vivi

You played around, softly caressing tired leaves and bringing them back to green youth, the moonlight and the faraway lanterns against the porch of the Big House the only things helping your eyes discern anything.

And the Moon, full and bright, suddenly seemed to light up the sky like daylight itself.

Well, that’s what your blinded eyes believed for a second, before catching the thunderbolt print that streaked the black sky before disappearing just as quickly, like it was never there. The spots in your vision, though, were still very much there.

The bolt had hit somewhat in direction of the forest behind Half-Blood Hill, far behind it, and as weird as a random thunderbolt, loud and blinding and streaking a clear sky, sounded in this moment, you just decided not to look into it. That is, for the second of silence that hit right after. Because the next was pierced by a shrill cry.

Your head whipped back in direction of the hill. And even in the darkness you could suddenly make out the outline of a…tree? Since when was there ever a tree on top of Half-Blood Hill?

Your body reacted on instinct to the confusion, walking towards the foreign tree—thankfully the strawberry fields weren’t too far from the bottom of the hill. Your steps quickened as you approached, hearing faint voices over on the other side that somewhat worried you.

You were halfway to the top when figures emerged, 3 silhouettes stumbling down the hill in the tall unkempt grass. And one of them had small horns poking out of its curly hair, and a high-pitched panicked voice you could always recognize.

“Grover? What is happening?” You shouted out, halting in your step, and the satyr’s head snapped to you so fast you thought it would twist off like a bottle cap.

“Oh, Great Pan, finally a known face!” Grover bleated loudly before turning back to the other two and urging them quicker down the hill.

You met them halfway, finally seeing the silhouettes better: a little girl, so young it broke your heart, and a boy about your age, beanie pulled low over his brows that did nothing to hide his expression, one you knew too well. Without hesitation, you helped Grover carry the seemingly hurt boy, helping the trio down the hill and to safety in the nearby—more or less—infirmary.

Grover had quickly gone to fetch one of the children of Apollo in cabin 7 and come back with Lee, one of the only year rounder in his cabin. Getting to camp middle of the year wasn’t fully unusual, but it was always harder to deal with injuries when 80% of the campers were back out into the real world and not here to help like during the few months of summer.

Meanwhile, you’d helped the boy get set up onto a bed. Not that he was so physically hurt that he wouldn’t be able to do it, but he was…absent. His expression had turned numb, he’d gone mostly unresponsive and even the little girl at your side—Annabeth, from what you’d caught Grover call her—couldn’t seem to shake him back to the present.

By the time Lee had joined, you’d cleaned up Annabeth’s wound, mostly a scrapped knee and elbow, and a small cut on her left cheek. And as soon as you’d fixed her up, she’d gone running to the other boy’s, hugging his middle so tight he winced.

You tried to pull her away, let the wounded have a semblance of peace, but she wouldn’t let go.

“No! I’m not leaving him!” she screamed in a shrill voice—it was clearly the voice from earlier, back on the hill—, just as Grover and Lee pushed open the door. “Luke! Why is Thalia- I want Thalia!”

A flash of hurt shot through Luke’s face—you assumed that was his name, now—, swallowing thickly as a tear rolled out from the corner of his eyes. And even in your sheer state of confusion, not at all understanding what was happening or what had happened, you couldn’t help but feel the poor little girl’s cries tug at your heart as they worsened.

But as Lee asked you to get Annabeth out of the way so he could properly treat her companion—they didn’t exactly look like brother and sister, maybe cousins? that would be a weird demigod family tree—, you swiftly pulled her up into your arms, holding onto her tightly as she cried and thrashed around.

But you kept her turned away from Luke as Lee checked his injuries, nasty, dark bruises blooming on his abdomen that clearly hurt like Hells, deep cuts streaking his arms… You couldn’t imagine just what they had been through, both of them, and you definitely couldn’t see little Annabeth suffer this sight.

You held onto her tightly, shushing her through every weak punch and kick, until she was so exhausted she eventually fell asleep against your shoulder. You carefully laid her down on a bed as the infirmary was suddenly quiet, only the soft hiss that made their way past Luke’s lips with every dab of Lee’s cloth against his dirty wounds.

“Just eat that, you’ll get better,” the son of Apollo finally said as he got up, fetching a cube of ambrosia from a nearby clay jar.

Luke didn’t even spare him a glance, seemingly uninterested or maybe too out of it, but you could see in his face this barely noticeable expression, this small glint that meant maybe he just didn’t want to get better anymore.

But Lee clearly wasn’t having it. “Ok, dude, I’m not gonna bother to put it in IV for a newcomer who doesn’t even have the decency of a greeting, so believe me you’re gonna eat this. I’m not gonna have Mr. D on my back just for your pretty eyes.”

Just as he said that, Lee somehow shoved the jelly-like cube in the other boy’s mouth, pinching his nose shut and forcing him to swallow it down in one go be able to breath again.

“See? Wasn’t that fucking hard.”

He didn’t stick around after that, grumbling something about being disturbed in his sleep—and you swore to yourself you’d never wake up the usually oh-so-sweet son of Apollo during the night again, Gremlins apparently were real— and going straight back to his bed, probably.

There were still a few things to clean up in the infirmary when Grover nearly bolted out of the room, apparently realizing he was supposed to go to the Council the minute he came back from his duty, which he obviously hadn’t done. And like the ever-scared goat this young satyr was, he let you finish the clean up by yourself.

It didn’t take much more time, placing everything back on the shelf and making sure there weren’t still bandage bits flying on the flooring, but even after all of this you still couldn’t find it in yourself to go to sleep, the adrenaline stronger than the exhaustion running through your veins.

So instead of going back to your cabin for long hours of restlessness, you picked up a chair, placing it next to the head of Annabeth’s temporary bed, Somehow, watching her sleep so peacefully, like earlier’s harm was no more, brought you a sense of calm too, something you always craved around this place that was Camp Half-Blood. You’d been there for so long sometimes you forgot there was actually any other way to live than the constant noise that only stopped on your moonlit strolls.

You didn’t register it as time passed, simply caressing the young girl’s hair and finding peace in the steady sound of her breathing. Eventually, your eyes started fluttering close too, head lazily falling to the side…

“Thalia! Come back!”

You startled at the loud cry, eyes shooting open, awake and alert trying to find who that just was, and felt relieved that at least it hadn’t seemed to wake up little Annabeth who really needed sleep.

Turning around on your chair, Luke was on the contrary wide awake, breathing heavily and sweat beading on his forehead. Thinking quickly, it felt pretty clear the boy was feverish, his gaze hazy in a way unlike earlier, probably too much ambrosia for his body.

“Shit, what 14 year old guy can’t handle just a freaking cube of ambrosia…” you muttered under your breath, fetching a cloth from a shelf and going to dip it in cold water as Luke kept on ranting about monsters and running away.

“Thalia, please…”

Your heart broke just as his voice did, the energy suddenly draining out of him as you came back to sit on your chair. His brows were scrunched up, a tear rolling down his cheek as his hair stuck to his forehead from the sweat. For a second you cursed your uncontrollable sense of empathy, tears welling up at the heartbreaking sight, before shaking back to your sense.

“Be quiet, you’re gonna wake up your little friend,” you whispered, trying to hush him back to calm as you set the cold cloth on his forehead.

That seemed to get his attention, his hand shooting out to wrap your wrist in a tight grasp as his eyes looked like they focused on you through the haze.

You immediately tried to pull your arm back, but his grip was too strong, adrenaline shooting through the boy’s body in response to whatever fever dream he was clearly having. “Let- Ow! Let go of me!”

You tried to fight back, tug his fingers off and pull yourself free, but you were too afraid to hurt him to actually do anything..

And as he spoke, his voice seemed in total contrast with his action, sounding so…fragile.

“Thalia, is that you? I can’t… Please, stay, I can’t do this alone.”

Another tear rolled down from his eye, creating a small damp patch on the white pillow case, and your chest tightened. You had no idea whomever Thalia could be, why she wasn’t there —or if she even remotely resembled you, honestly—, but you thought it was probably best for him to play along, at least until his fever would finally break and he could go to sleep. So you did.

“Luke,” you started, whispering hesitantly and leaning slightly in. His grip loosened, instead moving to hold onto your hand, and you let him. “It’s alright, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”

His eyes glazed over again, swallowing hard. “You promise.”

“I promise. Try to get some rest.”

Luke’s breathing quickly evened out after that, his heartbeat settling but his hold on your hand not weakening. You kept dabbing the wet cloth on his face, although you couldn’t even go freshen it up with how tight he was holding onto you, and you drifted to sleep just about the same time as he did.

___

Over the next couple days, you kept coming into the infirmary, each morning with a small new bouquet of fresh flowers, the one you nurtured in your small garden in front of cabin 4. Each morning, you put them into a small vase on the bedside table between Luke and Annabeth’s bed, before sitting on the chair by Annabeth’s side. She had quickly healed up, her wounds rather superficial, but had insisted on staying with Luke until he was better.

It took his almost a full 48 hours of sleep before he woke up again—probably because of the slight over-dosing of ambrosia and the sheer amount of built up exhaustion in his body both—, and the little girl nearly toppled him over when she jumped to hold him. She didn’t leave his bed for a few hours after that, chatting his ears off about all the things about camp you’d taught her one your morning visits while you’d gone to tell Lee it was probably best to let them catch up before checking in on Luke again.

While the boy had to stay on bed rest, forced to take a well-needed time off from any distraction, you finally took Annabeth around camp. You showed her everything, from Canoe Lake to the bustling training grounds, giving her a tour of your favorite places around camp and finally stopping at the cabins.

Taking her inside cabin 4 to show her where you lived, she asked you a question in a voice so soft you could’ve almost missed it as you laid on your bed. “So…where do I live now? Do I have to leave Luke? I don’t want to leave Luke…”

You shifted on your duvet, balancing on your side to look at her, feeling your heart tighten as you took in her pained expression, something that didn’t fit on someone this young but that was almost normal in this place.

“Well, do you know who your godly parent is?” She looked at you with a puzzled expression. “Well, who are your mom and dad?”

“Oh, umm.. My daddy is…” Her eyebrows knit together, forehead creasing in an effort to remember a name she so little used. “Frederic! My daddy’s Frederick, and my mom… I don’t-”

Tears welled up in her small eyes, already wetting her lashes as she cut herself off with a sob. You immediately reached out for her, bringing her in a tight embrace and softly caressing her hair. “It’s alright, it’s alright, most people are like you here…” you murmured in her ear, trying to sooth her back to normal. “Is it the same for your friend?”

“Luke?” Annabeth pulled her head away from your shoulder, rubbing her eyes with the back of her fist. “I don’t know his mom, but I saw his dad once. He’s some mail person, but he was kind of glowing, and he was saying weird stuff…”

Hermes, you thought, reaching for a tissue on your bedside table and lightly dabbing under Annabeth’s eyes. “Well then, don’t worry, you’re gonna stay with Luke in cabin 11,” you simply said, booping her nose playfully with your pinky.

The little girl visibly relaxed, her mood changing drastically as she suddenly exclaimed, “Can we visit it? So I can show Luke I already know everything when he can get out of bed!”

You joyfully followed her as she nearly succeeded in pulling you out of your bed. “You’ll let me braid your hair with flowers afterwards?”

___

The next few years weren’t really unlike those few days now years ago. You and Annabeth had only become closer over time, probably her way and yours of filling the void left by Thalia’s sudden absence—Annabeth had never talked about it directly, but somehow you knew—: you had been the one to help her settle in the first time, then the second one when she’d changed cabin after her very first Capture the Flag, and overall helping her connect with other kids around camp; you’d never seen it as a chore either, you’d just always enjoyed the little girl’s company.

Of course, you weren’t the only one who’d been with her from the start, Luke hadn’t just disappeared: he’d let her tug him around camp to show him everything you’d first shown her when he’d finally gotten out of the infirmary, he’d swapped with her when they settled in cabin 11 and made sure she got the bunk bed and him the flimsy mattress on the floor of the overcrowded cabin, he’d spent her first night with her in cabin 6 even when the few children of Athena eyed him weirdly and Chiron scolded him the morning after.

For months you didn’t understand their bond, some closely-knit relationship between two people who didn’t look a thing like each other, simply accepting it as it was without bringing it up. It wasn’t until some random night in late summer, over a year after they’d arrived, when the summers campers had all left but the air was still heavy and warm during the late hours, that you found Luke being suddenly open about the subject.

You were laying down in the strawberry fields under the moonlight once again, probably still your favorite place to hang out at night when everyone was asleep and you couldn’t join them, dirt on your clothes and leaves stuck in your hair. The moon was full once again, shining down on the ripe strawberries and giving the field an whimsical glow you could never get tired of.

You were lost in the view when soft footsteps startled you out of nowhere, tilting your head back in the strawberry leaves to see who it was.

“Shit, sorry, didn’t see you there,” Luke said quickly, raising his hands in front of him in surprise. “I didn’t- I mean, it’s pretty late.”

“Yeah, didn’t think anyone would be up either,” you simply replied, giving him a reassuring smile. There was a second of silence, Luke swinging his balance from one foot to another awkwardly as you looked up at him, still laying on the ground. “You can join me if you want, I’m not gonna bite your head off.”

After that eventful first night, you and Luke had barely ever talked, only sometimes brought together by Annabeth. He’d been closed off for a while, suspicious of everything camp-related, probably processing in his own way what had happened that had rendered him the way he’d been when he first arrived. Eventually, Luke had started opening up in some ways, participating in training, quickly receiving praises for his talent even when as young as 15 and turning admirers into friends. But his friends weren’t really your friends, and you never really went out of your way to befriend him so you were just…whatever you two were.

Luke muttered a small thanks before lowering himself to the ground, a few feet away from you. For a while he just sat there, looking up at the sky and the stars twinkling softly with his knees loosely tucked to his chest, silence stretching between the two of you. Until he spoke up.

“You…come here often?”

You almost let out a small laugh. “You mean here exactly? Kinda, yeah,” you simply answered, tilting your face to the side to watch him from the corner of your eye. “Since it’s right in the middle of the fields, it always smells so much of strawberries, it’s pretty dreamy.”

“I know, right?” His voice was calm, but there was a sudden undertone of…interest? “I’m not really the gardening type, but Annabeth brought me here and it’s really…”

“Calming.”

A small smile stretched on his face as he looked back at you, just for a second, before going back to the sky, sighing. “Yeah…”

The night was still and you were too, staying in this comfortable silence for a time and just taking in the soft breeze of the evening and the view of the stars above, until Luke eventually broke that silence.

“I’m glad Annabeth has found someone like you here.”

And it was the way he was saying something so serious like he just stated the sky was blue, so casually, that made your brows slightly furrow and your eyes narrow with a smile as you turned your face toward him.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… It’s understandably been pretty hard for us, after loosing… well,” you could barely see him in the dark, but you could still make out the way his face suddenly hardened, “since arriving here.” Luke took in a slow breath, shaking his head before looking back at you. “I never got to thank you, for…everything you did for her. So I’m telling you now, I’m very grateful. You got her to open up and everything… It’s really nice to see.”

You let his words float between you two for a second, but his gaze felt very intense for some reason and you felt the need to avert your eyes.

“Damn, I didn’t know you so sappy, Castellan!” You let out a laugh, maybe slightly nervous at the edges, but nothing you couldn’t hide with a practiced smile.

“Gods, I don’t even know why I’m talking to you about this…” he grumbled, rolling his eyes and looking away towards the one lantern hung outside the Big House.

You gently nudged his shoulder with your fist. “Because Annabeth really wants us to get along and you do whatever she tells you to.”

“I-” You pinned him with a gaze that dared him to deny, and he pressed his lips together. “Whatever… Oh, and before I forget,” he started looking down at his arm and tugging a beaded bracelet off his wrist, “she wanted me to give you this. Well, I think she told me not to tell you it was from her, but that’s way weirder.”

You took the small bracelet as he held it out, painted wooden pearls with a small heart-shaped one in the middle.

“Well, little Annabeth could be a daughter of Eros with her matchmaking skills,” you joked, before pulling the bracelet over your own wrist. “You did it? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you during my shifts in Arts & Crafts…”

“Yeah, no, I don’t really do…crafts.”

“Hm, try to look more judgemental next time, really sell your point.”

Luke let out an amused scoff. “And so what? I don’t really see you in the training grounds often either.”

“Well I’m sorry I don’t fancy sweating my body off under the scorching sun in the middle of the afternoon,” you shot back, a smile tugging at your lips.

“Mmmh, that’s very you, being this dramatic.”

“That’s actually me being a good soul and not stealing Annabeth from you completely by being her friend, he favorite counselor, her favorite Arts & Crafts supervisor and potentially her favorite sparring partner.”

“And very humble, at that…” he breathed out with wide eyes, earning himself another, more violent, shove. “Damn, good luck Annabeth in your plan to make us friends.”

You gave him a pout, batting your lashes with a saddened expression. “Wow, you’d really disappoint your little sister like that?”

The boy looked disarmed for a second, blinking repeatedly and straightening his posture as his gaze flickered between your eyes. “I- What…”

Your teasing expression slipped on just as quickly as it had disappeared, flicking your hair behind your shoulder. “Calm down, Luke, we’ll survive a 9 year old’s wrath.”

He just huffed out a tense laugh, turning back to the view of camp spreading in front of you two. “Probably won’t stop her, though.”

“Yeah, that little shit isn’t easily deterred.”

“No, it’s more-” Luke cut himself off, thinking for a second and seemingly relaxing. “I think after Thalia, she just wants what she had back.”

“See, you keep bringing up a Thalia person, but you never tell…” The words died down halfway through as you registered his sad eyes and the tone of his voice. “You… did something happen to Thalia?”

He let out a laugh, but it sounded fake. “Well, see the tree on top of Half-Blood Hill?”

Luke twisted his torso to look behind him, pointing at the top of the hill. You looked over your shoulder, following the direction.

“The pine tree?”

“That’s Thalia.”

“…What?” You looked at him, both incredulous and openly suspicious, confused by his matter-of-fact tone. “Well, no. Chiron said it was a gift from Zeus, to protect camp when you and Annabeth came here chased by monsters…right?” But his gaze as he looked back into your eyes was telling something else. “But why would Chiron…”

Luke took a deep breath in. “Because I asked him to. I mean, I didn’t think either Annabeth or I would love to be reminded of what had happened everyday in people’s looks of pity, so… I asked him to twist the story.”

“So then, your…friend,” you started tentatively,” Thalia is a pine tree.”

“I- well, yeah.” His fingers scratched his nape awkwardly, but his eyes still carried that heavy emotion.

You bit your lip trying to understand, trying to put the pieces back together, while Luke stayed silent by your side, and you wondered if he even wanted to talk about it.

“You can…you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but what happened?” you asked, looking at the ground, suddenly interested in the growing strawberries, grazing a drying leaf to bring it back to its full strength.

The boy turned his face to look at you, then back at the starry sky. “Well, most of Chiron’s story is true, technically, we were chased up the hill by monsters.” A crease appeared on his forehead, his brows casting deeper shadows over his eyes as he frowned. “But, um,” he started, but emotion seemed to bubble in his throat at the memories and he had to swallow it down. “She wanted to buy us some time, so she tried to fight them and told me and Grover to get Annabeth safe first. But before she even got the chance, this giant-”

“The lightning bolt…” you breathed out, looking his way and this time he was the one looking away.

“Yeah… Turns out Zeus wanted his daughter to die a hero’s death, and his version of that was turning her into a tree to protect everyone else.”

You could’ve sworn you saw a tear rolling down his face, catching the light glow of the moon.

“It’s beautiful… Wait- Zeus had a daughter our age?!” you exclaimed, your eyes widening noticeably as you straightened instinctively.

Luke let out a soft fit of laughter, and for some reason it was a little relief to you. “Yeah, apparently even gods have some issues keeping promises.”

There was an other short silence, and you could hear him clearing his throat after he brushed the single tear off with the back of his hand. Then, slowly, he stood up and brushed the dirt of his cargo pants.

“Anyway, I’m glad you were here that day, and I’m glad you’re still here for Annabeth, I think she really needs that,” he said, so casually again like he was talking something that wasn’t anywhere as serious as what he meant. “I’m gonna go back and…try to get some sleep.”

“Sure,” you simply replied, sensing the moment was over. “Try not to get eaten by a harpy on the way.”

“Yeah, yeah, I think by now I smell enough like strawberry to keep them at arm’s length for a little while,” he joked back, looking down at you as you still sat on the floor. “Guess it’s because you hangout around here so much that you really smell like strawberry, now that I think about it. Left a permanent scent on you over time.”

You looked back at him, a little surprised. “Wait, do I? Really?”

Luke simply nodded, his lips tilting into a smile, like you shared an inside joke now. “Goodnight, strawberry girl.”

And just as he turned around with a small wave to walk back down to the cabin area, you felt thankful for the darkness of the night, a blush creeping up your face.

“I have a name, you know?” you exclaimed, watching him walk away with his hands in his pockets.

He didn’t even turn around when he shouted back. “I know. I don’t really care.”

What the fuck.

___

Being counselor was taking up almost all the time in your day. Even if your siblings, other children of Demeter, were never as troublesome as, for example, the Hermes cabin campers, there was always something that needed your attention—supervising a pegasus riding lesson, leading your half siblings to the dining hall, working shifts in the Arts & Crafts activities…always one thing or another.

