered, turning toward the door. "You want to waste away, that's your choice. But don't expect me to stand here and watch it happen."

He slammed the door behind him, the sound echoing through the small room.

For a while, Estella didn't move. She sat there in silence, her gaze flicking between the window and the bowl of stew. Her stomach twisted painfully, but it wasn't from hunger—it was from the guilt creeping into her chest.

Why did he care so much? Why did he keep trying, even when she made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him?

Her hand hovered over the bowl for a moment before she pulled it back, her heart heavy as she stared out at the endless waves once more.

The sun was high in the sky, the heat pressing down on the ship as Estella sat hunched over a bucket on the main deck. Her stomach churned violently, her knuckles white as she gripped the edges of the wooden container.

"Alright, pixie, that's enough drama for one morning," Harry called, leaning casually against the ship's railing, though his eyes were sharp as they watched her. "If you're gonna waste away, at least don't do it where the rest of us have to smell it."

Estella groaned, glaring weakly up at him. "Do you ever stop talking?"

Harry smirked, twirling his hook lazily. "Not when there's such good company around."

Before she could fire back, her stomach turned again, and she bent over the bucket, groaning in misery.

"Alright, alright, don't push yourself too hard," Harry muttered, his teasing tone softening slightly as he crouched beside her. He placed a hand on the edge of the bucket to steady it and leaned closer, his expression unreadable. "You done, or should I call the sea a witness to round two?"

Estella let out a shaky breath, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "I'm fine," she mumbled, though the paleness of her face said otherwise.

Harry frowned, studying her for a moment before sighing. "Stay put."

He disappeared below deck for a few minutes before returning with a piece of bread. Without a word, he crouched beside her again and handed it to her, his expression unusually serious.

"Eat," he said simply.

Estella hesitated, her stomach flipping at the sight of food. "I'll just throw it up again."

Harry's brows furrowed, his usual smirk absent. "You won't. And even if you do, it's better than nothin'. Now stop bein' stubborn and take it."

She looked up at him, surprised by the lack of mockery in his tone. For once, he wasn't teasing or pushing her buttons. He genuinely wanted her to eat.

With a sigh, she took the bread and nibbled on a corner, her body trembling slightly as she forced herself to chew.

"There we go," Harry said, his voice lighter now as he leaned back on his heels. "See? Not so hard, is it?"

Estella rolled her eyes, though the gesture lacked her usual fire. "Don't make this a big deal."

"Oh, but it is a big deal," Harry said, his smirk returning as he stood and twirled his hook dramatically. "Our little pixie finally decided to join the land of the living! Should I alert the crew? Or maybe Uma?"

At the mention of Uma, Estella's gaze dropped, and she focused on the bread in her hands.

Harry noticed the change in her demeanor and tilted his head. "What's that look for?"

"She's taking Ben to the coronation today," Estella said quietly. "It means I'll probably get to go home soon."

Harry's smirk faltered, his hook pausing mid-spin. He cleared his throat, leaning casually against the railing again. "Right. Auradon. Back to your fancy castles and perfectly polished shoes."

Estella glanced up at him, frowning. "Is that supposed to be a bad thing?"

Harry shrugged, though there was something strained in his posture. "Just seems dull, is all."

"It's not dull," Estella shot back, a flicker of her old fire returning. "It's safe. It's... it's home."

"Safe," Harry repeated, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Sounds thrilling."

Estella narrowed her eyes at him. "Not everyone enjoys living on the edge of chaos, Harry."

"No," he said, stepping closer and leaning down so their faces were inches apart. "But chaos makes life a bit more fun, don't you think?"

She opened her mouth to retort, but the words caught in her throat. There was something in his eyes—a mix of mischief and something deeper—that made her heart skip a beat.

Before she could respond, Harry straightened and flashed her a grin. "Eat up, pixie. You'll need your strength if you're plannin' to go home soon."

With that, he sauntered off, his usual swagger returning as he barked orders at the crew.

Estella stared after him, her heart still racing as she took another hesitant bite of bread. For the first time in days, she felt a small flicker of hope. Maybe—just maybe—things would be okay.