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Harry Hook was not nervous.
He was dramatic, clever, occasionally reckless, and undeniably charming. But nervous? Never.
So if he had spent the last ten minutes fixing his coat, adjusting his rings, and pretending not to notice Gil sitting on the dock with his feet dangling over the water, that meant absolutely nothing.
Gil tossed a pebble into the sea and watched the ripples spread. The sunset painted everything gold and orange, turning even the rough edges of the Isle softer than usual. He looked peaceful. Harry found that deeply inconvenient.
“You planning to stand there all night?” Gil asked without turning around.
Harry smirked and walked over. “I was building anticipation.”
Gil laughed, warm and easy. “You mean you were staring.”
Harry sat beside him, offended in theory. “I do not stare.”
Gil finally looked at him, grinning. “You really do.”
For a second, Harry forgot whatever clever thing he was going to say next.
Gil’s smile had always been unfair like that. So open, so bright, like he didn’t even realize what it did to people. Harry usually prided himself on staying two steps ahead of everyone else, but around Gil, he kept finding himself speechless in the worst possible moments.
“Cat got your tongue?” Gil asked.
Harry recovered quickly. “No, but apparently you’ve stolen my best lines.”
Gil bumped his shoulder lightly. “Good. You use too many of them anyway.”
Harry should have rolled his eyes. He should have delivered some sharp comeback and moved on like usual. Instead, he stayed there, shoulder pressed against Gil’s, noticing how easy it felt.
That was the problem, really.
Everything with Gil felt easy.
The quiet wasn’t awkward. The teasing never crossed into cruel. And when Gil looked at Harry, it never felt like he was trying to win something or prove something. He just looked at him like Harry was worth knowing.
Harry wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that.
Gil tossed another pebble. “You’ve been weird today.”
Harry scoffed. “I’m always weird.”
“No, like… extra weird.” Gil glanced over. “Did something happen?”
There it was. The question Harry had been avoiding.
He could lie. Usually he would. Turn it into a joke, a grin, a quick exit before anything real had the chance to matter.
But the sun was sinking low, and Gil was looking at him with that honest, patient expression that made pretending feel pointless.
Harry exhaled. “Maybe something happened.”
Gil turned fully toward him now. “Bad something?”
Harry looked down at his hands. “No. Worse.”
Gil blinked. “Worse than bad?”
“For me, yes.”
That got a small laugh, but Gil still waited.
Harry hated how fast his pulse was going. “I think,” he began slowly, “that I may have made a terrible mistake.”
Gil’s brow furrowed. “What mistake?”
Harry looked up, met his eyes, and suddenly there was no graceful way out of it.
“Falling for you, obviously.”
Gil went very still.
Harry immediately wanted to throw himself into the ocean.
“Well,” Harry said too quickly, “that was horrifying. I’ll be leaving now—”
Gil caught his wrist.
It wasn’t tight, just enough to stop him.
“Harry.”
Harry looked back. Gil’s face was red, but he was smiling a little, like he couldn’t help it.
“You’re an idiot,” Gil said softly.
Harry stared. “That seems unnecessarily harsh.”
Gil shook his head, laughing under his breath. “No, I mean— because I’ve liked you too. For a while.”
Harry’s brain, usually quick as a blade, completely failed him. “You have?”
Gil let go of his wrist only to nudge his arm. “Yeah. You really didn’t notice?”
“I was a bit distracted by my own suffering.”
Gil laughed again, and Harry thought he might actually want to keep that sound forever.
“So,” Gil said, suddenly shy in a way Harry had never seen before, “what happens now?”
Harry smiled, smaller and more real than the ones he usually wore. “Now? I imagine I say something terribly charming.”
“Do you have something terribly charming?”
Harry considered. “Not at present.”
Gil grinned. “Wow. Must be serious.”
“It is,” Harry said, and this time the joking fell away.
Gil’s expression softened.
The space between them felt different now, quieter and warmer and full of something neither of them had to guess at anymore. Gil’s hand was still resting near Harry’s on the dock, only an inch apart.
Harry looked down at it, then back up at Gil, giving him every chance to pull away.
Gil didn’t.
Instead, he moved his hand that last inch and laced their fingers together.
Harry let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
“Oh,” he said.
Gil smiled. “Oh?”
Harry squeezed his hand gently. “Shut up.”
Gil leaned against his shoulder, still smiling, and Harry let him, staring out at the glowing water as the sun slipped lower.
For once, Harry Hook had nothing clever to say.
And for once, he didn’t need to.