So you had your habits to make up for the lack of hours in a day, either waking up early or going to sleep late—at least when you weren’t too tired to.

Some night, when you couldn’t find it in yourself to sleep, you went to your spot in the strawberry fields, the ever clear sky above you showing off all its stars and allowing you to relax in the comfortable silence. Some times even, you would close your eyes, laying back in the dirt between the rows of strawberry bushes, and the memory of the one time Luke had joined you would crawl back to the front of your mind, and you’d remember how young you two were a couple years ago when it had happened… And then your heart would do this little flutter thing you buried deep down before shaking off the thought and clearing your head.

Some mornings, when you had slept well enough to wake up extra early, you would quickly put on a sweater over your pajamas—the spring air was never really kind in the state of New York—, stepping outside into the chilly breeze to watch the sunrise from the cabin porch, or the small patch of grass you’d made your dedicated garden. You loved the feeling of nurturing your flowers in real time, white chrysanthemums and pink sedum growing slowly with the passing of time, barely ever using your abilities on them because they felt more intentional that way. So on those mornings, you would sit on the steps of the cabin, or sit in the grass and tend to your flowers, while the sun made its way up from the horizon line, painting the sky a hundred mesmerizing hues.

And somehow, since one morning a couple months ago, you hadn’t been alone watching the sunrise.

Luke had started training early in the morning, for about the same reasons you woke up extra early on some days, and he always passed by Cabin 4 on his way to the training area—which you’d pointed out was a little bit of a detour, but he’d simply shrugged it off as a longer way so he had time for all of his pre-training warmup. Sometimes he stayed up for a little while to chat with you, his arms on the railing of the porch while you watered your small patch of flowers and cut off worn leaves; sometimes he stayed silent, joining your side where you sat and lazily laying back to watch the sun rising in the sky, the warmth of his body traveling to your sides.

And that morning was no exception.

You’d rolled out of bed, still a little sleepy, and quietly made your way out of the door. You’d gotten quite good at not waking up anyone over time, remembering the creaky parts of the flooring, knowing the quickest way through the few rows of beds, although those were mostly empty until June. You didn’t necessarily do that every day, usually taking care of your beloved plants only twice a week this time of year, but you did love the occasional sunrise here and there.

When you pushed the door open, the wind was slightly colder than you’d expected as you stepped out, sending a chill up your back as it brushed your bare arms. But instead of going back inside, you just convinced yourself it wasn’t unbearable and you’d eventually just get used to it in a few minutes.

So you ignored it, walking down the few stairs to the front yard and sprinting the few meters to your flowers. You’d added a few different seeds in the early spring, this year, so there were short, pretty daisies blooming low to the ground and a couple of vibrant red poppies still standing next to the stems of burgeoning chrysanthemums.

They smelled amazing as you crouched down, pressing lightly on the dirt covering the roots.

“Still damp…” you muttered to no one else but you. “Guess I can skip watering for today, wouldn’t want you guys to drown, would we?”

“Gods, still talking to your plants, berry?”

You quickly rose back up, head whipping in Luke’s direction. “I’m not-” You stopped yourself, softening the defensiveness of your tone. “Actually, yes I am, I talk to my flowers. Is that a problem, Castellan?”

“Nope,” he replied with a smile, making the word pop.

“And I still have a name that is actually made to be used.”

Luke took a slow breath in. “See, you always say that, yet I’m still calling you Berry, and you still talk to me.”

“Barely.”

“I make it work.”

You rolled your eyes, so far you felt like they could’ve dropped back inside of your skull, before turning away and walking to sit on the steps.

The nickname didn’t bother you as much as you let it seem, honestly, or maybe only at first? But over time, just as the boy switched from strawberry girl, to berry girl, to just berry, it started making a warm, familiar feeling spread through your chest every time he said it.

You looked back up at him as you sat down on the higher steps, where he still looked back at you from behind the ivy-covered fence. “You coming or do you need a proper invite?”

Luke walked lazily until he reached your side, flopping down on the highest step with his arms outstretched behind him. His grin was the same laid back smile he always sported as he looked up at the sky.

“Your little plants don’t need any tending to today?” he asked, and if at first this sort of remark made your skin crawl from the concealed teasing, now it was just…usual.

“My flowers,” you emphasized, “have already been taken care of two days ago, it’s not warm enough to need daily watering yet.” A shiver ran through you as a faint breeze brushed past you. “Talk about not warm enough… At least the sky is extra duper pretty this morning.”

“Extra duper,” Luke scoffed under his breath, before unzipping his hoodie and shrugging it off before draping it over your shoulder in his usual nonchalant way.

“Hm? What are you- No, keep it, it’s cold,” you said, immediately tugging it off, only to have him pull it back on.

“Exactly, and I don’t wanna hear you complain this morning, so just keep it.”

He was holding it down on your shoulders as you kept protesting. “But- Ew, it smells like sweat, keep it-”

Luke cut you off by pulling the hood down over your face, somewhat muffling you. “Liar, I just got it out of the dryer.”

“But-”

“Keep it.”

You pursed your lips in a silent disagreement, before eventually giving in, looking away from Luke’s prideful smirk and pulling his hoodie tighter around you. And he was annoyingly right, the fabric smelled like clean laundry with a distinctive touch of his scent you wished made you gag instead of…whatever that was in your stomach.

The boy huffed out a laugh as you finally stopped fighting him, laying back on his hand. “You’re right, the view really is nicer than a couple days ago…”

You didn’t bother answer, simply bringing your knees to your chest to keep your warmth, toying with the worn bracelet around your wrist as you looked up. The sky was magnificent that morning, painted in mesmerizing hues going from a vibrant orange to a clear blue, the sun barely halfway up the horizon line and already warming up the air.

You two spent a few minutes like that, silently watching the sunrise together, barely a few inch of space between your shoulder, both unknowingly wanting to ditch that distance for just a small contact and doing nothing about it.

Eventually, Luke turned his face towards you, watching your profile for a few seconds that felt like an eternity when you could see him from the corner of your eyes and had to do your best to ignore it. He finally stretched his arms up above his head before standing up.

“Well, duty calls.”

“Training?”

“Every morning.”

“Every morning…” you breathed out, finally looking up at him. Your eyes met, and the chilly air suddenly felt charged with an unknown tension, neither of you breaking contact yes. Until Luke’s lip parted, jaw tensing like he was going to say something…only to clear his throat awkwardly.

“I should…I should go, before I miss my window.”

You still weren’t looking away, your eyes shifting between his, and Luke felt a tingle at the tip of his fingers. “Yeah, right. Have a nice…training.”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile, almost looking fond for half a second, before he turned around with a wave. “Have a nice day, berry.”

You didn’t answer anything, curling up a little into yourself for warmth as you looked back at the now purple sky.

___

Later in the afternoon, you were in the Arts & Crafts cabin, teaching some fairly complex origami figure—a drakon you’d designed yourself—to a group of kids too young to participate in that day’s Capture the Flag.

Suddenly, you heard faint cheers slipping in the room from the open windows, smiling to yourself. “Guess the game’s over,” you muttered, walking to a corner of the room to get more paper for a little boy who’s ripped his at the edges. “He probably won, huh?”

Over on the other side of camp, near the beach, Luke was absolutely celebrating, red team’s flag in hand while a couple other guys held him up in the air.

He’d just had one of his best performances yet, proud of himself and how he’d led his team to victory through a good strategy—Annabeth’s, obviously, they always made the best team—and an even better execution. And yet, the one thought that had been the first to come to his mind the moment he got that flag over the narrow river was searching for you in the armor-clad crowd to tell you everything.

Which a couple months ago would’ve felt weird, foreign, but nowadays it was more of a constant buzz at the back of his mind, working overtime trying to guess where you were, what you were doing, if you were having fun, if you thought about him too…

And as used to it as he was, he still couldn’t help the tinge of disappointment when he realized you weren’t there, probably teaching some young kids whatever new craft you had up your sleeve instead. Luke knew how you didn’t like the principle of the game, still he found himself hoping once again you’d be there.

So instead, he let himself be carried back to camp by his teammates, protesting as Connor almost dropped him for a second and bragging right in front of Clarisse when they finally got back—and almost getting his teeth knocked out in the process, gods know she wanted to.

The few hours left in the afternoon trickled by quickly, Luke tasked with inventory of all the armors and weapons that had been borrowed from the armory for the game—strangely not a chore he despised, he liked the calm and being able to shut people up and send them away when they bothered him for something useless—, while that afternoon was your dedicated cabin chores repartition time, finishing up the list—you always custom-made it, assigning people their preferred tasks—and informing everyone of your half siblings of theirs.

And the sun was barely even past the horizon when noisy chatter and loud laughs started around the bonfire. By the time you joined in on the fun, Luke already had his usual court around him, maybe an even larger circle of people hanging onto his every word now that he’d won once again. He was sitting lazily on a log near the fire, flames casting soft shadows that only seemed to heighten his looks, one hand resting behind him while the other ran through his damp curls.

As you approached one of the seat more on the outer circles where Silena was waiting for you, chatting animatedly with Lee about something, your gaze suddenly caught Luke’s across the burning fire, and it was like you couldn’t look away. You held his gaze, still walking in Silena’s general direction, and when you quirked your brow in a ‘what?’ expression, your shin collided with a thick log, your face contorting in a concealed hiss of pain.

Luke immediately burst out in laughter across the fire pit, the circle of campers around him somewhat confused as he hunched over in an attempt to calm down. On the other side, your face was burning as you sat right next to Silena, burying your face in your hands.

“I’m mortified.”

“Hm? By what?” she asked, turning her attention to you.

At least one person you valued had not seen it. Less mortifying.

“Nothing, just whatever,” you replied quickly, setting down the small bag you were carrying with you.

She eyed you suspiciously for a second, before deciding it wasn’t worth the trouble. “Anyway, Lee and I were gonna get a drink or whatever… you want something?”

“Hmmm,” you thought about it as she got up, dusting off the back of her skirt, “I’d take a lemonade.”

“Boooring,” your friend teased before turning around. “Coming right up!”

You closed your eyes after she left, taking in the animated vibes as everyone seemed busy in conversation. The air was still warm from the earlier sun, smelling faintly of ashes and burnt sugar from the people roasting marshmallows close to the fire, and even from a distance you could feel the warm waves emanating from the flames.

But your eyes shot open and a startle ran through you when a voice rung right next to your ear.

“Does it still hurt?”

When he came into view, Luke had that smug smile on his face, the insufferable one that made you want to rip it off his face one way—or another maybe—, plopping down right beside you on the log without even bothering to ask. He even gave you the look that came with it, the one that said ‘what are you gonna do about it, huh?’. And you were very aware of how close he suddenly was.

“My ego, yeah. Deeply bruised,” you nodded, inching just a little away from him. Luke pretended he didn’t notice.

“Well, try not to break a leg or anything, we don’t want you participating in Capture the Flag already wounded.”

“And as I told you multiple times, I’m not ever playing that,” you stated, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms. “I don’t really do conflict.”

“But why?” he quickly replied, leaning into your space. “I mean, I’ve seen you with a sword and you can clearly handle yourself, and-”

“I don’t do violent confrontation, Luke,” you interjected, and if his heartbeat quickened a little when you said his name, he didn’t stop.

“-I’m sure you have those great chlorokinesis powers too!”

You huffed out a laugh. “I heal leaves, dude, I’m not a fucking satyr.”

Luke looked at you directly, some kind of amused frustration passing on his face before he started giving you puppy eyes. “Come on, berry.”

You gave him an unimpressed look, even when your breath caught for a second and you felt suddenly very aware of your heartbeat. “I’m sure you’ll be man enough for the both of us,” you simply replied, giving him a paternalist pat on the shoulder.

Luke’s face turned exasperated, amused by your antics, as he repeated your words in an impression of your voice.

“Don't hate the player, hate the game, Castellan.”

He simply rolled his eyes at that, looking back at the fire and leaning back a little on the log as the discussion died a little between you two.

You were melting in this comfortable silence when you remembered the bag sitting at your feet.

“Oh, by the way, here’s your hoodie back, thank you again,” you said, fishing through the back to pull the grey hoodie out, cleanly folded and smelling faintly of something floral.

Luke seemed to hesitate for a second before eventually taking it from your hands and putting it down on the other side of him. “You didn’t have to,” he said softly, looking into your eyes.

You felt a shiver run through you from the thing in his eyes you couldn’t quite understand. “Well, I mean…I wasn’t really just going to keep it, so..”

“Oh no, I didn’t-” he quickly tried to explain, hands flying animatedly in front of him. “I just meant- You didn’t have to rush just to give my hoodie back, it’s really alright.”

You hesitated for a second, watching him ramble on. “Sure, ok.”

“So like, you know, next time, you don’t have to rush or anything.”

“Next time?”

His eyes widened, and your smile turned fond absentmindedly. “Well, like- If you get cold again or-”

“Slow down, Castellan, I’m messing with you, I get what you meant,” you said with a smile, turning back to the bag and pulling out-

“A flower?”

“A chrysanthemum,” you corrected, leaning into him and gesturing for him to do the same. “Come here.”

Luke’s brows furrowed but he didn’t ask, just inching closer on the log. “Why did you just pull a random flower out of a bag like you’re Mary Poppins?”

“Because you won Capture the Flag and I wanted to be nice.”

Luke pressed his lips together in an attempt to not let his jaw drop like and absolute idiot, feeling a slight blush creep up his neck. Suddenly he didn’t really know what to do or say, his hands unable to find a position that didn’t feel awkward. “Oh.”

“Don’t act so surprised, you sound like it’s out of the ordinary.”

Again, Luke was going to reply something—probably one of his usual witty comebacks—, but it died on his tongue as your fingers brushed his skin, pushing the flower past his ear, the short stem tangling in his curls.

“See? Fits you. A peachy chrysanthemum for energy and enthusiasm, for the guy who just once again showed off in battle.”

Your soft smile, to him, was disarming, too close. And he had to hold himself back from looking down at your lips.

“Berry, you can’t just put a flower in my hair like that,” Luke said, his voice a little rough. “I’m gonna look like a… like a g-”

“Like a girl?” you immediately cut him off, brows raised in what could be interpreted as irritation.

He pressed his lips together, eyes guilty yet still shining with mirth.

“You have three seconds to come up with a better answer, or, by the gods, I’ll grow ivy around your limbs and you’ll stay here looking like an idiot all night.”

Luke’s mouth split into a teasing smile. “See? I knew you had kickass powers,” he said, clearly playing with fire given the look you were giving him. “You have to join next week’s game.”

“That’s it, I’m leaving.”

Luke’s hand shot out, curling around your wrist as you stood up and pulling you back even closer, his knee knocking against your leg. “Come on, berry, don’t be like that. Not even for me?”

You wanted to shoot back something bright that would shut him up, but looking down at him you mouth went dry. He was looking up at you with those brown eyes, the firelight creating those golden flecks you couldn’t look away from, his hair falling in the effortless, messy way that somehow made him look just that much softer, and his teasing smile made you feel differently than usual. You were all too aware of every point of contact between you two, calloused fingers lightly holding onto your wrist and fabric from his pants brushing against your leg.

“Um, I…”

Very perfect, very smart, great job.

“You?”

You had to tear your eyes from him to get back a semblance of functioning brain. “It’s still a no. You could be my mother and I’d hesitate before accepting.”

“Well, thank the gods I’m not your mom, or that would be awkward,” he mumble in response, his fingers still lingering on your wrist for a short while before he eventually let go. “Anyway, I’m gonna go, I think,” he continued, scratching his nape with his hand, the other still tingling where his skin had touched yours.

“Yeah, I think Chris wants you back,” you said, gesturing to the other side of the fire. When Luke looked in the direction you pointed to, he could clearly see a very energetic Chris signaling for him to come back with a giant smile, like he was trying to direct an aircraft from the tarmac.

The boy let out a short laugh. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna go, then.”

You smiled as he adjusted the small chrysanthemum over his ear, pushing it back so it wouldn’t fall. “You better keep the flower, if you throw it somewhere I’ll know.”

“Yeah, yeah. See you around?”

You nodded with a smile and he turned around. Your hand instinctively wrapped around your wrist where his fingers had been moments ago, missing the feeling.

You plopped back down on the log when Silena and Lee basically materialized next to you, and she let out the longest, most dramatic sigh.

“What took you so long to get drinks, Sil?” you joked, and the look she threw you was so nasty it shut you up. You turned to Lee. “Did I…say something wrong?”

But even he simply shook his head in disappointment.

“Girl, I love you,” she started, her eyes fluttering close, “but you’ve got to get your shit together.”

“What?”

Silena gave you a smile, but her eyes betrayed an intense frustration. She turned to Lee. “Actually, I’m not thirsty anymore, I think I’m just gonna go to sleep, only my night routine can calm me down at that point.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, genuinely confused as she handed the soda cups to Lee—who clearly struggle to hold three and almost spilled one all over his shoes.

“You’re just so fucking blind, he-” she exclaimed, cutting herself off halfway through and taking a deep breath as she started walking away. “Another time, I need my jade roller.”

___

It had been a week and you could still feel the ghost of his hand, which by your standards was relatively concerning, so you’d made the simple decision of pushing it at the back of your mind, like… almost everything else Luke related, which was starting to pile up a little too much now.

But at least, to relax, Chiron had agreed to a rare slumber party in cabin 10, some of the older girls allowed to gather in the almost empty cabin before the seasonal campers would arrive. You all had stayed up a little late, snacking on some things Clarisse had bought on her way back from a quest a couple months earlier and saved for this particular occasion, sharing gossip—mostly ones starting with ‘I promised I wasn’t gonna tell anyone, so don’t spread it, but…’— and cuddling in the empty beds—except for Clarisse who’d basically kicked that poor daughter of Apollo out of the bed halfway through the night.

And after a mere few hours of sleep, as the birds were chirping outside the window of the Aphrodite cabin and the air was still a little chilly outside, you felt hands gently shaking your shoulders.

“Girl, please, you have to see this,” a faint voice seemed to whisper next to your ear. “Come on, you can go back to sleep afterwards.”

You cracked one eye open, tiredly making out Silena’s face hovering right over your. You let out an unintelligible groan, rolling to the other side.

“Please, you really want to see this,” she said in a hushed exclamation, running her fingers through your hair. “For me?”

You sighed, savoring your last few seconds of sleep, before rolling on your back and rubbing your eyes. “You’re so fucking lucky…”

Your friend pumped her fist in the air in a silent celebration before ushering you out of bed, throwing you a pink fuzzy zip up jacket and gesturing to come to the window in front of her vanity.

“What are we looking at?” You yawned wide, hiding behind your hand and blinking slowly. You looked outside the window, the placement giving a perfect view of the rows of cabins. “Is it about Travis’ morning walk of shame? We talked about this last night, I believe you, you don’t have to pro-”

“Shut up and look,” she cut you off excitedly, pointing outside the glass. “It should be any minute now… Here!”

You followed her gaze, seeing Luke come out of cabin 10—that sat right across the gravel path from the one you were in— and take his usual way, crossing to the other side and following the trail up the even cabins.

You turned to Silena, unimpressed. “That’s what you’re trying to show me? Luke going to his morning training? If that’s it, I’m going back to sleep…”

But her arm shot out just as you were about to turn away. “Stop right here. I see him every morning, this is not just- Look!”

You rolled your eyes, reluctantly looking back at the boy’s figure. “What?”

“It’s- Girl, don’t play with me,” she exclaimed in a whisper, still mindful of the other sleeping girls, the ones you desperately wanted to join. “I mean, he’s- This is freaking obvious!”

And it was, freaking obvious. It was just weird admitting it to yourself. Because Luke had obviously slowed down right in front of your cabin’s fence, crouching right next to your flowers, and even from a distance you could see the fondness in his eyes as grazed the delicate petals, once again being very obvious as he kept throwing glances at the cabin’s door.

Fuck.

“What? What are you trying to show me, Sil?”

Your friend threw you the nastiest, wriest look as you curled up in her pink jacket and yawned. “Please tell me you’re being oblivious on purpose, or I’m gonna hurt someone.” You just shrugged. “Oh come on- Every morning I do my morning routine early, and every morning this guy-dude-bro comes out, almost runs up to your cabin like a puppy dog, and either gets this sad, disappointed look and drags his feet while he goes gods know where, or beams when he notices you’re out and follows you around for the next ten minutes.”

“Take a deep breathe, Sil, everything is gonna be alright,” you chastised, taking a deep breathe in to lead her. Except she only slapped both hands on the slides of your face, turning you back to the window so you could see Luke eventually walk away.

“I don’t care about breathing, dumbass!” She did take a short break, following your lead and taking a deep breathe in, then a steady exhale. “You know where the arena is, right?” You nodded, pointing towards your left. “Exactly. So why is he going in the opposite direction?”

You looked back at your friend, trying to articulate with her hands squishing your cheeks. “He said he takes the long way so he can do his warm up on the way.”

Silena rolled her eyes up so high you swore she was trying to make them fall back inside. “Gods, give me the strength so I don’t hurt anyone,” she muttered, looking up at the ceiling dramatically. “The only thing he’s warming up is his face muscles with how much he smiles when he’s around you.”

