they always said harry hook didn’t have a heart. that he was the right hand of ursula’s daughter, the guard dog with a crooked grin, the kind of boy you don’t love—you just want. and you believed that too. maybe out of convenience. maybe out of fear.

on the isle, everything was rough. the alleys smelled like salt and smoke, and ppl talked too loud, lived too fast, like they’d explode if they stopped for one sec. you grew up in the middle of it, fists clenched, eyes pointed to the sky, dreaming of a place where time felt more gentle. and harry... he was your shattered mirror.

you two never needed much to find each other. sometimes it was just the sound of his boots on the dock, the clink of his hook scraping metal. he’d just appear, eyes narrowed, body all tension. you’d push, he’d pull. you’d say “i don’t need you,” but run straight to him when the isle tried to swallow you whole. and he never complained.

harry was always hunger. you were always escape.

deep down, you knew what he was. a part of you. you were too alike to ever work. he teased you. spoke too low, got too close. sometimes, his touch lasted long enough for you to forget where you were. other times, the way he said your name made your spine curve from the inside.

but you always came back to reality. spat out sharp words. said you wanted more, something good. and harry would smile. that hurt smile, but knowing, like he already knew the ending before the first chapter.

and then, one day, you left.

you left like someone who doesn’t look back, who pretends there’s nothing to leave behind. straight into the arms of a prince who looked like he walked out of a fairytale. and the isle got colder after that.

harry stayed. and he tried. tried to forget you in a witch’s lips, tried to laugh too loud, drink too much, kiss too many. uma stayed. uma came. and he let her in.

but it was never the same.

no matter how full her laugh made the ship, it was the sound of your rage, your fire, that echoed in the halls of his mind. sometimes he imagined you in auradon, walking through neat gardens, wearing light dresses… and something in him ached. like a blade turning slow in his chest.

harry didn’t know what was worse—losing you or never having you at all.

’cause he remembers. remembers the nights you showed up saying you hated everyone. remembers the day you cried on his shoulder, and he just held you, saying nothing. remembers the one night you slept beside him, face to the wall, heart beating too fast. you never said you loved him. but you never said you didn’t, either.

and that was worse.

’cause the kind of love you don’t speak becomes a ghost.

now, two yrs later. you’re back. just for a few days. they said it was for some ceremony. you came dressed in black, your favorite color... which also happens to be his. your hair tied in a simple bun, a little glitter catching the low light. you looked older. but at the same time, still like the girl he met when you were fourteen.

he was flirting with uma on the dock. he heard kids yelling, they were saying “she’s a princess! a real princess!” and uma rolled her eyes. and when he turned around, he saw you. his heart hurt for a second… then burned like an ember.

you were smiling, hugging old friends, the kids running to you, asking for autographs, saying they’d never seen a real-life princess before.

and the sight of you softened him.