“Silena.”

“Do not even,” she riposted instantly, her hands falling from your face to your shoulders. “I know you notice everything that goes on around this place, and I know you’re not stupid.” Silena’s tone had softened, but there was still this edge of frustration. She pointed to where Luke had stood just moments ago. “I mean, homeboy doesn’t even hide it, at that point, and you just keep feeding with interactions. So stop lying to yourself, and admit it.”

Her tone was firm, no room for negotiating. But you liked getting on her nerves a little sometimes, she needed the exercise. “Admit what?”

Her eyes widened like she was gonna implode, before she closed them and took a deep breath, exhaling softly. “Don’t play with me right now.”

“I’m not playing,” you said with a smile you couldn’t conceal.

“You know what, have it your way.” She let go of your shoulders dramatically, crossing her arms over her chest. “But you like him, you can’t really hide it. So get over yourself and just do something about it.”

You gave Silena a tight smile and a grandiose eye roll. “I’m going back to sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah, sleep your problems off. That’s healthy!”

You had already turned around, giving her the finger as you climbed into bed and didn’t even hesitate before falling back asleep.

Well, you did hesitate a little when the only thing you could see when you closed your eyes was Luke’s figure waiting outside your cabin, but you didn’t let it keep you up for long.

That same day Luke left for a quest, some non-dangerous, item-seeking quick in and out that the best swordsman in 300 years could come back from without a scratch.

Over a full week passed by before he, Annabeth, and a guy from the Ares cabin—the two he’d chosen to accompany him, a mix of strong and smart— eventually came back, mostly unscathed save for a shallow gash on the son of Ares’ arm, something Luke was still teasing him about.

You wouldn’t say you’d worried during that week, you knew Luke would never let himself die on some stupid quest—he had too much ego for that—, but still you woke up early every morning, watching the sun rise a little earlier each day and catching yourself wondering if he was watching the sky where he was too, if it was the same colors…

A full week of expecting him to walk in on your quiet time and make it both of yours, and of being disappointed every time he didn’t show up.

At first, you pushed the thoughts aside, kept denying what you new all too well like it would go away. Then, you blamed the way Luke occupied your mind on the conversation you’d had with Silena, leaving you to overanalyze any detail about your interactions you could still remember and convince yourself you were just trying to make sense of what Silena thought.

By the end of the week, you’d accepted you were way more involved than you thought you were, and it was no use trying to fight it: that boy had already settled in your mind a long time ago.

So when the news broke around camp that three figures had been seen walking down Half-Blood Hill and people started gathering around the Big House to give them an enthusiastic—and definitely curious—welcome, you followed the flow of people. Somehow, despite knowing him and his obvious ability to defend himself, there had still been a tinge of worry at the back of your mind ever since he left. So you casually made your way to the Big House, catching Silena’s eyes and joining her in the small crowd in front of the porch.

Chiron was opening the front door just as you arrived, standing tall on his horse legs and making the three half-bloods look almost ridiculously small as they walked past him with a thanks. It didn’t take long before the other teens were on them, going in for hugs and strings of ‘you okay?’ ‘how big was the monster?’ ‘did you get me those candies i asked for?’

And you couldn’t help the way your smile turned fond as you watched this boy laugh and smile with everyone, scratching his nape awkwardly at some people’s praises and searching for someone in the crowd…

You froze with a look of slight surprise as his eyes locked with yours, but he only gave you a nod, like a question. You blinked fast, your lashes fluttering in an obvious display of confusion, and tilted your head in response, only for Luke’s smile to widen, looking a little different from the usual teasing grin he gave you.

He seemed to quickly excuse himself from whoever he was talking with just as Silena gave your shoulder a knowing shove, whispering. “Go get him, tiger.”

“Ew, Sil, no,” you protested, throwing her a disgusted look.

She only sighed mockingly. “Come on, you’re not fooling anyone.”

“I don’t-”

“Yo.”

You quickly cut yourself off as Luke appeared suddenly in front of you, hands in his pocket and navigating in a small crowd that quite literally parted for him.

“Hey, Luke,” you finally got out after a second that seemed to last forever, cursing yourself for the way your voice cracked on his name.

Your eyes shied away under his gaze, but he still looked right at you. “What’s up, berry?”

You hated the way hearing him say that nickname so casually, just like he’d done for years, now made a small shiver run through you. But you just wanted him to say it again, and you felt crazy for it.

“You know, the usual, mostly looking after little half-blood demons and watching the sunrise,” you simply replied, looking up at his eyes for a second before averting your gaze again. Silena, still standing right next to you, lightly scratched your arm, her way of saying ‘yeah, tiger!’ “You?”

“You know, the usual,” he started, shamelessly repeating your words with his usual teasing grin back in place. “Fighting off monsters left and right, not even breaking a sweat.”

“Wow, you’re such a brag.”

“And a liar, you reek,” Silena added with a look of disgust.

Luke let out an offended scoff. “Who talked to you, shortie?”

The girl wasn’t even remotely offended, brushing it off with a motion of her hand. “Believe me, Castellan, I am well aware of the way I’m third wheeling on you guys’ conversation, right now.”

Talk about dropping a bomb. You two immediately fell silent, eyes growing wider as you looked straight at Silena and her smug expression. You didn’t even know what to say anymore, too taken aback by her bluntness to find something witty to relax the tension. When you stole q quick glance in Luke’s direction, he looked just as distraught if not more, his fingers flexing by his sides while he gave your friend a look filled with confusion.

“I’m kidding, guys. Obviously,” Silena suddenly relaxed, though that grin did not leave her face. She gave you both’s shoulders a short squeeze. “Come on, what’s got you guys so speechless for?”

You let out an anxious fit of laughter, barely any relief in it as you caught Luke’s gaze searching for yours too. The air was undeniably electric now, eyes locking and scrutinizing each other, looking to read into any micro-expression.

“You sure have a deadpan humor sometime, Sil,” you said tentatively, eyes going from Luke to Silena and back, the girl shrugging next to you with one of the most mischievous smiles you’d ever seen on her.

The boy held your gaze for a second before one of his half-brothers arrived from behind, roughly wrapping an arm around his shoulder. He barely had time to congratulate him before jerking his head back.

“Dude! When did you last shower? This is-”

Luke simply shoved him off, his face turning wry and a light blush creeping up his neck. He scratched his nape awkwardly, throwing you quick glances. “Well, I think this is officially too humiliating to try deny it.”

You let out a breathy laugh, hiding a smile behind your hand. “Catch you later?”

“Definitely.”

The way he said it, like it was the most obvious thing, made you forget for a second the noisy and agitated crowd around you, his eyes all you could focus on once again.

Luke was the one to break the moment, giving you and your friend a nod before stepping aside, going back inside the Big House and retrieving his bags.

You waited a few seconds before turning to Silena, giving her what was meant to be a heavy glare but looked, at least in her eyes, more like a deeply embarrassed, cowardly look.

“You’re fucking helpless.”

“Helpless? You’re the one who just-”

“Gave you the biggest opportunity to flirt a little? You should’ve thanked me, instead you looked at him like a deer in headlight,” she said in a teasing tone, letting out one of her melodious chuckles that made at least one head turn.

Your face was burning as you pursed your lips. You took a second before replying, turning and walking away from her. “Actually I’m not talking to you anymore.”

But the amused lilt in your voice was unmistakeable, and Silena was quick to run after you, arms circling your waist and head on your shoulder. “Come on, you love me too much to ditch me. Who would annoy you the way I do?”

“You’re lucky you have good gossip,” you sighed, shaking your head.

“Just so you know, the hottest tea I have right now is definitely the you and Luke situation.”

That definitely earned her a loud groan and a shove.

Later, after the whole commotion died down and everyone eventually went for dinner, Chiron had seen it fit to hold a bonfire for the quest returnees. It was almost summer and the sun was still up in the sky, but the sentiment was there, the flames curling around each other in a mess of blue hues as some campers of the Apollo cabin sung along to a guitar.

You were sitting next to Lily, comforting her as she cried because the 4 years old girl had just dropped her marshmallow into the pit , and yet the only thing you could think about was him.

You’d been spacing out all the afternoon, unable to get rid of the image of Luke your mind kept conjuring, the way he’d looked at you with this smile that now had you catching yourself grinning at nothing, the way he’d become fidgety and awkward all of a sudden and was almost shy under your gaze… And denying was like fighting your own brain, it had proven impossible.

But you also knew another day waking up extra early because you couldn’t sleep, from the uncertainty of both the situation and what either of you felt it, was gonna be the last string.

So once Lily had stopped crying, giving her one last comforting pat on her oh-so soft hair, you gave a look around the campfire, trying to scan until you’d see him. Except where Chris sat, there was no Luke. He wasn’t with his usual friends, the usual place he always sat in directly across the pit from you, his usual court was scattered around the circles of log like their favorite topic just wasn’t there.

So you gave your half-sister Katie a signal to take care of the younger kids—she was 13 and freaking full of sass, rolling her eyes at you when you made her break away from her boyfriend to keep an eye on her siblings—, and got up out of your seat to go all the way on the other side of the bonfire.

Chris let out a long hum when you asked him where his half-brother had gone. “I don’t know… I think he left dining hall early to go back to the cabin, maybe he’s still there?”

“Ok, thanks,” you simply replied, turning around already.

“Good luck, tiger!”

You stopped in your tracks, slowly turning around and seeing him with two enthusiastic thumbs up and a big smile, surrounded by confused friends.

“Silena?”

“Silena.”

“Oh. Oh, I’m gonna kill that girl,” you sighed, turning back around and going to the cabin area with an equally decided and anxious feeling.

You were quickly stopping at the bottom of the steps that lead to the huge entrance doors of the Hermes cabin, the whole area the same kind of strangely empty it always was when a bonfire night was held, except for the fact that the sun hadn’t even started setting yet and the air was still warm like it was the middle of the afternoon.

Your feet suddenly felt like lead, pushing down into the ground and holding you back as you looked up at the door. You took a steadying breath, closing your eyes for a grounding second, before climbing onto the first step with much effort. The next moment, you found yourself knocking onto the door.

After a few seconds, there was no answer, no footsteps.

“Luke?” you said, loud and clear enough so anyone inside—if there was even anyone—could hear you.

Suddenly, there was a rushed rustling sound behind the closed doors, something knocking over loudly on the wooden floor and a muttered curse before the door opened to reveal Luke. He was a little short of breath, you could see his chest’s fast rise and fall under his orange tshirt, which was very unusual for him out of training. His hair was damp, droplets dropping from the tip of his curls and soaking into his collar, trickling down the sides of his necks… And his eyes looked like molten chocolate, immediately boring into yours.

Has he always looked like that?

“Hey,” Luke let out, a little breathy but with a smile in his voice. He saw your eyes running all over him, a wave of shyness taking over and he awkwardly scratched his nape. “I, uh… I felt like I deserved another shower, with all the…”

“Yeah…” you dragged absentmindedly, matching his tone. “Looks good on you.”

Had he been drinking, Luke would’ve probably spat it all out. “Huh?”

Your eyes widened significantly, words coming out instinctively. “No! Shit, that came out wrong, I meant-” The words were jumbling and merging on your tongue, and you had to take a deep breath and start again. “I meant it’s nice you’re like…clean.”

“I guess it’s nice, sure,” the boy answered, more than obviously still heavily flustered. “Did you…want something?”

You tilted your head to the side, brows furrowing slightly. “Hm?”

He ran a hand through his curls at the back of his head, shaking off some water. “I mean, you came all the way here, i assumed…? Not that I’m pushing you away or anything-”

“No I-” you cut yourself off, looking straight into his eyes and barely remembering to blink.

You thought for a second: how to word your interrogations, how to understand what was going on, why your feet had even led you here in the first place. And patience was usually your forte, taking care of small kids and putting up with punctually annoying friends. But apparently, this time, your mouth had made the decision of not waiting for anything before speaking.

“I think you like me.”

This time, Luke definitely chocked on his own saliva, coughing loudly before clearing his throat, his eyes wide, startled. He took a step back, knocking into the doorframe an wincing from the short pain.

“Ow- Wha- What?” Luke tried for a scoff, but let out something closer to a choke. “I don’t.. what do you mean?”

You didn’t exactly trust yourself to answer, as calm as you might’ve looked on the outside, so you simply tilted your head to the side, looking at him with an unreadable look.

Luke’s breath halted for half a second, his eyes unable to look from yours, and his resolve just drained out of him.

“I just- I don’t know…”he let out, looking down at his shoes before hesitantly looking up again. “Why? Do you…like me?”

And for a few seconds, there was a silence between you two, punctuated by fits of laughter down at the campfire and the sound of crickets in the forest right behind the cabins. In the background, the sun had started to set, the sky going to a soft purple as the horizon line turned pink.

“…Yeah.” It was soft as it left your lips, just loud enough for him to hear but like you weren’t quite ready. “I’ve come to terms with it.”

“You’ve come to- whatever.” Luke shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, before taking a step closer. “You like me.”

You let out a laugh as he blinked repeatedly, noticeably dumbfounded, and a smile slowly formed on your lips. “I’m not making fun of you, you just look…”

“Absolutely fucking confused?”

“Yeah.”

“Well for the record, I am absolutely fucking confused. And maybe a little pissed too, honestly.”

You raised an eyebrow, now being the confused one. “You’re pissed I like you?”

His hands immediately shot in front of him, visibly panicked. “No! Oh no, definitely not, that’s probably the highlight of my short life.”

“Isn’t it winning your first Capture the Flag?”

Luke squinted at you, the wheels in his head obviously turning. “I… Maybe it’s a tie- ouch!” he exclaimed with a chuckle as you took a step closer and slapped his arm, his smile coming back instantly. “But your timing is just…”

“Is just what? You got a girl in here?” you teased, feeling your cheeks redden as you realized how physically close you two had eventually gotten.

“No it’s just… wait a second.” Luke quickly went inside the cabin then, the door still open. But you waited outside, because when you tried to take a peek inside he pestered until you stood back out the door.

He joined you outside after a couple minutes only, something hidden behind his back and a sheepish look on his face.

“I know it’s pretty fucking cheesy but…” Luke twisted his arm from behind him, handing you a small bouquet of white chrysanthemums, the flowers delicate and pristine.

You furrowed your eyebrows before looking up at the boy: his eyes were fixed on you, blinking slowly, carrying that hopeful look you’d rarely ever seen him sport. Something tightened even more in your chest, but the feeling just seemed…natural. Right.

“That’s for me? Where did you get them?” you asked, your voiced back to its usual softness, although tinted with even deeper emotions.

Luke scratched his nape awkwardly, still holding out the flowers with one hand. “Well, we were on the way back this morning, and in that city there was this kind of…flower shop? And so i just…”

“You bought me flowers?”

Luke’s gaze shied away from yours, feeling a blush creep up his neck and his ears burning under your attention. And it was not his first time under your eyes, yet it suddenly felt like way more than any time before.

“Well- I mean-” he started, trying to build a proper sentence while being entirely too distracted. “I see you giving people flowers all the time, like the kids who made their first finished bracelet, or your friends on their birthdays, even me when I won that Capture the Flag game a couple weeks ago… I thought maybe you’d like being the one getting them for once, berry.”

You stayed silent for a short while, trying to contain whatever emotions were trying to bubble up to the surface.

“Like you said, it’s pretty fucking cheesy,” you started.

“I- gods, I-”

“It’s also very thoughtful, Luke,” you continued, taking another step closer before finally wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. “Thank you.”

Luke was stunned for a second, his arms hanging in the air like a puppet while his brain tried to catch up. He relaxed quickly, letting his arms circle you loosely while making sure to preserve the delicate flowers, and letting his head rest upon yours while whispering softly.

“Whenever you want.”

You two stayed like that for a while, entangled in a comfortable silence. He smelled nice, whatever unscented soap he used leaving this clean afterthought you liked, a single drop falling on your face from his still damp curls bringing you back. As you opened your eyes, you saw the vibrant warm hues the sky had taken, the sun already halfway down the horizon line.

“I think it’s the first time we’re watching the sunset together,” you simply said, your voice low, relaxed.

Luke turned, resting his cheek on top your head to watch. “Apollo sure knows how to put on a show… Feels like new beginnings.”

“Gosh, you’re sappy again,” you let out, rolling your eyes dramatically even when he wouldn’t see it.

“Again?”

“Well, yeah,” you started, pushing off his chest to look into his eyes. “Remember when you went to the strawberry fields one night and we talked for a little while?”

Luke furrowed his brows. “Berry, that was so long ago, how do you even…”

“You were being so sappy, talking about how you were glad Annabeth liked me, gifting me that bracelet.” You raised your arm, showing off the worn wooden pearls to prove your point.

“You keep a bracelet for literal years and I end up being the sappy one?” he shot back, tugging at the string of the bracelet to bring it closer, only earning himself a dismissive slap on the chest.

“Shut up, I wanna watch the sunset.”

You freed yourself from his arms and walked back to the stairs, sitting on the top one and twisting your bust toward Luke. “You’re not gonna join me?”

He shook his head teasingly but immediately followed, sitting next to you and hesitantly reaching up to make you rest your head on his shoulder. You sighed in contentment, melting into his side while he let out a small ‘always wanted to do that.’

The sun was getting closer to fully setting, and you wanted for this moment never to end.

“Why now?”

“I could ask you the same question, berry,” he replied quickly, resting his elbows behind him on the porch’s flooring. “If you’d found me at the bonfire you’d have done the same? With all the campers around?”

You groaned as he teasingly squeezed your shoulder before laying back on his arms.

“Of course not, it just… came out in the moment. I would’ve been more low-key,” you said with an amused lilt in your voice, emphasizing on the last work.

“Oh, low-key you say? How was that gonna go?”

“Don’t laugh, asshole.” This time, you were the one to elbow his side.

“Gosh, since when are you this violent?”

“Ask Silena, she’ll tell you the softness is only the exterior,” you shot back with a scoff, before turning your face toward him. “But really? Why did you… now? I mean, you even had the flowers,” you asked, pointing at the chrysanthemums laying behind you on the dark wood of the flooring like they were proof.

Luke let out a long hum, thinking almost audibly before looking back at you. “Well… No, wait, this is embarrassing.”

The boy reached for your face, looking up at him while half laying on his shoulder, before grabbing your jaw softly and turning you back to the setting sun. You’d never admit how much that move alone made you blush.

“I was speaking with Annabeth, during our quest

You turned back to face him, gesturing between you two before he moved your head again. “You mean about…”

“Yes, yes, about,” Luke replied, in that slightly rushed tone that meant he was frustrated but probably about himself. “Anyway, then Chris chimed in saying there was a guy from the Apollo cabin who’d asked him if you were single, so I guess that kind of…got me motivated.”

You let the silence stretch for a couple seconds, before speaking again in a soft voice that was maybe a little too amused. “So you bought me flowers because you were jealous? Piqued in your pride?”

This time, you caught his wrist before he could force you to look away again, and he didn’t fight. Instead, blush blossomed on his cheeks, his eyes looking past you while he seemed positively flustered.

“I wouldn’t use the word jealous, that seems a little extreme…”

“So piqued in your ego?”

“No I don’t- That doesn’t sound very noble of me.”

“I’m messing with you, Luke,” you chuckled, flicking his forehead playfully. “I really don’t mind, anyway… I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this flustered before, do I have that effect on you?”

“Berry, don’t play like that,” he let out dismissively, hiding in his hand.

“No but, you’re really cute like that!”

“Come on,” the boy groaned, letting his head fall back as he shied away from your attention. “This is…”

“A lot?” you suggested. “Too early? Believe me, Luke, this is a lot for me too, I’m just trying to make it a semblance of normalcy.”

“Then,” he started, using your weak hold on his wrist to pull you back further into his chest, one arm circling your waist to secure you. “Let’s just watch the sunset, huh? In silence so I can….process.”

“Process?”

“Process.”

You thought for a second, before melting back into him comfortably. “Let’s take it slow.”

The air was still warm around you, like a blanket wrapped tightly, the sun was merely a spot over the horizon like by now and campers were still loud around the bonfire. Still, watching the stars start to appear in the increasingly dark sky with Luke clinging onto you, you wished this moment never had to end.

Did you guys know this shiiiiii (nah i love it i’m sorry) took me freaking WEEKS to write? I was sooooo slow for no reason guys…. i hate corporate.

From this request heheheh i went a lil overboard, hope you guys liked it ~

And all Luke has the power to do is wake up.

When Luke comes to, it's like his soul has been pushed back into his body. It feels wrong and mismatched as if his soul is attempting to find its home back into his skeleton. After what feels like centuries, Luke manages to fish himself out of this other world, soaking in a vat of his own sweat and clutching his sheets. He wonders the time of day as the dryness of his mouth drips down into his throat. Apparently, it had only been five hours. The weight of his exhaustion still latches onto him, but Luke could've sworn it was an eternity he was gone.

Luke has learned to take divine things with a grain of salt. It's a fickle thing; more-so, a rebellious teenage thing. Some days, he chucks out the thought that anything holy should mean anything to him. But Thalia's tree looms over those days; the shadow she cast snaps him out of it. And the roots of the gods' severity reach even deeper almost as if to scare the defiance back into him.

It lurks and waits for another day.

When the dream inevitably comes back, when Luke sleeps again for more than five hours, instead it's six, he tells himself it can't be a coincidence. He's quick. It comes close to catching lightning in a bottle, writing down everything he can remember in a ragged notebook at the bottom of his bedside table's drawer with a pencil practically curdling around his fingers. The quicker Luke writes, the faster he forgets. The more he pieces your face together, the more you seem to fade. The footprints left disappear just as swiftly as they are made. Luke is left with nothing but a feeling, and he can't trust that.

Ironically, it becomes the new reason why he cannot find rest. He slugs around camp like some sort of zombie. Eyes sunken, words slurred even as Luke attempt to harness some sort of energy for the younger campers. Annabeth would shove ambrosia down his throat just to quell this nimrodic behavior that has overtaken him. But Luke fears that any interference will rip him from you just like that. So, instead, he waits, and at night, he tosses and turns, waiting for sleep to wave over him like a calm ocean. Or to just take him like a riptide.

He waits, and when you finally decide to meet him, it's only you. You talk. You move. You tap his forehead. You seem to do everything. Even if Luke wanted to, he's stuck in place. There's nothing for him to do other than let you do whatever it is you want.

Then, you'll send him on his way, and he'll wake up. Luke will write everything he can remember down.

DREAM 1 Girl. Deep eyes. Touched my forehead.

DREAM 2 Same girl. She talked to me, but I couldn't understand. I think that made her mad.

DREAM 3 She just watched me. I think she was mocking me.

DREAM 4 She's talking again, but I can't hear anything.

DREAM 5 Cold fingr

They're choppy and strung together like most of his thoughts. Luke will come to realize the senselessness of his words. When he revisits the entries, not even five minutes later, he can't even decipher what he possibly meant at the time. Deep eyes? Cold fingr(s)? That's it?

At a certain point, fear begins to creep in like cracks in a brittle wall. The more he sees you, the more he gets used to you, the more he fears when you'll eventually leave. Just as you've reached his fingertips, something will sweep you away. It's happened before; it can happen again.

It's a twisting, bipolar knife that embeds in his stomach. The clearer you become, the more he can hear you, the grip on the handle is tightened. When Luke feels his throat begin to gain the courage to response, the blade writhes. The threat feels imminent. It's nearly enough for Luke to force himself to stay up on those nights where he's beginning to lose his dark circles. It's nearly enough. Luke pushes those thoughts all the way down to tartarus the moment the sun sinks.

The eighth dream comes after two nights of silence. He thinks you're trying to bait him, but ultimately, whatever Luke thinks may be aimless attempts to grapple onto some sense of a person. He wonders that sometimes. If it were even your face he sees, or just a figment of his imagination to help digest his psychosis better.

No, the eighth dream confirms you are real.

You speak to him; you always do. This time Luke speaks back.

You're making fun of him, fingers floating around the mess of his hair. Somehow, even in this dreamworld, he has bedhead.

"It has a mind of it's own," he rasps.

You laugh. "So, he speaks."

"I've been trying," he affirms. The words are detached, almost as if he still can't believe the syllables are leaving his mouth.

You appear to like his answer. "Guess eighth times the charm," you smile.

You've been keeping track. Just like him.

He blinks.

"So-" Luke's mouth is suddenly dry. His mind, for whatever reason, zeroes in on the icky feeling of his tongue touching the roof of his mouth that he loses his thought. He swallows coarsely before trying again, "Sorry, it took so long."

Your dimly-lit gaze glances down. The soft ends of your lashes hide your smile. "Don't be," you reassure, quick to shake your head, "I like the sound of my own voice."

Luke just stares at you. "I like the sound of your voice too."

You don't seem to like that. As if Luke just spat a spitwad at you, you shift back. Your brows furrow and your nose crinkles; a slow cringe melting onto your face. It contrasts with your upturned lips, but still, Luke can tell that was not the right thing to say.

"Slow down there," you say. Luke fears he might just have to settle for swallowing his tongue, but the way you cough it out is still light and airy. He can work with that.

"Sorry," he sheepishly chuckles.

"Um," you clear your throat, "are you sleeping any better?"

The way she said, you'd almost think Luke had confided in her in the over world about his insomniac problems.

"Yeah, yeah," he hurriedly nods, licking his lips, "I hit a record breaking 6 hours and 37 minutes the other night."

You gasp. "Wow, a real milestone."

Luke shrugs, shedding that layer of timidness he had before. "What can I say? I reach for the skies."

Your right brow quirks up at his odd phrasing. "Shoot for the stars," you correct.

It seems to fly over his head. He nods, "Yeah, that too."

You laugh. Like really laugh. 

It shows all your pearly teeth, and your cheeks lift to meet your eyes in a way that tells him you must've really enjoyed whatever he just did. Luke finds himself oddly chuckling along with you. 

Dumbly, he questions, "What are you doing here?"

"What? You don't wanna see me?"

"No! No-- I," he stops himself before he can make a bigger fool out of himself. You giggle at how he trips over his own words, and Luke has to remind himself to take a breath before starting again, "I just mean how are you here? I don't understand."

Your features contort. "What is there to understand?"

"I just wanna know how this all works," Luke supplies, "Like are you even real?"

A teasing smile begins to glow on your face. "Maybe," you shrug, your cheek meeting your shoulder, "It's more fun this way if you don't know."

Luke passes you a scrutinizing eye that holds no weight. "For me or for you?"

You choose not to answer. Instead, you begin to ponder out loud, rolling your eyes to the supposedly sky. "It's not completely odd, isn't it, son of Hermes? To have someone visit you in your dreams in a world like this?"

Luke latches onto the identifier. "See? You know more about me than I do you," he remarks, "How is that fair?"

You mull it over with a taunting finger poking at your lips. "Guess it isn't."

"So?" A newfound surge of energy pulses through Luke's word as he urges you to go on. "Tell me about yourself. Like—" Luke waves his hands around in a grand gesture— "anything."

Your face grows stony, struck with hesitance. Luke can tell you're struggling on what to give up. Whatever reaches the tip of your tongue is immediately scrapped. It seems you're attempting to find the best answer that satiates Luke while fitting in the tight parameters you've set yourself. Since you don't seem big on widening them anytime soon either, Luke decides that's fine. He'll take what he can get.

"I have a sister," is what you settle on.

Luke smiles at that. "Me, too. How old is she?"

"Ten," you respond with a laugh, "but she tries to act older."

"Yeah, mine too," Luke eagerly nods, "but sometimes I think she actually is older."

The familiarity that sleeps into his speech has you leaning forward. You ask him, "What's her name?"

"Annabeth," he clarified, "Yours?"

"Maya," you smile.

Luke takes it in. He considers it thoroughly, nodding through each letter, each syllable. He suddenly twists his head closer to you. "And what's your name?" He questions out of the blue.

It's such a terrible segue, but you decide to tell him anyway.

He repeats it. Then, he repeats it again slowly, and then again faster. You decide to defy the laws of the dreamland to shove at him. "Don't wear it out," you warn him.

Luke's hand worms its way to the spot you pushed him. He massages at the place of fleeting warmth while his other hand raises in mock surrender. "I'm starting to learn more and more. You won't be able to one up me soon." 

Luke certainly has no trouble proving your earlier point of being unable to handle losing. You led it slide because he just seems so happy with himself. 

"So, do you know anything else about me?" Luke coaxed, "Or do you already know everything because you're technically in my head right now." He's quick to clamp his hands over the sides of his head as if it'll provide some sort of protection. 

You guffaw, head falling back momentarily. "I know a fair amount," you verify, "and not because I'm in your head."

"Then how?" He challenged furthered, inching closer to you as he awaited your answer.

That slight beat between your answer tells Luke he's about to hit gold. Your eyes glance upward in an attempt to find an answer. "People talk," you answer in one large breath. 

"People talk," Luke echoes. As a lightbulb appears over his head, he snaps a finger in your direction. "So, you're a camper?" He deduces

You shrug. Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

"Hm," Luke nodded, "Interesting."

"Interesting?" You imitated.

Luke nods once more. His lips stretch into a fine smile that thinly veils what he's truly thinking. It's practically bursting at the seams though, and you just want to poke at it until he tells you what he's truly thinking. Luke doesn't take long to decide he'll spare you the trouble. 

"That means I can find you." Luke insists.

"Yeah, if you're a creep like that," You snort.

"Don't try to distract me." Luke wags a finger in your face, appearing suddenly very determined. He declares, "Now I know you're real, and I'm not going crazy."

You hum, unsure. "I don't know. Could be both. Could still be the latter."

"It doesn't feel like that time yet, and," he shrugs simply, "You feel pretty real to me."

Luke thinks it's a pretty genius answer. Actually, he'd pat himself on the back if it didn't make him look like such a fool. He might just do it any way.

Yet, you don't answer. Instead, you look off into the seemingly endless distance.

Whatever you are fixated on takes all your attention away from him. When Luke takes a look on his own, he sees nothing but the endless abyss, shrouded by light. But you? You're squinting to get a better look, cocking your head to the side like something— someone is calling to you.

"What is it?" Luke inquiries softly, hovering a hand over your shoulder to gain your attention back. "Are you okay?"

You shake your head, either to answer his question or snap yourself out of your haze. Pursing your lips, your gaze turns to the floor only momentarily before flitting back to him with an apologetic glint. You glance at your wrist, but there's no watch there. "Nearly seven hours, Luke. Looks like a new record."

He stalls. It's the first time you've said his name so clearly. But—

Luke's head snaps up to meet your eyes. "Wait, what—?"

He's suddenly flung back. It's reminiscent of the first night he met you. There's a burning splotch in the center of his forehead, but it's so fast he didn't even register you moving to tap him there. When his eyes shoot open, the first thing he feels is the biting ache that blooms at the center of his back. His fingers are turning white from how hard he's clutching onto the sheets. It's become his anchor; he wonders if he's held on this tight the whole time he's been talking to you. 

Eventually, as his mind comes back to him, all his thoughts circle back to you. You sent him back. 

Luke wretches himself up, itching to find a pencil or a pen. In the darkness, he has to settle for his sister's eyeliner pencil. He doesn't write down what happened in the dream. He knows exactly what happened. He thinks, instead, he needs to write down some questions he could ask to get to know you better.

The next time he sees you, it's four nights later, and he hasn't slept a wink since.

The next time Luke sees you, he comes with his forehead covered.

He practically glues his hand to his forehead, covering the whole thing up. No matter if it creates an ache in his bicep, it's staying there. 

When you see him, you observe him as if he's crazy. You scoff, "What are you doing?"

At your nonchalance, his grip only tightens, an internal vow circulating his head to keep it here the whole night. "Don't send me back," he answers.

You exhale. "I have to," you exclaim.

Luke's eyebrows knit together. It's the most cryptic answer you could possibly give him. He doesn't really know what he expects, but it's disappointing nonetheless. "Why?"

You don't say anything. You seem gung ho on telling him nothing, actually. You pinch your lips together. It would've just been easier to sew them together. You readjust your gaze to meet the floor because that seems to be easier than facing Luke. His own gaze zeroes in on your fidgeting hands; the way your fingers twitch before you eventually clench your fists together in a sad attempt to stop them.

Luke sighs, "I don't like when you do it."

"I'm sorry," you concede earnestly, "I really don't have a choice."

He wants to ask why again. He wants to ask why for everything, but he isn't five anymore, and it doesn't seem that you're gonna answer him with anything straight. Instead, Luke settles with a controlled sigh. "It's fine... just a little warning next time before you do it... please?"

It provides with some sort of relief. You nod entirely. "I can do that."

"Okay," he murmurs under his breath before taking a seat next to you.

Luke doesn't have a clock, but he counts the minutes as best he can. The faster time feels, he's sure the more time has passed and the more he has managed to sleep. Somehow, you gage the time without even needing any help. Still, even at this slight disadvantage, Luke makes it his mission to keep inching that minute hand closer and closer to breaking the record each time he sees you. 

It also becomes his personal mission to dig deeper into your life. If you say you're real, if he feels it, he's needs to be convinced every night. You've let it slip you're a camper, and even if he hasn't admitted just yet, he looks for you daily. He looks for you during training, listens for your voice during campfire song time, and even if Annabeth promises to castrate him during Capture the Flag because his head is out of the game, he still takes the chance to search for you through the masses (even with Clarisse hot on his tail).

His journal also begins to evolve. Rather than being sporadic findings of his dreams to keep the idea of you intact or mere conversation starters that end up being scrapped, it's now filled with everything you've decided to give him. You do drop crumbs. Maybe because you feel bad for him; maybe because he's just that pitiful. He learns your favorite color (blue like the camp's lake in the afternoon), your age (only a year younger than him) but not your cabin. No, Luke hasn't managed to wrangle that bit of information out of you just yet. 

Certain things do specifically stick however. Such as,

   1. You're a camper, and you have a sister.

But that's a given at this point.

   2. You're very particular about the strawberries you pick.

Knowing that you're a camper just like him opens a lot of doors. You don't seem as hesitant telling him things that you don't think will reveal too much. 

One night, you're a little late. To be honest, it had him sweating a bit. Ever since, you promised to be a little more gentle with letting him return to the over world, you've been pulling at him earlier, and he's been expecting you earlier as well. He'll even try cut his counselor duties short to get into bed faster. Kind of terrible, but nothing Camp Half Blood can't handle.

That night you change the scenery. It's a recent phenomenon. Previously, you had relied on these blank backdrops. A simple room, perhaps, something digestible. It does take Luke a second to readjust and shake away the silly feeling in the tip of his finger and the soles of his feet. But recently, you've curated scenes that you know will be familiar to the both of you. The campfire, the pavilion, or this time, the strawberry field Luke passed just today. It's lives up to the real thing. Actually, when Luke brushes his fingers against one of the bristly leaves of the strawberry bush, he has to shake himself out of a stupor. He has to remind himself this isn't real and continue on to where he can find you.

It's a maze to navigate, but eventually, he locates you in the center of it all, prudently examining said strawberries in front o fyou.

"This is new," he notes while settling beside you in the bushes. Luke's head is still reeling, attempting to catch up to his body as he takes in everything around him.

You don't respond right away. Your hands are far too preoccupied with inspecting the strawberries before you. Luke notices a small basket tucked away under some shrubs. It's barely filled, maybe only three or so strawberries in there. Belatedly, you puff out a peculiar hum before pondering out, "Do you like strawberries?"

Luke snorts as if the answer is obvious. His fingers prod at a berry. "Are you kidding me? I love them."

That answer seems to plead you because you begin to nod. You pluck the strawberry, tossing it into the basket. Luke's gaze trails from your right back to your face and finds that it is tortured with affliction. 

"You know who doesn't like them?" You scoff, and then swiftly answer, "My sister!"

"Huh," Luke replied, not quite following along but still present, "Why not?"

That's when you finally look to him. You lean in, expression twisted in frustration. "She doesn't like the seeds. It makes her think she's swallowing the guts of tiny people," you explain, "It weighs on her conscious."

Luke lets out a small 'ah'. "Yeah, I get that."

You go back to rearranging the few berries you have in your container, plucking one up to sit nicely in your palm. "She doesn't like them" you reiterate, "And yet—" You stop yourself short. You clench your hand into a fist. The muted squash infiltrates Luke's ears, and he jumps back as the seeds and juice squish out of the cracks of your fingers. 

Luke can't say anything. He really doesn't know what he could say in that moment. So, instead, he settles for glancing around mindlessly, searching for anything you could wipe your hand with. But, when you open your hand, it's clean. 

Luke's shoulders deflate. When his gaze returns to you, you've continued on as if nothing has happened. He takes that as his cue to do the same. "And yet...?"

His fingers halfheartedly find a strawberry, twisting at the top to eventually toss into the green bucket. However, you are quick to place a hand over his, shaking your head. "Not that one."

Luke's brows pinch together. "Why not this one?"

"It's not ripe enough," you reply.

Luke's lips flatten, and he gives you a look. "This is a dream."

You throw him a similar look. "Dreams mimic real life," you objected. 

Rolling his eyes, Luke concedes. "Okay," he drawls out, a grin relaxing over his face, "since you're such an expert, which one is the one then?"

Your fingers curl around the indents of his hand, covering his large one with your own. Gently, you begin to guide him over to the right before it lands on a plump, juicy one. The vivid red color beaming even in the dead of night. When you gage Luke's fingers meeting the soft skin of the fruit, you release him. 

"You have to pick the right one," you chastise.  

Then, you return to your own section. Until you realizing that Luke hasn't said anything or moved at all. You turn your gaze back to him to see he's stuck in place, like a statue. 

"Luke?"

It snaps him back to life. He clears his throat, forgetting all about the strawberry to scratch the back of his neck. "So, what about your sister?"

Luke doesn't know if he regrets asking you that because at the sudden change at topic, you groan so loud it might've just woken him up. "She doesn't like strawberries, and yet—! I pick a whole basket for dinner, and... and she just—"

"She just...?" Luke urges you to go on.

"She ate the whole thing!" You burst out.

Luke's head cocks to the side. "Why would she do that?"

"Act of revenge," you croak out, massaging a hand over your heart. You warily eye the newly plucked basket of strawberries.

The concern expression on Luke's face drops at a comedic speed before being replaced with a rather unconvinced one. With a quirked brow, he scoots in closer. "What did you do?"  

"I didn't do anything!" You begin to defend yourself, tilting your head away from Luke's scrutinizing stare. "She's just upset our dad visited me and not her. He doesn't come around much."

Which leads Luke to the third thing he knows about you.

   3. You actually like your father.

Although, the way you speak of him, he appears to be more of a memory rather than a substantial person. It's something he's heard before. Whether it be the frustrated words of a camper or the muted cries of a kid in his cabin he has to calm down, he's heard it all before. It leaves him wondering if your godly parent is your mother— if you are so fond of him. Maybe you're from Aphrodite's, maybe even Athena's.

A nervous sigh courses through him every time he even thinks along the lines of that question. He can't dwell on it too long or it will never come out. Luke says it quick, like ripping off a bandaid.

"Do you think," he would start off, "we could see each other? Like, in real life?"

He regrets it immediately. The way you freeze— it feels like he's practically pushed himself back ten steps. You shrugs as if you are puzzled by his question. "This is still real."

"Of course, it is," he reassures. He shifts closer to you, attempting to reach your gaze again as you begin to drift off somewhere. "But in a way where my feet don't feel funny all the time, and you can show me how to pick the perfect strawberry."

You know you could do that here, but it wouldn't be real. You hate using that word. You hate that thin line that separate your meaning and his. Because he's right. No matter how hard you push for this to be 'real', it's not the same as feeling the 'real' sun shine on your face, giving you a sunburn. It's not the same as the feel of 'real' strawberries bumping under your fingers, and the 'real' taste hitting your tongue. And it's not the same as the 'real' you meeting face to face with the real 'Luke'.

You're sure he feels the same. You just aren't sure if you're ready for that."

Luke doesn't know what makes you so unsure. If there's something greater holding you back, and if he did know, he'd reassure you there's nothing to be scared of.

You exhale. It makes Luke's heart drop. "Not just yet," you whisper.

Luke has to suck in a disappointed sigh by pursing his lips. It's tucked in deep within his stomach where he'll take it out in the morning where you can't see it. For now, he just dips his head down with a sunken nod. 

Luke chooses to take the leap of faith and believe in your 'not just yet'.

The nights end a little differently now. Now, every time he has to leave you, or you have to leave him, you whisper a quick little warning in the form of an apology. Rather then taking him by surprise, your fingers softly drift over his forehead in a small wait of his approval.

You only tap down when he says it's okay. 

It's a little easier to wake up now. 

[...]

Luke hears your name on a random Tuesday. It's after the fourteenth night you've visited him. A camper can't sleep. They frequent dreams of dying, and while Luke can't say it's shocking, the poor kid is only twelve.

"I just don't know what to do. Kid's waking up every hour, biting the skin off his nails," he found himself pondering to Clarisse one breakfast after Joshua came to him a second time. "What do you think?"

If it's a dilemma for Luke, it automatically will not be that for Clarisse. She beholds him with a sort of stupidity you save for little kids. With a lazy hand, she flicks it towards the directions of the cabins. And then, Clarisse says something. She says something he swears he hears every night. Like a string plucked on a lyre, the name strikes a chord deep within him.

"What did you just say?" His hand latches onto the Clarisse's shoulder to ground himself

She utters the name again, shrugging his hand off her. "Ring a bell?" When Luke doesn't answer, opting to stare at her dumbfounded, Clarisse rolls her eyes with a groan, "Take Junior to her in the infirmary. She'll help calm him down."

"Ho-how?"

"Dude," Clarisse scoffs. The way she practically gurgles it out tells Luke she's tired of this conversation. "I get that you aren't feeling well- or looking it either-, but get your head out of your ass. She's the daughter of Hypnos. Go. To. Her."

Clarisse spins around, stomping her boots through the mud before Luke can get another word in. Whether it was her intention to imprint the soles of her shoes with so much emphasis, it flicked up excess amount of soil was up for debate. Luke was still reeling from this newfound piece of information to care or debate the new heights of Clarisse's pettiness, however.

He says your name. "We should go see her."

***

It’s ski season, bitches.

The perfect time to spend the next few months amongst the snowy mountains of Vermont, tucked away at a resort that looked like it belonged on a postcard.

How cute.

It honestly couldn't have come at a better time. Life was in a bit of a spiral for you. Well, more than a bit.

After finishing university, the plan kind of… evaporated. You were hit with the desperate need to do something before real adulthood kicked in. The mountains were calling to you. Or to be more clear, Golden Ridge Resort.

Plus, finding yourself at a ski resort instead of stuck at home had a sort of romantic notion to it. 

The plan was simple: you’d work your ass off, save some money, and help out rich people on holiday, like the summer you spent working as a golf caddie, but hopefully with fewer creeps and no heatstroke.

And honestly? You’d been killing it so far.

You were likeable, competent, and good at pleasing even the most “difficult” customers, which made management love you. 

Hence why they gave you the biggest fish in the pond.

Luke Castellan. Pro snowboarder, tabloid sweetheart, son of Hermes, and all-around golden boy.

“He’s a VVIP. You know what that means, right?” your manager, Quinn, explained, her voice a little shaky from her fifth cup of coffee. She's been going through it since you arrived, a bad breakup you presumed from the way she'd be on the verge of tears when she so much as saw a couple hold hands.

From the way she narrowed her eyes at you, it was clear that if you fucked this up, you might just be out of a job. Goodbye free lift passes, goodbye ski season romance.

“I understand.”

“I’ll be candid. If anything goes wrong, the press will be all over us and you know...” her voice cracks.

You didn't need to hear the end of the sentence. You could hear the implication “You’re fucked,” from a mile away. 

But you'd be fine, right? He's your age, and from the way people talked about him, not only was he a snowboarding god, but he was also supposedly the sweetest guy alive. Seriously, you’d think he was the best thing since sliced bread the way people gushed over him.

“I got this,” you told her with forced confidence. “Luke Castellan is about to get five-star customer service. He won’t know what hit him.”

The rest of the day is the usual. Running errands, helping guests find their way around, and making polite, small talk that all sounds the same by this point.

By the time you get back to your room, it’s late, and you’re already getting ready for bed. Your electric toothbrush whirs loudly as you stare at your reflection, exhausted. Even now, you can still feel a crick in your neck from one of the guests, Mrs Rowan, making you lug her luggage up, down and all around. 

She didn't even tip.

Finally… silence. 

Before you got here, you didn't realise how much you loved it. But you finally had it, it was wrapping you in its warm embrace, practically lulling you to sleep already.

At least for two seconds.

There’s a loud knock on your door, almost hard enough to put a hole in it, and a familiar voice yelling your name.

“I’m coming!”

You walk over, half tripping on a discarded hoodie (you really need to clean this place up), and throw the door open.

“Luke Castellan?!” is the first thing you hear as your friend, Bridget, staying across the hall, barrels her way inside. 

Hello to you too.

“You’re the fifth person to react like that,” you say, mumbling through the foamy toothpaste still in your mouth. You rush back to the bathroom and spit it out. “What’s the big deal?”

You turn to her and have to squint at the way she's glowing at the thought of this guy, smiling from ear to ear.

You've never seen her face move like that, not even when the cute ski lift operator told her she had “nice edges”. You still don't know what that means.

“He’s Luke Castellan.”

“Not an explanation,” you retort, bending down to pick up a stray sock here and there. You didn't want to seem like even more of a slob.

“Snowboarding sensation? Olympic hopeful? National team? Two-time world champion—”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard—”

“Super hot,” she adds, flopping back onto your unmade bed, “dreamy and cocky but like in a fun way, y'know?”

She grabs one of your pillows and holds it to her chest, tucking it under her chin. With a sigh, she rolls over to face you, “I'm so jealous.”

“Is this all you came over to do? Gush over him? And lay on my bed?” you chuckle. As much as you enjoy her shenanigans, you didn't necessarily need a meeting with the head of Luke's fan club.

“Well, yes. And to warn you,” she says as she shoots up from the bed. In an instant, she's standing in front of you, dead serious. 

“I know he’s pretty, but you can't fall in love with him, no matter how much you’ll want to. I don't want you to get hurt.” She lays a hand on your shoulder like she’s delivering a prophecy.

You chuckle at her dramatic tone, reaching over to mess up her hair. “I think I’ll be fine.”

If only you knew.

***

From the crown of your head to the tips of your toes, you are abuzz with nervous energy.

The air is cold, smacking you in the face repeatedly as you wait for his car to arrive, but you maintain your smile. A little wind won't stop you. 

Though as time ticks by, you start to feel the toll of last night starting to take effect.

It was anything but easy. 

Bridget stayed up with you all night, telling you all the ins and outs of Luke's life. 

“Why do I need to know what his favourite Pop Tart is?” You moaned, half asleep, cuddled up in your covers, as Bridget shoved her laptop in your face. 

“So you can anticipate his needs. And here I thought you were a professional.”

You zoned out about ten minutes in and fell asleep to the sound of commentators singing his praises and cheering fans.

So, now you were tired as hell and waiting out in the cold, looking more like an ice sculpture than a human woman.

You turn your head to see inside the chalet, imagining the heating, that beautiful rush of warm air surrounding you. You deserved that.

Management would have hell to pay if they're any later than they already are. You have half a mind to go inside and lie on the couch until they get there, but you can't.

You were going to be the first point of contact for him and his friends. 

First impressions are important, and it’s hard to come back from a bad one. 

You needed to prove to him that you were the best chalet host the mountain had to offer, and if the tips from your last guests were an indication, you were. 

Just then, before you freeze to death, you see a car approaching, and you immediately perk up as you get into the zone. 

You repeat to yourself your three rules: Smile. Flirt. Get that money.

You’d have them eating out of the palm of your hand by the end of the week and raking in enough cash to finance your eurosummer, you just knew it. 

The white Jeep comes to a stop, parked right in front of you. 

Showtime.

The sound of chatter and laughter as he and his friends exit the car fills the air. They were loud as hell, but you expected that. Normally, the more personable the guests, the more generous they are with their cash.

Very promising. Very promising indeed.

You scan through the faces, and then your heart skips a beat.

With parted lips, the air in your lungs escapes with a surprised puff.

He's fucking beautiful.

All you can think about is how he looks just as good as he did in the pictures that may as well be tattooed on your brain. Maybe even better. Dark hair, broad shoulders and a pretty nose, the kind of face that belongs on a billboard.

Rule number four, apparently:

Do not fall for the client.

But at the end of the day, you’re a professional. You cannot be swayed by just a pretty smile. He is a guest first and foremost.  

You walk up with your best customer service smile plastered on your face and a winning attitude. Your shoes slip a little on the snow, but you quickly regain your footing. You curse yourself only to realise they were still chatting and didn’t see. 

First impression was still intact. 

You're almost there, pep very much in your step, but before you can even get out a word, Luke lays his eyes on you. Like a robot, he scans you and picks an automatic response. 

“Yes, I’m his son. No, I can’t get you an autograph,” he drawls, already annoyed.

Then he spins back around as if he hadn’t just ruined your day in a matter of seconds. Just what about you screamed groupie?

Not to worry, you could fix this. It was just a simple misunderstanding, one you had to rectify. You shake off the confusion and regain your smile. 

“Oh, that’s not—”

“Snowboarding fan then?” he interrupts, glancing back at you. Without waiting for an answer, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pen, biting off the lid and scrawling his signature across your forehead with a Sharpie.

“Did you just—?”

“You’re welcome. Though I must say stalking me to my chalet is a scary amount of dedication.”

You're not sure if you're pissed he drew on your forehead and called you a stalker, or the fact that you just stood there and took it. If you were anywhere, you would've taken that pen and shoved it up his—

You let out a deep, clarifying breath.

Another rule to add: No maiming or killing the guests.

He pats your shoulder far too casually, like you’re a sad, abandoned puppy in the rain or something, before turning back to his friends. “Wasn’t the chalet host supposed to meet us here?”

“You just signed her forehead,” you huff. For the moment… fuck customer service. That’s permanent ink plastered on your skin. He’ll be lucky if you don’t commit a crime against him before the end of his stay here. 

“Welcome to Golden Ridge,” You try to resist, but again you remind yourself of the no doubt giant Luke on your head, “...dick.”

You mutter it under your breath, but he has ears like a bat, apparently.

“Sorry?”

You clear your throat, fight back the evil smirk and put on your kindest voice.

“May I show you and your companions around your chalet? The porters will be just around to collect your bags for you.”

“By all means, lead the way,” he replies.

You open the doors and welcome them inside, fighting off the distaste you already have for Luke. With a shimmy, you take off your jacket and hold it in your arms. Maybe you could squeeze that instead of his neck. 

He takes off his designer sunglasses because, of course, and as he leans in, he reads your name off the nametag.

“Pretty name.”

“Thank you, sir.”

You don’t know if the sir had its intended effect, because it sounds like you’re being forced to chew wood.

Golden boy, my ass.

He has the audacity to poke your forehead. “Might want to get a picture of that before it wears off, or if it wears off.”

In this moment, you try your very hardest to give him the benefit of the doubt, but he's making it pretty hard. Clearly, this guy doesn’t have any survival instincts. You must reiterate, in any other place, at any other time, this would lead to a hospital visit. 

You take a breath to calm yourself, but it does fuck all. 

“Don’t poke me.”

You swat his hand away, then immediately poke his forehead back.

How does he like it?

“Hey,” he laughs, genuinely surprised at your little retaliation. “What happened to service with a smile?”

“I can do that, but that doesn't automatically mean I take shit from guys like you.”

You step closer, holding his gaze and add a contentious, “Sir.”

That certainly didn't make things any better, but if you back down now, you’d never live it down. At this point, it’s a stand-off on principle, and if it meant your ski adventure ended a little early, then… fuck it.

“Well, many girls like guys like me.”

“Your girlfriend likes guys that are rude?”

He kisses his teeth, eyebrows furrowing just slightly. The comment lands, you can tell, but he tries to laugh it off.

“Well, I happened to have just broken up with my girlfriend,” he says, voice light but eyes not quite matching, a slightly pained smile tugging at his mouth.

Now, any rational human being would’ve backed off.

But no.

He wrote his name on your head. With a permanent marker. At this point, you’ll bring this up until the day you die. 

“Must’ve been your glowing personality,” you mutter.

A couple of his friends snicker behind him, and the flash of annoyance that crosses his face is delicious.

Payback. 

It may be a small victory, but you’ll take it.

“Shall we get onto the tour?” you add sweetly.

He exhales through his nose, then gestures forward. “Let’s.”

You lead him through the chalet, boots thudding softly against polished wood floors. You've always thought it's one of the nicest ones at Golden Ridge. 

It's rustic but elegant, like something out of a Hallmark Christmas movie… not that you watch those.

The air smells faintly of pine and cedar. Massive windows frame endless white slopes outside, sunlight glinting off untouched powder. It looks soft enough to dive in, that's for sure.

“I think you'll find it's pretty perfect,” you explain, slipping back into professional mode. “You wake up in the mountains, step outside, and you’re not far from the lifts with all the snow you can muster.”

Luke’s gaze drifts around, taking it in. He's not impressed exactly, but appreciative.

You stop near the master bedroom and gesture. “This is your primary suite. It overlooks the whole resort and has a private balcony, fireplace and heated floors. You know, the works.”

He steps past you into the room, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours. Something about it felt intentional, but that might just be that incessant voice in your head cooking shit up. Nevertheless, heat sparks up your arm before you can stop it. 

“Not bad,” he says, looking around but acutely aware of how close you were. 

“High praise,” you reply dryly.

He turns and leans back against a wall to observe you yet again.

“You know, for someone who hates me, you’re doing a very thorough job.”

You meet his eyes, refusing to look away. “It’s called professionalism. Plus, I don't even know you well enough to hate you.”

“But you’re getting there?”

“With each passing moment.”

In the few minutes since you’ve met, you’ve already clocked a few things about Luke Castellan.

He’s observant. Doesn’t shy away from eye contact, prefers to hold it, actually, longer than most people would. 

You can’t tell if it’s confidence or if he’s trying to intimidate you a little. 

Maybe a bit of both. 

And he definitely has a habit of standing just a bit too close, like personal space is more of a suggestion than anything else.

“And as my chalet host,” he continues, glancing around the room, “you’ll be doing all the cleaning, shopping, cooking…”

“Exactly.”

“So we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

“Unfortunately,” you mutter under your breath.

“Hm?”

“Undoubtedly,” you correct without missing a beat. “Your wish is my command.”

A slow grin spreads across his face, the dangerous kind that means he’s about to be annoying on purpose.

“In that case,” he says, ticking items off on his fingers, “I want a five-course dinner, truffle risotto, a bottle of something expensive… and a frozen sculpture of me.”

“Frozen sculpture?”

“Did I stutter?”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“You said my wish is your command.”

You fold your arms, taken aback by this gross injustice. Who does he think he is? 

“That's true, but don't forget I control your access to your food and what goes into it.”

“You wouldn't dare.”

“You don't know what I'm capable of.”

The two of you stand there, sparks going off between the two of you. There’s hate in the air.

Yeah.

You were definitely getting there.

***

You're fucked.

The big fish you were supposed to make exuberant tips off of for the next month or so hated you, especially after that ‘glowing personality’ comment.

And you hated him just the same.

He was serious about that frozen sculpture, even made a comment to your boss about your “subpar” performance when you couldn't get one for him.

Thankfully, you get a brief but necessary reprieve from Luke as he and his friends all hit the slopes. 

You're stewing over a hot chocolate in your staff break room as Bridget does the majority of your panicking for you. She's talking so fast, you don't even know how she's finding time to breathe.

“I told you all of this the night before you met him!”

“At 2 am, as I was falling asleep, after showing me countless interviews and footage from his competitions and fan edits. You can't blame me for not taking it all in.”

You rub your eyes, resting your head in your hands.

“Plus, I thought it’d be an easy assignment. The tabloids make him out to be an angel. Why the fuck would I need to know about his love life?”

You were so naive. Oh, how you missed that version of you from yesterday. She was so young, so happy, so innocent. 

“His breakup with his ex was huge! How could you not have seen it? They were everywhere!”

Bridget brandishes her phone like a sword, typing away before handing it to you.

You scroll, seeing article after article: “Luke Castellan and Girlfriend Call It Quits After Three Years?!” and “Snowboarding’s Golden Boy Goes Solo After Messy Split.”

No wonder why he was offended.

“I’m sure it will blow over. We’re both adults.”

“For both your sake and mine, I hope it does.”

You look up from her phone with a curious look. “For your sake?”

“I need you to make amends with him so you can make an introduction. Help a girl out,” she whines, before picking a marshmallow from your hot chocolate.

“Trust me, he’s not as nice as he looks.”

***

You show up at his chalet, jaw set, ready to give him your best fake apology and get this over with.

You were tasked with accompanying him to an interview taking place on the mountain. Somehow, you’ve gone from chalet host to assistant. But he’s Luke Castellan; his word is worth gold. 

“Took you long enough,” he drawls, opening the door just enough to lean against the frame. You’ve come to hate it when he does that. 

“You’re my chalet host, and yet you were nowhere to be found. I have places to be, chop chop.”

“Dick.”

“What was that?”

You step closer, invading his space on purpose just the way he loves to do to you. “Dickhead. Did you get that?”

Guess that's a no on the apology.

He holds your gaze, almost as if he refuses to give you the satisfaction of looking away. “Loud and clear.”

“Perfect.”

He dumps his supplies on you, leaving you waddling to catch up to him. 

“Don't fall behind.”

***

As the two of you travel to the slopes, you sneak a glance or two at him… sure, it's not surprising that he has fans. Sharp jawline, pretty lips—

The thought practically punches you in the face, and you look away quickly, the cold nipping at your nose, making you snuggle into your jacket a little more.

“See something you like?”

You grumble into your jacket. You were hoping he didn't see you, but you could never be so lucky. 

“I was looking past you, not at you.”

“...funny. People would pay to be this close to me.”

Is he always like this? Or is it just you?

“Well, I know nothing about snowboarding, so all your little medals and trophies mean nothing to me.”

“That's obvious.”

“Good. So don’t even try it.”

The words echo for a moment, and in those fleeting seconds of silence, you realise you made a grave mistake. 

“Try what? Hitting on you?”

When you don't respond, he comes to a stop. The idea is horrifically funny to him. He pauses to laugh and even slaps his knee. 

That’s overkill. You’re a pretty girl. Anyone would be lucky to hit on you.

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, coming down from his laughing fit as he wipes a tear from his eye. “Thanks for the laugh though. I needed it.”

With that, he speeds up, leaving you in the dust, or more appropriately, snow. No doubt, when you eventually get there, he’ll complain to you about not walking fast enough.

You pause, looking up at the sky, pale and blue, a snowflake here and there sprinkling down towards you, landing in your hair and on your eyelashes.

“Will someone please save me from Luke Castellan?”

The only response you get is Luke yelling back at you, “Hurry up!”

He doesn’t even turn around, just lifts a hand in a lazy wave like he knows you’re glaring holes into the back of his head.

When you finally catch up, slightly out of breath and significantly more murderous, Luke glances over at you, absolutely delighted. 

“Are you always this slow?”

“No. I just got distracted by contemplating how I'd fake my death.”

“Tempting, I bet,” he says. “But then who’d make me dinner?”

***

He’s really good. 

Media trained to a T, a natural in front of the camera, answering every question with that easy charm that seems to just ooze out of him. 

You might need to steal some of that.

The wind tousles his hair, lifting the dark strands just enough to look cinematic. Like he was shot on film, if that makes any sense. You twiddle your fingers as he leans in attentively when the interviewer speaks, nodding along like he actually enjoys this sort of thing.

His laugh carries over the snow and tickles the tips of your ears as he jokes about his Olympic prospects.

“Are you saying that I’m your pick for gold next year?” he asks with a cheeky grin.

The interviewer gives a slightly disconcerting hyena laugh back in response. “Well, I’m not not saying that, but—”

You grumble under your breath, shifting your weight in the snow. The annoyance at seeing him so… beloved has formed a special place in your heart. This ugly, simmering thing that bubbles in your chest whenever you so much as see him happy. At least the hate is keeping you warm, your glare hot enough to melt a neat little crater in the snow beneath your boots.

The interview wraps with handshakes and bright smiles, the crew moving quickly to reset.

Then you hear the director call out, “We’re going to need some b-roll of you walking around.”

Luke nods easily, already stepping away from the cameras and toward you.

You school your expression into something neutral and hold out his gloves and jacket as he approaches, like you’re his human closet. He takes them, fingers brushing yours long enough for that heat to shoot up your body again. You can only wonder if this is going to happen every time you touch him. 

“Well, don’t you look happy?” he teases.

The audacity. 

“I’m sorry I'm not smiling so hard that it hurts. Maybe it’s because watching you flirt with a camera crew isn’t the best use of my time. I’m your chalet host, keyword being chalet. Why the ever living fuck am I out here helping you lug around equipment?”

He slips on one glove, watching you rile yourself up. He didn't even have to do anything. You're like his own personal form of entertainment. “Jealous?”

“Of the camera?”

“Of all the attention I’m getting.”

“Luke, I’d rather eat snow,” you reply decidedly, and you’d do it too to prove a point. 

“That can be arranged.”

Before you can follow up with a “What the fuck did you just say to me?”, the director jogs over, eyes bouncing between the two of you and your petty squabble.

“Actually, this is great. You two know each other, right?” she asks, bright with inspiration, already building the shot in her head. 

“No,” you sputter. 

“Yes,” Luke says at the exact same time.

She blinks at your conflicting responses but decides not to think about it too hard. “...Okay? We, uh, just need a few shots of Luke, well, being Luke. Walking, talking, laughing—”

“We don’t laugh together,” you cut in.

Luke’s hand lands lightly at the small of your back, steering you forward before you can disappear on him with some vague excuse. “She means we laugh constantly.”

Your spine goes rigid.

The director beams at the pair of you. “Amazing. Just head down the path and pretend we’re not here.”

Pretend they’re not there?

Pretend Luke’s hand isn’t still on you?

Pretend that heat didn't travel up your spine as soon as he touched you?

You totally could do that.

The cameras get in position, and the two of you start walking. You are not a natural on camera. Your face is frozen, and each step you take looks robotic or like you're being held up by strings. Either way it ain't good.

“This is supposed to look natural. You know what that word means, right?” Luke murmurs under his breath, leaning close enough that his shoulder knocks yours. “Try not to look like you want to stab me.”

“I do want to stab you.”

“Yeah, but make it look cute like you normally do.”

You let out a laugh, just a tiny one, before you can stop it. You cannot deny that you do look cute even when making threats, it’s simply the truth. Unfortunately, you can’t fault the man for being honest. 

His eyes light up in victory, he’d gotten you to crack. “Just like that. I knew you could do it.”

“Don't patronise me and this doesn’t mean you’ve won.”

“It definitely means I won. I got you on camera cheesing at one of my jokes.”

From behind, the director calls, “This is great! Keep talking!”

You mutter, “If this ends up in an ad, I’m suing. It’s misrepresenting me, making me look like I enjoy your company.”

“You do,” he says quietly. “Deep down.”

You turn to snap back at him, but he’s already looking at you, wind catching in his hair again. In a strange and horrible turn of events, you can’t even think of anything to say back. You’re completely silenced by how dashing he looks in his snowboarding gear.

The second the director goes to check the shots, you look away from him immediately. Not a word passes between the two of you, but you feel restless. You can feel those warm, brown eyes of his scanning you again. Probably thinking of new and inventive ways to torture you. 

“Great job! I think we have enough there. Lastly, we just need some shots of you doing what you do best,” she announces.

“Great,” he replies, his voice husky. From the direction of his voice, you can tell he didn’t turn from you, even as the crew moved around him. You don’t know why that makes you feel so… antsy. Like you needed to go and run ten miles just to chase the feeling away. 

Then, finally, he steps back.

You watch him walk away, and this time your eyes feel a little less capable of melting snow and more like you’re the one in danger of melting.

You get a moment to breathe and rid those thoughts from your mind as the cameras scramble into position as he gets on the lift up the mountain. You twiddle your thumbs and will yourself to think of anything else. But no matter what, your mind seems to drift back to him.

You don’t know how long you’ve been standing there, just lost in a Luke daydream, when you see him in the distance. 

He curves his way down the slopes, like it’s second nature, and you bet it is. It’s one thing watching a highlight reel, but seeing it in person…damn.

You bite at your lip as you try your damnest not to coo over him. 

Though… some would call it art what he’s able to do on a snowboard. You might even say so, well, only in your head. 

He launches off a small lip, twisting in midair and landing without breaking a sweat.

The director beside you lets out a breathy, “He’s insane.”

You fold your arms tighter, as you look at him, slicing through white powder with the sun at his back, utterly transfixed despite your best efforts. “You have no idea.”

Your heart is even hammering like you just did the run yourself. Your lips part, a little puff of air floating into the sky, like they did the moment you first laid eyes on him. How can someone so awful do something so beautiful?

Luke reaches the bottom and unclips, smiling like he hadn’t just stolen the air straight from your lungs.

The director gives him the ok and he’s basically done for the day. He walks towards you and lifts both arms in a silent ‘well?’

“Were you impressed?” he asks when you don’t take the bait. You sway, your arms wrapped around yourself, feigning nonchalance. It's not like you didn't want to be nice to him, it's simply that your brain would not allow it. And who are you to argue with your brain? It calls all the shots. 

“You’re talented or whatever,” you mumble. It’s almost unintelligible, but that is the most your brain will allow. Anything nicer and you'd shut down altogether.

For once, instead of teasing you further, he just laughs, “That’s good enough for me.”

You blink at him like pigs have just taken flight over the mountain. 

But naturally, the universe corrects itself immediately.

The second you start to think he’s being almost… pleasant, Luke drops his board into your arms with zero warning, followed by his helmet and gloves for good measure. 

You stagger under the sudden weight, struggling to balance everything in your arms. “What the—”

“I have to thank the crew and all that and do some media stuff,” he says breezily, already backing away. “You have to grab the rest of the gear.”

Your eye twitches.

“And,” he adds, pointing a finger at you like a child, “I’m starving, so get started on dinner as soon as you get back.”

There he is.

The devil you know.

You stare at him, burdened with enough equipment to qualify as a pack mule. “Did you just use me as a human coat rack?”

He walks backwards through the snow, with a bright grin, “You’re doing amazing.”

Before you can hurl a helmet at his head, one of the production assistants calls his name, and he jogs toward them.

You stand there, loaded down with his things, seething.

“Unbelievable.”

You should've told him he was shit out there.

***

You’re really good.

Pride fills your heart as you plate what is, objectively, a masterpiece.

Once you cooled off from dealing with Luke all afternoon, you got to work in the kitchen, and dinner looks pretty damn good if you do say so yourself.

Perfectly seared scallops. Buttery potatoes. Roasted vegetables glazed and sparkling under the warm dining lights. Times like these make you wonder why you're not on MasterChef.

You carry the dishes out one by one, setting them in front of Luke and his friends.

“Enjoy.”

At least his friends didn’t hate you or flirt with you. If there were four Lukes at this table, you’d simply pass away on the spot.

Chris whistles low, taking in the visual delight you've laid out in front of them. “Damn. You made all this?”

“Yes,” you say, trying not to sound too smug, but it comes through anyway. 

Luke leans back in his chair, looking between the plate and you with exaggerated suspicion. “You’re trying to poison me, aren’t you?”

“If I were, you’d already be dead.”

A chorus of laughs spreads around the room, much to his chagrin. You start cracking open the crab legs at the table, keeping an eye on his reaction to your food.

He picks up his fork and takes a bite. You hate yourself a little for watching so closely. Even though you hate the man, you still wanted him to like it. 

“That’s really good,” he admits, his eyes fluttering closed for a second. From that alone, you knew it really hit the spot.

A self-satisfied smirk works its way onto your face.

“I might just have to take you home with me,” he adds flippantly.

What?

The crab leg soars from your carving fork straight into his face. It even makes a distinct smacking sound. A sound that will haunt your dreams.

There’s a stunned silence as it bounces off his cheek and lands in his lap.

Your soul leaves your body.

“I’m—” you choke on air. “That was an accident.”

He stares at you as the butter sauce slowly slides down his jaw. Yet another image you will never get out of your head.  “You hit me with a crab leg.”

“Accidentally. And I know you don't think that but it was a genuine mistake. I swear on like everything.”

Luke wipes his face with a napkin, eyes locked on you, like he's about to curse you and your family for generations to come.

“Good to know, that you resort to violence when complimented.”

“That was not a compliment,” you shoot back, mortified.

The one time he decides to say something nice to you, this happens. Must be a sign. “I didn't mean anything bad by it. I just meant that you're talented.”

“Talented?”

“Until you hit me with a crab leg, that is.”

You open your mouth but seeing the way he's death gripping his fork makes you think otherwise. You'd argue later, it's not even a question at this point. When he’d cooled off and forgotten how it felt to be slapped by a crab. Or since it was a crab leg… kicked?

“I’m just gonna…”

You gesture behind you, already taking steps back to make a strategic retreat.

“I think that's best.”

You walk away briskly, determined to disappear but not before throwing out a quick, “Enjoy your crab!”

***

The next few days, he's intent on making your life just that little bit more difficult. 

It starts small.

A text asking for protein bars.

Then, as soon as you get back, he sends you back out again because, apparently, you bought the wrong brand. Then again, because he “forgot” to mention he also needs electrolyte packets, fancy coffee beans, and some absurdly specific face wash that can apparently only be found in one overpriced boutique in town.

He’s a little nightmare. 

Always complaining you forgot something, even though he absolutely did not ask for it the first time, and even leaving passive-aggressive little notes on the fridge like:

You forgot the almond milk… again. 

and

Athletes need snacks. Are you trying to starve me?  ಠ⁠︵⁠ಠ

You'd rip the sticky notes off one by one, even taking special care to rip up the ones with those stupid little faces he'd draw.

All over a stupid crab leg.

“You are actually insane!” you shout, trudging back into the chalet with three shopping bags cutting into your fingers and snow melting into your socks.

Luke is in the kitchen when you stomp in, perched on the counter like a smug housecat, casually eating the expensive trail mix he specifically made you go buy.

“Did you buy dark chocolate?”

You stare at him and grit your teeth, “You did not ask for dark chocolate.”

Then, very deliberately, drop the bags onto the floor with a violent thud.

“I must have forgotten to tell you, my bad. You need to go get it.”

“You sent me across the town for a face wash. I had to take two buses and walk for twenty minutes through the snow, and now you want me to get chocolate? I’m going to kill you and it will not be swift nor will it be painless. I can promise you that, Luke.”

“It’s winter. My skin gets dry.”

“You are a professional athlete, not a Victorian lady.”

“Victorian ladies didn’t have brand deals, did they? I need to look good and if I need you to help me do that, then so be it, right?”

There’s no use arguing with the man, so you leave the kitchen in a huff. If you knew this was going to happen, you would’ve hit him with more than just a crab leg. 

The morning ends with you feeling like you’ve had a ton of bricks thrown at you but it’s over. And finally, after all being put through the wringer, you were ready to do what you came here to do. 

Snowboarding. 

You’re suited up in borrowed confidence and waterproof gear that makes you look like a marshmallow, but… snowboarding is absolutely not as easy as it looks.

You knew you’d be falling most of the day, but this was hell. You're not quite sure if you've ever fallen this much in your entire life. Golden Ridge offers free lessons, which you took in stride during your first few weeks here. 

All that progress has been thrown out the window.

You hit the snow again with a muffled oof, but tell yourself it’s character development. Surely you’ll be better off in the end. 

When you flop onto the ground for what must be the millionth time, face down in the snow and mortified, you hear the soft crunch of boots behind you, and a familiar voice, just as annoying as ever.

“You alright down there? Thought I saw my favourite employee face-plant.”

“I’m off the clock,” you grumble into the snow. “Leave me alone.”

You turn your head and see him looking down at you with a smirk. His face looks like that so often that it is truly a wonder it hasn’t gotten stuck like that. 

“Ah. Free to call me a dick without repercussions, I see.”

“I’ll call you a dick regardless of the repercussions.”

He laughs outright, crouching beside you, and offers a hand. As soon as you see it, you know you're not taking it. You'd never give him the satisfaction, in fact, you might just stay on the ground until the sun sets. That's how much you're willing to dig your heels in about this.

“Need help?”

“Nope.”

“Really?”

“Yup. The day I accept help from the likes of you is the day a snake can tap dance.”

You try to stand, and immediately fall over again. Maybe you should just stay down here, melt into nonexistence.

“Looks like Bambi needs some help.”

Your head snaps up. 

What did he just—?

“Call me that again, and you’ll need help. From an ambulance.”

“Is that a threat? You’ve been getting awfully comfortable insulting me.”

You unclip your board and stand to full height. “You have made it perfectly clear that you’re intent on being an asshole to me, so what’s the use? This is our dynamic now.”

“If that's how it's going to be. Fine.”

***

A series of failed attempts has you feeling like you've been tossed down a flight of stairs. But progress is being made, little by little. In the past twenty minutes, you've only fallen three times. A vast improvement in your eyes. 

Though as you take in a deep breath of the cool air with a sense of accomplishment, you see him approaching.

How dare he look all cool on his snowboard?

He finishes up his run with a flawless landing, a spray of snow at you just to be a dick.

As soon as it happens, you march up to him before you can talk yourself out of it.

“Trying to impress me?” you snap, interrupting his laughing with his friends. “Or piss me off?”

He takes off his goggles, snow-damp curls falling into his eyes, and you have to resist the urge to stare.

Guys like him can't be cute and talented. Pick one.

“Oh, please, as if I need to try.”

“Right, right. You're Luke Castellan, snowboarder extraordinaire.”

“You're saying it as if it's not true. How many gold medals do you have again?” he teases, grinning like he knows exactly how annoying he is.

“So you can do spinny things on a board, who cares?” you shrug, unimpressed.

“Spinny things?”

“You know what I mean. Flips and shit.”

“Flips and shit. Well put.”

Titling up your chin at him, in what can only be described as an act of hubris, you say, “I could do what you do.”

“Is that right?” He chuckles, indulging you. He finds it makes this more fun when he does.

“I’ll go on that big slope over there. No problem,” you comment flippantly, standing a little taller than usual. 

“You wouldn't.”

“Try me.”

***

A few minutes later, you’re on the ski lift, absolutely bricking it.

The seat jerks beneath you as it carries you higher, the mountain opening up below in an endless spread of white and pine. Cold wind cuts across your face, and Luke is entirely too relaxed beside you, like he can feel the anxiety coming off of you in waves. 

He stretches his arm along the back of the lift seat behind you, close enough to feel without technically touching.

“You shouldn’t be on this hill, you know?” he says casually.

He glances down at the slope below, then back at you, quite literally shaking in your boots. “This run’s a little advanced for… whatever it is you’ve been doing down there.”

“Whatever it is I’ve been doing?”

“Oh, you want me to say it? You’ve been falling over…a lot. Listen, you can take the lift back down—”

“No, no. I got this,” you say quickly, waving him off the second the lift slows. “Snowboarding isn’t as hard as it seems. I won’t die or anything.”

Famous last words.

The ski lift jerks to a stop, and you waddle off the chair, shuffle toward the top of the run and feel your stomach immediately drop. 

The slope stretches below you in a terrifying sheet of white, far steeper than it had looked from the bottom.

This is going to lead to your untimely doom. You can see your gravestone now. 

“Died trying to prove a point.”

“This was a mistake,” you mutter to yourself. 

Were you really going to end up killing yourself over him?

You crouch down, reaching for your binding to unclip your front foot—

And then a gust of wind whips across the ridge, and your body follows it. 

You go shooting down the mountain, panic taking over as your life flashes before your eyes. You scream out the first thing that comes to mind. 

“Luke!”

He moves fast like a shadow over water.

One second, you’re careening downhill, the next his arms are wrapped around you, turning his body so he takes the impact, shielding you from the ground as you hit the snow hard.

“Fuck!” you groan, breath knocked clean out of you.

You blink repeatedly to make sure you haven't died.

You roll over and see Luke underneath you. Eyebrows scrunched up as he adjusts himself on the ground, his hands still firmly around you. The brown flecks in his eyes catch the light as he looks at you. 

Were they always that brown?

“Are you going to lie on me all day?” he asks, breathless.

You smack his chest, though you doubt he feels it through the padding of his jacket. “Shut up.”

“What did I do? You’re the one using me as your futon,” he chuckles.

He shifts, sitting up slowly, and winces, just a little. It's small, but you catch it.

“Are you okay?” you ask, suddenly serious.

“I’m good.”

He’s lying, you can tell. Why he’d want to protect your feelings, you have no idea.

“Thank you for saving me.”

You mean it. He might be the worst, but he did swoop in to save you without hesitation.

He pokes you playfully in the side. “Stay on the bunny hill… Bambi.”

***

The next day, he hasn’t called on you. Not bothered or pestered, which is something he really is quite good at. He’d have a career in it if he weren’t already such an established snowboarder. 

It’s unnatural or unnerving might be more accurate. Like watching a horror movie and expecting a jumpscare only for it to never come. 

You cooked breakfast, and he didn't show up. His friends went out snowboarding, and he didn't join them.

So when you went back to the main resort, you were on autopilot, and Bridget noticed. 

“You still with us?”

“He’s alright… right?”

“Is that what you’ve been thinking about? And here I thought you hated him.”

“I do!” you reply in an instant. “Just because I hate the man doesn’t mean I wish him bodily harm. Or at least not too much harm. Just a simple smack on the head or occasional stubbed toe would suffice.”

“If you’re so worried, why don’t you go back and see him? I’m sure he’ll be glad to see a pretty face.”

She squeezes your cheek, like a grandma would, with a cheeky little smile.

“You think I’m pretty?”

“Just go!”

***

The boys are still out on the slopes.

You step into the chalet, shrugging off your jacket  and gloves, the sudden quiet almost jarring. 

You’re so used to the noise by now. Raucous laughter echoing through the halls, music coming from someone’s speaker, Chris inevitably sprawled in front of the TV with a controller in hand while Luke yells at him for losing.

But now?

Nothing.

Just the faint crackle of the main fireplace and the creak of settling wood.

You round the corner toward the kitchen, and there he is.

The pain in your ass that’s been evading you all day and yet somehow still occupying far too much of your brain.

Luke.

He’s standing at the kitchen counter, shirtless, head tipped back as he gulps water straight from the bottle. One swallow after another, throat bobbing, a stray drop escaping and sliding down the length of his neck.

You’re this close to passing out. 

Noticing your awkward presence, lurking at the edge of the kitchen, he turns toward you, and you brace yourself for whatever horrific injury has been keeping him cooped up in the chalet.

Then you blink.

“A pinky cast?”

That is… not what you were expecting.

At all.

In fact, it kind of pisses you off.

You’ve been worrying up and down about him all day, wondering if he broke a wrist, twisted his ankle or cracked a rib, and it’s only his fucking pinky?

Luke glances at the tiny cast like he forgot it existed. “And a dislocated shoulder,” he adds, rolling the other one experimentally. “But that’ll set back in a few hours.”

“A pinky and a shoulder?”

“Mm.”

“That’s what’s been keeping you inside?”

He lowers the water bottle slowly, already catching your tone. “You sound disappointed.”

Disappointed? That’s not the half of it. 

“I was worried sick about you! I thought that you got injured and then you wouldn't be able to compete anymore, and I would've ruined your whole career—’

“Worried sick?” he interrupts, ”Strong words for someone who hates me.”

“I still hate you, in fact, I might hate you even more because of that stupid pinky cast!”

You cross the room, then smack his arm, and he winces. A pang of worry shoots through you as you pause in legitimate concern. 

Which shoulder did he dislocate again?

Before you can descend into a flurry of apologies, he snaps out of his faux hurt with a cheeky grin. He had you. “Aww, you care so much about me—”

“Fuck you, I'm leaving.”

You storm out of the room and out of the chalet entirely, and he follows after you, keeping up with you with long strides.

He stops at the front door, opening it wider, calling out as he watches your pissed-off form retreat into the snow.

“Wait up, you don't wanna sign the cast?”

And you answer with a middle finger.

Customer service at its finest.

The rest of Luke’s afternoon is spent out on the slopes with his friends, screwing around despite the doctor saying to lay off.

But his mind keeps drifting.

Back to you.

If he was being honest, ever since the breakup, he’s been… off. Less focused. More restless. Like he’s constantly trying to outrun something sitting just behind his ribs.

And then you showed up.

Annoying, sharp and immune to his usual charm.

Weird.

“She’s weird,” he says, shaking snow out of his hair as they unclip their boards near the lift.

“The chalet girl? Weird how?” Chris asks.

Luke shrugs, “Just… weird.”

Which is unhelpful, and he knows it.

Weird how you don’t fawn over him. Weird how you argue back. Weird how you look at him like you’re trying to figure him out instead of impressing him.

Weird how he notices when you’re not around.

Chris smirks at him and his far-off expression. It can only mean one thing. “You like her.”

Luke scoffs immediately at the thought. Him like you? Perhaps he liked to bother you, but that was the extent of it. “We’ve known her for what? A few weeks?”

“Yeah,” Chris says. “And you’ve talked about her at least twelve times today.”

“That’s not—That’s not true,” Luke sputters out with a frown, knowing damn well he’s brought up how stupid you looked, face-planting all over the mountain. 

In the background, Connor snorts, “It’s absolutely true.”

Luke flips him off, but there’s no heat behind it.

Chris grins wider, “You should invite her to the party tonight.”

Luke hesitates, biting his lip as he looks down at his hands. Which, frankly, answers the question for everyone.

“Holy shit, you’re nervous,” Travis chimes.

“I’m not nervous.”

“You’re thinking,” Chris corrects. “Which is worse.”

Luke exhales through his nose, gaze drifting down the mountain toward the chalet.

Toward you.

“…She’ll probably say no,” he mutters.

***

You're lying down on your bed, feeling stupid that you cared so much. They went out for dinner that night, so you were free! No cooking, no dishes and no verbal sparring with Luke. 

You feel the life seep back into your body as you slip into your bed, in the cosiest pyjamas you packed. 

This was the dream.

Now you're perfectly content and ready to drift off with a stomach full of snacks and a cheesy romcom playing in the background. 

The only thing you’re missing is a bottle of wine.

Peace can only last so long, though. With a buzz, your hand stills on your laptop’s trackpad. You fumble for your phone, hidden beneath your pillows.

The notification ruins your mood in an instant. It was the Devil's spawn himself with a one-word text.

Luke: “Bambi.” 7:45 PM

You type out a response, careful not to get so mad that you put a hole through the screen. 

“I’m not working right now, so leave me alone.” 7:45 PM

You pat yourself on the back for your response. Short, sweet (well, sweeter than what you were thinking), and calm.

Luke: “I'm having a party tonight. You should stop by.” 7:46 PM

“I already have plans.” 7:46 PM

You wait for a response, nervously glancing between your laptop and your phone. It's not a lie. You do have plans. They just feature you, popcorn and all the romcom goodness you can possibly muster.

Luke: “What plans?” 7:48 PM

“I’m going out tonight.” 7:48 PM

Perhaps that would get him off your back. You sit up straighter, the situation already getting you a little on edge. He doesn't text back for a while, and what was supposed to be a relaxing night is ruined. The whole time, you watch your phone as you wait, the scroll you were about to do through movie after movie is put on hold for now.

Did he believe your story? Or was he trying to come up with a way to convince you to ditch your “plans”? Or the better question: since when do you care what he thinks?

Luke: Your roommate begs to differ. 7:52 PM

Your phone drops from your hands into your lap.

Betrayal of the highest order.

You spring up out of bed and storm over to Bridget’s room, murder on your mind. Or at the very least a stern talking to.

The door flies open, and you're met with Bridget's nervous smile.

“What the fuck?”

She fumbles over her words for a moment before coming out with, “I’m sorry, he's very convincing.”

“What exactly did you tell him?”

“That you were home, watching a movie in your Hello Kitty pyjamas.”

You pick up one of her pillows and smack her with it before she can dive for cover.

“Seriously? And why did you tell him about my pyjamas? That's so unnecessary!”

“I'm sorry. I got nervous. I mean, he is Luke Castellan.”

She shuffles to the edge of her bed and stands up, making her way over to you. However, she does maintain a safe distance, like you're a wild animal capable of striking at any moment. 

“But I only told him what you were really up to because he invited you to a party and you said no. Are you insane?”

“Bridget, I'm not going.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No. I'm. Not.”

“Why not?”

You throw your hands up as if it should be obvious. “I get enough of Luke all day, every day. I deserve to be left alone for one night. Actually, why don't you go in my place?”

“I would but…”

She twiddles her fingers coyly.

“But?”

“Ski-lift guy is coming over.”

Shaking your head, you let out a sigh. Of course, she'd do this to you. Still maintaining a safe distance, she goes through her closet and pulls out something.

Before you can question her, she hands it to you with a smile, screaming, forgive me.

“You can borrow this tonight.”

“I said, I'm not—”

“You'd look good on it. And maybe you can let loose, go pursue that ski romance.”

“I'm not going. End of story.”

***

Long story short, you end up at the party. Bridget's tactics included crying, begging, and even a little blackmail.

So, unless you wanted a picture of you in your Hello Kitty PJs sent straight to Luke, you had to go to this stupid ass party, in his stupid ass chalet, in these stupid ass clothes Bridget lent you. 

Though you did have to admit, you were kind of a vision in blue.

Even before you walk up, you can hear the party from a mile away. And the second you see the chalet, it’s livelier than you’ve ever seen it. The party spilt out of the house with a few stragglers chatting by the door, which is brave in these temperatures. People out here are built different, you suppose.

You wade through the crowd and make it inside, looking around for your tormentor, thinking maybe if you showed your face, he’d let you disappear. 

“You made it.”

Your head swivels around, and Luke’s there. Unfortunately, he found you before you could find him and somehow, over the blaring music and the millions of conversations happening all around you, you heard his voice loud and clear. 

Or rather, you felt it. The warm tone of his voice is like fingers running up and down your spine before settling in the small of your back. 

You hate how your body would react to him. Whether it was a touch or his voice, it threw you out of sorts. 

“Hello,” you say simply, taking in the surroundings, like a lost bird. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re a little more dressed up than you usually are or the fact that it’s so damn loud i here, but you can’t seem to focus on anything. 

“No Hello Kitty PJs? Such a shame, I was looking forward to seeing them,” he teases.

You shove him lightly and grumble at him, the nervousness seeming to fade in an instant. “I’d sooner kill you than be in my pyjamas in front of you, freak.”

“There’s the little smartass I’ve been missing. Come on, let’s get some drinks.”

***

“You’re such a frat-boy,” you comment as you watch him play beer pong. You’ve been standing here for a good four minutes, watching him chop it up with his boys as he plays, chirping them when they miss, the little (slutty) gold chain around his neck glinting under the lights. 

Total frat boy behaviour. 

“Gamma Phi Theta, treasurer,” he smirks, confirming your suspicions before taking another swig from his water bottle.

“Treasurer?” you question. “I would’ve thought you’d want to be running the show.”

“Busy winning championships to be doing all that. Plus, the treasurer controls the money.”

He glances at you sideways, “And therefore has all the power.”

He throws another ball, sinking it into his opponent’s cup with ease.

“But I thought the president gets all the girls.”

He looks over at you for a split second, just out of the corner of his eye, then cracks a small smile. “Already had one at the time.”

One of Luke’s cups gets sunk. He picks it up and drinks, never breaking eye contact with you.

And all you can think is, “What the fuck is his problem?”

“Come here,” he says quietly. “I wanna show you something.”

He slips past his friend’s shoulder on the way out, tossing over his shoulder, “Sub in for me, yeah?”

He leads you out to the balcony, and the door closes behind you both. Suddenly, it’s just the two of you. No crowd or noise to distract from all this tension. 

A few quiet moments pass, and you’re buzzing in anticipation. Wondering if he'll make the first move or you.

“I know all the constellations,” Luke says, looking thoughtfully up at the stars. 

If you hadn't met him before tonight, this would've worked on you. 

But he wrote on your forehead, and the North never forgets.

“Is this what you do?” you scoff. “Chat a girl up, then take her out to see the stars? Name all the constellations, maybe even make one up to name after her?”

“Is that what you fantasise about?” he asks, turning his head toward you.

“Shut up.”

“No, no. I’m happy to indulge your fantasies. Do you want me to start naming them?”

He was having entirely too much fun delighting in your embarrassment.

“Shut up!”

You huff, turning away, looking out over the balcony at the rear of the chalet, the music from the party behind you muffled by the cold night air.

You shiver a little, and before you can comment on how cold it is out here, he’s already moving. Wordlessly, he slips off his jumper and pulls it over your head.

“I didn’t need it,” you huff out, even though you definitely did. You were about to turn into an icicle without it.

He gives you a knowing smile, crossing his now bare arms. And although you’d never admit it, your eyes linger on his arms a second longer than necessary.

Can’t blame a girl for appreciating nice biceps.

“Sure, you didn’t,” he replies in a way that makes you nibble at your bottom lip.

The two of you stand there for a moment, quiet and too close for your mind to shut up about it.

He was public enemy number one! Why didn't your heart seem to know that?

“So…” you say, voice softer now, eyes flicking from him to the sky above. Just because you made fun of his little routine doesn’t mean you wouldn’t let him do it.

It’s purely for entertainment purposes. Obviously.

“So?”

“Point out the constellations to me.”

He doesn't hesitate.

“You see the North Star?”

Your eyes scan the sky, and it all looks the same to you. Not that you can focus anyway. 

“No.”

You feel his hands hovering over your shoulders before he asks, and you know you’re going to say yes. 

“May I?”

You nod, and he steps in behind you, gently guiding you into position. You feel the heat of his chest at your back, the light brush of his chin near your temple.

Carefully, his fingers travel up your arm to point at the star; the movement sends a quiet shiver through you.

“—and if you connect it to that star, you’ll see Orion,” he says, voice full of wonder, guiding your arm to connect the dots with him. “Next to that is Taurus, here, I’ll show you.”

He keeps talking, explaining paths and patterns. You can’t see his face, but you can feel him, every breath, every little shift of his body.

It’s infuriating.

It’s…

“Beautiful,” you whisper, genuinely in awe.

“One of the few things that we get to sleep under every night but somehow still manage to miss.”

“Why do you know so much about this stuff?” you ask quietly.

“My mom…” he starts, then falters. “She used to bring me out to my treehouse and show me all the constellations. Told me all the stories behind them.” 

He pauses, a deep breath leaving his lungs. “It’s… hard to forget things like that.”

You hadn’t heard him talk like that ever.

In your little Luke Castellan deep dive, you noticed it before, how he never really talked about his family in interviews. 

Deflecting anything and everything related to his parents like a media-trained dog.

But this is real. Might be one of the first real things you've learnt about him.

You glance back at him thoughtfully as if parsing through the responses in your brain. “She sounds like she’s pretty special.”

“Yeah. She was.”

The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s something you can’t fully explain at the moment, probably due to the soft, tingly buzz of alcohol that was starting to take hold.

You wrap your arms around yourself, the soft chill of the air still penetrating your shirt. You glance at him, just standing there in his tank top, all broad shoulders and muscle, looking unfairly like a Greek god, but you digress.

“Aren’t you cold?” you ask.

“Occupational hazard.”

You scoff at his nonchalance. “That’s not an answer.”

He smiles, small and genuine this time. “I’m used to it.”

Something about the way he says it makes your chest ache just a little. You step closer without thinking, tugging the jumper tighter around yourself.

“Well,” you mutter, “I don’t have your superhuman tolerance.”

“Good thing I do. Otherwise, you, Bambi, would be an icicle.”

“Oh, please, it's not that cold.”

“So, do you want me to take my jumper back—?” He reaches towards you, and you turn away from his hands, snuggling into the fabric more. 

“No, no, I didn't say that. Just…”

You turn back around slowly, his hands now safely far away from the only thing keeping you cosy. 

“Shut up,” you finish, not quite having had enough time to think of a clever response. 

Instead, you set your eyes back up at the night sky; maybe they could help you out a bit. 

“So did it work?” he asks, interrupting your conversation with the moon.  You pretend to yourself for a moment, theatrically stroking your chin, which did get a small chuckle out of him. 

“Not quite. You forgot to name a constellation after me,” you tease.

“That would be if I were trying to hook up with you.”

“So you’re not trying to hook up with me?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Then what are you doing?”

The space between you is palpable. It’s freezing outside, but your body feels hot, like you’ve been standing too close to a furnace. He’s too close again, crowding you without touching. You find yourself thinking only of him, of what’s going on behind those pretty brown eyes.

He looks away for half a second, like he’s reconsidering, then his gaze snaps back to yours.

“I’m trying to do to you what you’ve been doing to me.”

“And what have I been doing to you?”

He leans in, just close enough for your lips to start to tingle. 

“Driving me crazy.”

“I, uh…”

He’s done it. After all this time of putting you through the wringer, he’s finally rendered you speechless. You’re standing outside, but somehow it doesn’t feel like there’s enough air. 

“I need to…” You gesture vaguely behind you, and he doesn’t stop you, instead giving you a smile that says, “Be my guest”.

“I’ll see you around, Bambi.”

You don’t trust yourself to respond right away. At this point, there’s no telling what you’d do. 

Instead, you turn to walk back inside, still wearing his jumper, pulse racing. But just before you cross the threshold from your private world on the balcony back to the party, under your breath, you mutter, “I told you not to call me that.”

As soon as you re-enter the chalet, it feels like you’ve just come back from an out-of-body experience, but also like you left something important out on that balcony under the stars.

You couldn't think anymore. 

You didn’t want to. 

So what else should you do but drink?

***

Okay, maybe you shouldn’t drink.

You’re a lightweight. This has been well documented. The staff party from when you first arrived had you crying under a table, holding a bottle of tequila to your chest like it’s the One Ring.

And yet, here you are.

Singing on a coffee table, one foot dangerously close to a spilt drink, job be damned.

“And another thing,” you slur, pointing dramatically across the room, “Luke Castellan is—”

“Oh no,” he mutters from below, already rubbing his face.

“—such a dick,” you finish triumphantly. “So fucking smug, you wouldn't believe. He made me trek all the way to fucking—I don’t even know where for face cream! Total ass— hic asshole, I’ll tell you that for free.”

There’s laughter around you as you start to recount other Luke incidents.  “Get me more protein bars should be the name of his memoir, the little rat—”

Luke sighs, then steps forward because as much as he enjoys your little comedy routine, he knows he needs to get you home.

“You’ve had enough. I think it’s time we get you to bed.”

“How. Rude. I was telling a story.”

“I mean it.”

“Fine then… catch me!”

Before he can stop you, you leap off the table straight into his arms. He barely stumbles as his arms lock around you. Drunk you likes that very much. 

“I’m lucky you’re so strong,” you mumble, far too close to his neck.

“You’re impossible.”

You tug at the new jumper he’d just put on, frowning dramatically. “No!”

“What's wrong?” he asks at the whine you just let out. You sounded like you just lost your dog.

“It’s a shame you put this on. I miss your biceps.”

“You’re drunk.”

“No way! I didn't notice, Sherlock,” you snip back. With a solemn groan, you lean against him like he's the only thing keeping you together, which he probably is. You're about as stable as a house of cards right now. “Mr Deductive Reasoning thinks I'm drunk. Smartest guy in the world.”

You were giving him emotional whiplash. Complimenting his biceps one second, insulting him the next.

He carefully adjusts his grip as he carries you away. “Tell me all about it tomorrow.”

The two of you make the long and harrowing journey back to staff housing, harrowing only because you are involved.

After insisting, very loudly, that you can walk on your own, you wiggle out of Luke’s arms and immediately start stumbling around.

Not the best idea your drunken brain could’ve come up with. You’re officially a liability.

You’ve fallen over at least fifty times tonight, and you’ve been getting distracted every five seconds, attempting cartwheels, and now actively trying to climb a tree.

“Aha! Nature's ladder,” you announce, before running and attaching yourself to the bark like a spider.

“You can’t climb a tree like this,” Luke admonishes, hands on his hips like a disappointed dad.

“I can do anything!” you proclaim as you almost immediately lose your footing. Luke jolts forward and catches you by the waist without even thinking.

You blink up at him, eyes wide, lips parted, before a mischievous little grin finds its way onto your face. 

Luke was not as amused.

“Aww,” you grin up at him. “Lukey cares about little ol’ me.”

He crouches down and says, very impatiently, “Get on my back, hurry up.”

“Nuh-uh. Today’s my day off, buddy,” you shoot back, though you don’t move.“You don't get to order me around.”

“Either you get on my back, or I drag you behind me.”

In even your drunken state, you know you should take his threats seriously.

Even in this state, you didn’t particularly want to test him too much, so you flop onto his back, while still giving him the appropriate level of sass. As he stands to full height, you slap his shoulder lightly.

“Onward, steed!” you yell.

“I’m not your horse,” he protests, though already moving forward.

“Don't drop me, you dick!” you yell as you jostle a little on his back.

“You call me a dick more than my actual name.”

“Both 4-letter words.”

***

Bridget's up late, humming as she retrieves the cookie dough she made from the fridge. The ski-lift guy has left her in good spirits, that's for sure. What’ll one scoop hurt? Or maybe two? Or three? Or—?

She’s interrupted by the sound of the door opening, followed by you complaining about something. Or at least she assumes you’re complaining, but it’s all a drunken, garbled mess by the time it comes out of your mouth. 

And who is carrying you but—

“Luke Castellan,” Bridget gasps, dropping her phone. “You’re Luke Castellan and… you’re carrying my roommate home? What happened to her?”

“She got carried away taking shots. She's completely drunk off her ass.”

“Shut up, I'm so not drunk. I’m like…tipsy or…”

Hiccup.

“Can you get me some water?” Luke says, ignoring you and your inability to finish a sentence.

“Yeah, of course!”

Bridget throws open the fridge, bypassing the cookie dough and handing him a water bottle.

“Where’s her room?”

“First door on the right.”

He walks there and dumps her on the bed. Not the softest landing at all, but he makes up for it by being so gentle in taking off her shoes.

“Look at you being all sweet. I didn't know you could do that.”

Though you had to admit, it suited him.

“I just don’t want you to get your wet shoes on your bed.”

He’s careful in the way he touches you, even brushing little bits of debris from your tree-climbing attempts out of your hair.

Then afterwards, you dare to lie in bed, all tucked in and satisfied like the cat that got the cream, not thinking about the hangover that's going to kick your ass tomorrow. 

“Y’know, I thought you were a dick when we first met.”

“And now?”

“You’re still a dick. But now I know you know about the stars and shit.” You gesture vaguely upward, nearly smacking yourself in the face. “Pretty cool stuff, Lukey.”

“You better not start calling me that.”

“Revenge is sweet.”

Your eyes slip shut. You've gotten to the phase where you're too drunk to keep your eyes open.

“Enjoy your revenge,” Luke muses, patting your head. He thought you almost looked cute like this, so soft and—

Hell no. Now he knows he has to go. 

As he stands up, you reach out, sitting up a little too fast for how drunk you are, and grab his jumper. 

“Almost…”

Hiccup.

“Don't want you to leave.”

There’s no way you’ll let him leave alive, if the death grip you had on his jumper was any indication. 

 “How about this? I'll stay until you fall asleep.”

You give him a bright smile, settling back into your covers. You relinquished your hold on his jumper when he sat down next to you, but only because you were trying to get the real prize…his hand.

Your hand slips into his, tracing along each ridge and curve as you start to let your body relax.

“Good,” you mumble, having no idea what you’ve just done to him. 

***

You have been forsaken.

This is a hangover from hell. 

Your head is ringing so bad, it’s like you can hear your thoughts from another life.

The door swings open to reveal Bridget ready to take care of your hangover.

You mumble something vaguely human, a soft thank you, before pressing your face deeper into the pillow.

“Yeah, that’s about what you sounded like last night too,” Bridget sighs.

You crack one eye open just enough to glare at her. “Water,” you croak, reaching blindly. She places the bottle into your hand like she’s done this a hundred times before. “What happened to me?”

“Well, all I know is that Luke Castellan brought you home last night. Quite literally carrying you.”

“Ugh,” you groan, dragging a hand over your face. “Please stop saying his full name. We don’t know any other Lukes.”

“But he’s Luke—”

“I know!”

The memory hits in fragments. Standing on tables, trying to climb trees, your head resting on his shoulder as you nuzzle into his cologne.

He'll never let you live this down.

Begrudgingly, the hangover finally starting to subside, you make your way over to his chalet.

It’s around two in the afternoon when you reach his door and knock.

Nothing.

You hesitate, then try the handle. It opens easily.

“Luke?”

As you step inside, you're pleasantly surprised. It looks like there was never a party last night. Everything’s spotless, and you’re just thankful you weren’t on cleanup duty. 

You wander through the chalet, curiosity getting the better of you as you slide open the back doors, and immediately lose your mind. 

Luke is sitting in the hot tub, head tilted back, eyes closed. Water runs lazily down his neck, catching on his collarbone, his arms resting along the edge, muscles relaxed and infuriatingly perfect.

Steam curls into the cold air off his body like the world is telling you how hot he is. 

If you had pearls, you’d be clutching them.

You clear your throat far too loudly.

He startles slightly, then opens his eyes, and a slow grin spreads across his face. It makes you feel uncharacteristically nervous to have him looking at you like this. Maybe the constellation talk did do a number on you…or maybe it’s body. But it’s definitely one of the two. 

“Enjoying the view?” he asks casually.

You snap your gaze upward like you’ve been burned. “I—absolutely not.”

“Mmm,” he hums. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You plant your hands on your hips, trying very hard not to notice the way water drips down his arms. “You left your door open.”

“And yet,” he says, settling back again, “you stayed.”

“It's my job.”

He notices the less-than-perky look on your face. “So is little Bambi over her hangover?”

“Don't patronise me.”

Ah, there was the Luke you loved to hate. 

“Jump in. Take a load off.”

“...you're kidding.”

“Is it illegal to spend some time with me in a hot tub?” he asks sweetly. You're surprised he isn't fluttering his eyelashes at you.

You did have to admit, it looks inviting. He’s sitting there, hair curly and slightly damp. There's even a fire in his eyes as he looks you up and down. 

“Not illegal, but I'm not supposed to “fraternise with the guests” like this. I could lose my job, Castellan.”

“Willing to risk it?”

“Even if I were, I don't have a swimsuit. And before you suggest it, I would never get undressed in front of you.”

“I wasn't going to ask you to do that. I'm a gentleman.”

You roll your eyes hard. “A gentleman. Sure.”

“Just climb in with your clothes on.”

You look between him and the water. 

“You're kidding.”

Maybe it's the hangover that’s making you feel weak.

Damn him. Damn the cold. Damn, the way your muscles creak with every second you hesitate.

You kick off your boots and lower yourself in, biting back a sound as the heat sinks into you, loosening everything all at once. The relief is immediate, traitorous. Though you could do without the sensory nightmare that is your shirt clinging to your skin. 

Grin and bear it.

Luke watches you with open amusement. “See? Doctor Castellan prescribes hydrotherapy.”

“Don’t get smug,” you mutter, sinking back until the water laps at your shoulders. “I’m still on duty.”

You sit still, stewing in embarrassment.

“This is ridiculous.”

“It is, I didn't think you'd actually do it.”

The annoyance reaches its height when he tells you that.

“Then why did you tell me to?” you frown, your head snapping towards him.

“To see how good you are at following orders and you passed with flying colours,” he remarks, as he threads his fingers through the water. 

He deserves to drown for that.

“You’re such an asshole!”

You keep trying to get water in his eyes with a burning passion.

“Hey—hey!” Luke splutters, laughter breaking through his protests as he shields his face. “That’s assault. On a national treasure, mind you.”

“National treasure, my ass,” you scoff. That kind of self-absorption deserves to be punished. You splash him again, not giving up until he relents. 

He yelps, then retaliates, water sloshing over the edge as the hot tub becomes a battlefield. “Okay—okay, truce!” he laughs. “Damn, you’re vicious.”

You settle down and cross your arms, “You started it.”

“Fair,” he concedes, holding up his hands in surrender, still smiling like he’s won something anyway.

He runs his hands through his hair, and you almost lose it. 

You close your eyes, taking deep, clarifying breaths. You know you hate him. It’s a fact, but seeing him like that, running his fingers through his hair like a fucking model, almost makes you want to reconsider. 

“I’m going to kill you,” you mutter under your breath.

“What did I do now?”

“You exist. That's enough to piss me off.”

He's attractive, but that's it.

You just needed to remind yourself of that.

The sound of the hot tub bubbling takes over, and a truce is formed. Though you can see him dying to ask you something.

“What is it?”

“What brought you to Golden Ridge?”

“It's been how many weeks, and now you're deciding to ask?”

“Indulge me.”

You let out a sigh, leaning your head back against the edge of the tub.

“Thought it would be fun. I'd get to live somewhere new and earn money. The cooking side of things seemed cool, and I don't know…”

There's something more, but you trail off.

“What else?” He asks, shifting closer to you.

“I don’t want to give you more ammo.”

“I won’t make fun of you over whatever it is you say next,” he says, immediately poking you in the side. “I have plenty of other things to make fun of you for.”

You elbow him away and take a deep, clarifying breath, bracing yourself. “I’m here partially to meet someone,” you wince, already regretting this, “a ski romance sounded… fun.”

“More like unrealistic.”

He dismisses it instantly, no laughter, but somehow that almost stings more.

“Fuck off and let me dream.”

“I’m having trouble connecting the dots.” Then, he adds, curious despite himself, “Why here exactly?”

You gesture vaguely at the mountains, the snow-lit resting. “It’s romantic! The cold, the chalets, the whole thing. They’ll whisk me away and stuff.”

“Oh, really? And have you managed to find this mystery person to whisk you away?”

“Don’t piss me off.”

Luke tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he didn’t expect to enjoy. “What book did you read that in?”

You scowl at him, not appreciating his tone. You wouldn't expect the likes of him to understand anyway. “Several books… and movies, but honestly, it's none of your business.”

He leans back, arms stretched along the rim of the tub, eyes flicking up to the sky.

“You know, romance is usually better when you’re not trying to force it,” he says casually, like he's spouting out wisdom.

“And how would you know?”

There it was again. You were practically tapping dancing on a frozen lake at this point. From your interactions with Luke, you had learned that family and his ex were particular soft spots, but that mouth of yours always found a way to get yourself into trouble. 

“You’re kinda 0 for 1 on relationships,” you add, doubling down like a fool, as if he doesn’t have the power to make your life a living hell if he wanted to.

For a split second, you brace yourself, ready for the onslaught of insults he was going to unleash upon you. But it never comes; instead… he laughs. Not offended, just amused with you as he often is.

“Not quite, I had a girlfriend in 6th grade.” He tilts his head, faux-serious. “Got pretty serious.”

“0 for 2, then?”

He snorts, bumping your shoulder with his. “Shut up.”

You glance at him, surprised to find his smile softer now, eyes crinkled at the corners. It’s almost cute. Almost.

He may be handsome, but you will never forget who the enemy is. 

You step out of the hot tub dripping and regretting getting in fully dressed in the first place. That was the Luke effect in full force. He made you do things that were unbearably out of character.

“Uh, Luke?” 

“Yeah?”

“A change of clothes would be nice,” you comment as you wring out a sleeve.

“Yes, ma’am.”

***

It smells like him.

Against your better judgment, you snuggle deeper into the shirt Luke lent you.

It swallows you whole.

The sleeves extend past your fingertips, soft with wear and carrying the faint scent of detergent, cold mountain air and a hint of cinnamon, you think. 

You catch your reflection in the mirror and pause, biting your lip, deep in thought. Sweatpants cinched tight with the drawstring, oversized shirt hanging off one shoulder slightly, Gamma Phi Theta stretched across the faded fabric. You feel as ridiculous as it looks, and yet…

There’s no denying you may like the way it feels to be wearing it. You tilt your head at yourself in the mirror, a smile working its way onto your face.

But before you start twirling around, you get back the sense you were so gravely missing.

Slapping your face, you tell yourself, “Get a grip,” and hope that’s enough to do the trick. 

Shortly after leaving his bedroom, you waltz downstairs in Luke’s borrowed clothes, trying very hard to act normal about it.

From the top of the staircase, you spot the top of his head immediately. Luke’s sprawled across the couch, phone in hand, lazily scrolling while the TV plays in the background. He looks relaxed for once, hair still damp from a shower, glasses perched low on his nose.

Glasses.

Fuck.

You make a beeline for the couch, and his attention lifts to you before you reach it. So you speed up, practically throwing yourself onto the couch, lying down dramatically like a deflated balloon before he can say anything. 

“What? You’re not going to give me a preview?” he jokes, peeling his eyes away from his phone. 

“You can see me.”

You sweep one arm vaguely over yourself and hope that satisfies him.

He stands up and promptly takes both your hands in his.

“But I want to see you.”

With a yelp, you’re pulled to your feet and sent stumbling directly into him. 

His eyes travel slowly over you, up and down, taking in the oversized shirt, the sleeves hanging past your fingers, the drawstring of the sweatpants tied too tight around your waist, and it’s unbearable. Like you’re standing under a heat lamp… in the desert… surrounded by a ring of fire. That tingly feeling that happens when you’re around Luke crawls into your bones again, strange enough to make you briefly wonder if you should go to the hospital.

Luke hums thoughtfully, “Maybe I should be your stylist from now on.”

You retort, “Absolutely not.”

You would’ve shoved him, or maybe you would’ve hit him right in the chest. But somewhere in the chaos, his grip slid from your hands to your wrists, holding them loosely in front of him like you’re his teddy bear. 

“Looks better on you anyway,” he says quietly. 

You look up at him, blinking in complete disbelief. He shouldn’t be saying shit like that. And those slutty little glasses of his should not make him look cute. The thought unnerves you, your heart in your mouth and your brain in your feet. 

The two of you just stand there staring at each other like you can’t bear to look away. But for the first time, he seems just as flustered as you. The slight tension in his jaw, the way his Adam’s apple jumped in his throat when his eyes flicked down to your lips.

He clears his throat, pacing once across the room like he’s trying to physically walk off whatever just happened. He swings his arms loosely, stretches his shoulders, runs a hand through his hair in a deeply unconvincing attempt to look casual. 

It was nice being able to throw Luke off his game for once. The scoreboard was not quite even but you were catching up. 

“Do you want to go snowboarding?” he asks suddenly, glancing over his shoulder at you, hand still tangled in his hair.

The question hits you so out of nowhere your brain briefly stalls.

“Uh… when?” you ask, clearing the embarrassing amount of tension out of your throat.

“Now."

***

You look out at the endless snow in front of you and then turn your head to the psycho next to you. 

“If this is some elaborate plan to laugh at me when I fall on my ass, just know I’ll be taking you down with me.”

Luke snorts, breath fogging in the air as he adjusts his gloves. “Relax. I’m a generous teacher.”

“That’s not the word I’d use.”

He shoots you a sideways look, all lazy confidence and irritating charm. “You’re saying you don’t trust me?”

You step onto the packed snow and immediately regret every life choice that led you here. The board wobbles beneath your boots. “I trust you exactly as far as I can throw you. Which, in this weather, is not far.”

“Good. Keeps things interesting.”

The wind howls down the slope, and for a moment the world narrows to white peaks and rushing cold. Luke moves ahead of you, then glances back at your nervous and trembling form.

“Hey,” he calls. “Eyes on the board, not on me.”

“You wish.”

He laughs, and something in your chest twists in a way you don’t quite like. It's too bright, like staring into the fucking sun. The lock you had on your heart when it came to Luke was about to come undone if you weren't careful.

Still… as he reaches out a gloved hand toward you, steady and sure, you hesitate only a second before taking it.

“You can trust me. I broke my pinky for you, remember?”

“Exactly. I caused you to break your pinky! What if this is some elaborate ruse to take revenge on me? Maybe you want to break my pinky too, or—”

He cups your face, the cool material of his gloves squashing your cheeks together. You bet you look like a chipmunk.

“Calm down.”

“Fine,” you mumble against his gloves. “Now let go of my face before I lose it.”

A grin flashes across his mouth before he finally steps back, hands lifting in surrender. Over the next few runs, he coaches you through it. And he’s actually good at teaching. 

Patient in a way you didn’t expect. Guiding you through turns, showing you how to shift your weight properly, steadying you every time you wobble too hard. Every now and then his hand brushes your waist or your shoulder as he corrects your stance, and every single time your brain briefly stops functioning.

“Look where you want to go,” he calls from beside you.

“I want to go home.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Little by little, you stop falling quite so much. Your legs stop feeling like newborn deer limbs and the mountain becomes slightly less terrifying.

“This is such a rush!” you yell back to him. A fond smile spreads across Luke’s face. The way you completely lit up made it feel like the sun itself was snowboarding down the moment. 

“I’m doing it!” you yell, exhilarated as you glide down the slope. “I’m—!”

As you flop over and the wind gets knocked clean out of you. You let out a small “oof” as  snow sprays up around your face, cold and powdery, leaving you staring at the pale blue sky.

You hear the soft crunch of boots and wince as you sit up. To your surprise instead of Luke, you see a kid standing over you, helmet crooked, cheeks red from the cold. He sniffs loudly, wipes his nose on his glove, and grimaces. 

“Lady,” he says bluntly, “you kinda suck.”

Who does this little rat think he is?

“So do you, kid.”

“Whoa, whoa—be nice,” Luke cuts in, already moving between you and the child, like he knows what you’re capable of. 

“Tell that to him,” you mutter as Luke gently pulls you up and ushers you a few steps away, leaving the kid laughing behind you. After you're situated, he steps back over to the kid. You don't hear the conversation, just a few exchanged words and a loud gasp when the kid realises who he is. The interaction is about as wholesome as they come, the kid is practically hopping from one foot to the other as he asks for an autograph. Luke whips out a pen and signs the side of his helmet without hesitation, the sparkle in that boy's eyes bright enough to rival the snow around you.

A few moments later, he trudges back through the snow toward you.

“He insults me, and you give him an autograph.”

“Come on, he’s harmless,” Luke says with a laugh. “Plus, I told him to be nice to people from now on. Fifty-fifty chance he actually listens.”

You huff, but there's no real argument to be made. Besides, it doesn't exactly hurt seeing Luke be good with kids.

“Deal with that stuff often?” you ask. “Little kids running up to you screaming, ‘You’re my hero!’?”

He chuckles lightly, leaning on his board and looking out across the slope. “Sometimes. Kids are usually the brave ones. Adults tend to pretend they don't recognise me until they're standing two feet away, asking for a photo.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah. But it’s all good. It’s the curse of being a national treasure. Plus, I don’t mind. I like being someone that people can look up to. I even used to give snowboarding lessons back home.” His expression softens slightly around the edges. “Don’t have as much free time anymore, but when I do, I stop by the lodge and help out.”

“You?”

Mr Get-Me-My-Face-Wash?

“Hard to believe, I know,” he smirks. “But I’m not completely evil.”

He gestures back toward the slope, where an instructor is patiently guiding the kid into position. “Sometimes you just need a guiding hand, I like being able to do that for people. I needed that when I was a kid.” 

You follow his gaze and find yourself smiling. 

Huh, there’s the golden boy.

Luke looks back at you, catching the shift in your expression. “What?”

“Oh, uh, nothing, I was just wondering…”

You look up, trying to pluck anything to say out of the sky when it hits you. 

“Hey, do you want to go to the north trail instead? It’s more private, less crowded…” You glare back toward the child still watching you from uphill. “And I don’t want to be accosted by any more children.”

“Understandable. Lead the way.”

So the two of you head further out, the trail narrowing as you move deeper into the trees, the noise from the resort fading until it’s just the crunch of snow and the occasional gust of wind stirring the pines above you. Then, in the distance, Luke spots a cabin tucked between the trees. It’s small and rustic, so small in fact it almost blends into the snow and trees surrounding it.

“What’s that?” he asks.

“Oh, that’s one of the old staff cabins. Mostly for emergencies and bad weather now.”

Luke raises an eyebrow. “And?”

“And sometimes the staff go there to…” You hesitate.

“Hook up?” he supplies immediately.

“What? No! Get your head out of the gutter!” you sputter. “I meant, like, chill between shifts or warm up or whatever. But, it is pretty isolated.”

“Interesting. So the fact that you brought me out here has nothing to do with the cabin. ”

“You’re insufferable. I literally didn’t even point it out. You did.”

“I don’t know… I think you want to make out with me.”

“I don’t!”

"The lady doth protest too much.”

You shove him hard enough for him to topple over into the snow. The usual “serves him right” jumps out in you promptly, followed by a smidge of guilt. 

A cloud of air leaves your mouth in a sigh. “Sorry, I—”

Before you can finish your apology, his hands shoot out and grasp yours, pulling you to the ground with him.

“Asshole!” you yell at him. You’ve been in this position before. Your hands on his chest, body pressed against his, an ungodly amount of eye contact. “I hate you.”

“Aw, I hate you more.”

He then proceeds to put a snowball down the back of your jacket like an asshole.

“the shitty mattress?”

“i meant the whole chaos of cabin 11, and the way things work around here in general. if you can get used to the shitty mattress, all power to you.” 

your tone was friendly enough, playful even. you smiled at him so comfortably it made luke nauseous. 

“good to know.” he tried to smile back at you, but his heart wasn’t in it. “i’m luke, by the way.”

“yeah, i know. i’m —”

“y/n!”

you seemed entirely unfazed as the blond who called your name stormed over to you. you rolled your eyes, something only luke could notice, before turning to her.

“someone stole my candy.”

“i’m very sorry to hear that, maddy. gotta be careful around here.” your voice dripped like poisoned honey, deceptively innocent and sweet.

maddy was not having it. she huffed at you. “it was you, wasn’t it?”

“that depends. did you cheat at poker last night? again?” 

some of the chatter throughout the cabin paused, heads turning to listen in. 

“what? n-no!” 

“then you have your answer, maddy.” you exaggerated a sigh, as though you had already won the fight and were annoyed that she came back for more. “now, if you’ll excuse me, i have a new camper to show around.”

chiron had already given them a tour, but luke didn’t protest when you grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the window with you. your hand was warm in his as you dragged him along to the corner of the cabin where a poorly made ladder waited for you. 

“come on.” you started climbing, and only stopped to look down when you realized luke wasn’t following you. “best view of camp. trust me.”

a shiver passed through luke. trust didn’t come easy to him. he also didn’t particularly want to return to a stuffy cabin where all he would do was count reasons he did not want to be there.

 so, luke followed you. he sat down next to you on the roof and looked out at the sun shining on his new home, but he couldn't help but be slightly bitter. the gods had gotten all of you into this life of endless danger and battles and monsters, and this was all they had to offer in return: a summer camp. 

it just didn't seem fair. 

there was something else he noticed then. what was it that chiron had said? camp half-blood was supposed to be a safe haven for all demigods. 

“i don’t get it. there are only twelve cabins, but aren’t there, like, a million other gods?”

you straightened your posture then, and turned to luke with a newfound interest. 

“camp half-blood only has cabins representing the twelve olympians. apparently, they’re the only ones important enough to have children worth recognizing, and they can’t even do that half the time,” you explained, impertinence laced throughout your words. it seemed like something you could never quite get off your chest. 

every  demigod knew that the gods didn’t appreciate sarcasm. they  didn’t particularly like being called out on their bullshit, either.

you didn’t seem to care; you even rolled your eyes up at the sky, as if challenging zeus himself. 

“anyways, that’s why the hermes cabin is so crowded. it takes in campers who are unclaimed or whose parent doesn’t have a cabin at camp. like me.”

“so, who’s your godly parent?”

you fiddled with the leather cord on your neck. it held a few clay beads like the other campers, but there was one silver charm he noticed only you wore — scales, by the looks of it. you clutched onto it.

luke realized that, despite your own advice, maybe you resented having to get used to the way things worked around here, and having to hide your resentment. maybe that was worse than having to sleep on an uncomfortable bed for the rest of your life.

"nemesis. goddess of revenge."

"that's....hardcore."

you scoffed and moved on to twisting the silver ring on your index finger. "a lot of people take it that way, and i think it scares them a bit.”

“so that’s why you’re extra nice to new campers, huh?” 

“no, i was just in a good mood today.” you smirked.

“guess i was just lucky, then.”

luke couldn’t help but smile at your laugh — sharp, biting. you nudged your boot against his sneaker, which shifted you closer to him, shoulders practically touching. 

“what people don’t understand is that it's more about balance, you know? you do good things, and good things happen to you. at least, they should. you do bad things and….” you pulled out an outrageously big bag of candy, dropped it between you and luke, and winked at him. “you face the consequences.” 

“that makes sense.” luke leaned over to grab a handful of gummy bears. “like karma.”

“yeah. exactly.” 

you bit the head off a red bear, both of you chewing in silence before you added:

“by the way, i’m sorry about your friend.” you swallowed and caught luke’s gaze. 

chiron warned him that word would travel fast around camp about what happened to thalia, and luke had prepared himself for anything — anything but your reaction. there was no pity in your eyes; instead, there was a hint of rage, as though thalia had been your friend, too. 

“she deserved more.” 

luke’s eyes caught the glint of a knife strapped to your belt. he took another handful of the candy you stole, and he thought about the fire and fearlessness behind your words, and, despite everything, it felt right to be with you then and there. 

“yeah,” he finally whispered back. “she did.”

we all do. 

neither of you said those words, but the suggestion was there, and it felt like a promise. 

(ii. you hold on to every stupid, little detail)

“slow down, tiger.” 

your voice echoed throughout the arena, and if luke had been fighting a real opponent, it might have gotten him killed. instead, he just stopped mid-swing, sparing another straw dummy from losing its arm. 

“left hand,” you noted as you walked past him towards a bench. “you, my friend, are in need of a break.”

luke loosened the grip on his sword. the only time luke fought with his non-dominant hand was when he had overworked the other. he must have switched an hour ago, but judging by how heavy his arm felt, it could have very well been two.  

his curls were stuck to his forehead with sweat, his shirt soaked through. he could feel a dull pain behind his eyes, and luke was worried that if he stopped to catch his breath, he would pass out. or, even worse, have to face the reality of the shitty news he’d gotten early that day. 

“come sit with me,” you urged. “you’re exhausted, tiger.” 

luke bristled at your nickname for him. 

sure, luke loved that there was something only you called him, a secret kept between you in plain sight, but it was also a reminder that it was harder to hide behind the hero act when you were around.

everyone else at camp figured the nickname was a playful attempt at calling him strong and charismatic. the truth was that luke once told you that his favorite cereal as a kid was frosted flakes and that he would dream of playing sports as well as tony the tiger. for better or for worse, like most things, you wouldn’t let it go. 

case in point: if it was anybody other than you trying to get him to take a break, luke could have just brushed them off with a charming smile and continued swordfighting until his arms fell off, but in the two years since meeting you, luke had never met anyone as stubborn and convincing. like him, it seemed you were willing to fight and shed blood to get your way. luke was never really in the mood to make you bleed, even when feeling like he could burn the entire world down, so he usually gave in to your demands.  

as soon as he sat down next to you, you handed him an orange flavored energy drink — his favorite. anything other than water was hard to come by at camp without the enchanted goblets in the dining pavilion, or the right connection in the hermes cabin. he ran out of his stash the other day, but you must have noticed and gotten one of the stoll brothers to smuggle more in. 

“thanks,” luke said, ignoring the jolt of electricity that passed through him when your fingers brushed together briefly. 

 the two of you looked out at the sword arena, and all the straw dummies that luke had destroyed. you wait for him to take three big gulps of his drink before speaking again. 

“i guess chiron and your dad decided you weren’t ready for a quest.”

luke exhaled sharply. “how did you —”

“the only time you’d skip out on capture the flag is if something really shitty happened.” you looked down at luke’s clenched fists, and that seemed to be all the confirmation you needed. “you promised annabeth you'd be there, and it's not like you to let her down."

fuck. he had completely forgotten that tonight was annabeth's first time as team captain. this entire week, she had been prepping a winning strategy. it wasn’t like annabeth needed him to win, but luke was her big brother, and he should have been there. you were right — he had let her down. 

the realization made luke’s day go from bad to worse. 

"i told her you were helping a new camper with an emergency. she didn't believe it, but she adjusted her strategy and we still won.”

“well, thank the gods everything worked in the end,” luke grumbled. 

“don’t thank the gods,” you quipped. “thank annabeth chase for her brilliant mind, and me for covering for your sorry ass.”

when luke didn’t indulge in your usual playful banter, you moved closer to him and brushed some curls away from his eyes. your skin warmed his forehead, and the small gesture made him feel better than he had all day.

“look, i’m not going to give you some bullshit inspirational speech about how the gods don’t get to define what a hero is, or how you don’t need a quest to prove that you’re worthy of being one. we’ve each been through that before, and i have a feeling this won’t be our last time, either.”

“then why are you here?” the question came out harsher than luke had intended it to.

“because she’s trying her best to hide it, but annabeth is really hurt that you didn’t show up for the game. i figured the least you could do is suck it up, come to the campfire, and make her those signature luke castellan s’mores. you could probably use one, too, since you haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.” 

you were right, again. luke was exhausted, he was furious, but most of all, he was starving.  

later that night, luke sat next to annabeth and vowed to make her as many s’mores as she wanted. you’d gone to sit with the hephaestus kids, trying to convince beckendorf and nyssa to join your cabin’s post-campfire party at the beach, even though they had to work in the forges early the next morning. 

when chiron made his weekly speech, congratulating the winners of capture the flag and thanking the gods for keeping everyone safe, you and luke caught each other’s gaze from across the fire. you rolled your eyes and luke bit back a smile as you turned back to beckendorf. he noticed your knees were practically touching. did you sit that close to everyone? 

luke was looking at you for so long that the marshmallow he was roasting fell into the fire, despite annabeth’s warnings. she handed him another one. 

"you should tell her how you feel," annabeth said. "stop being a coward." 

whether it was the smell of burnt sugar, the heat of the fire, or annabeth’s comment, luke started to feel dizzy. he did his best to shake it off, asking annabeth for a play-by-play of her strategy earlier that night, but he couldn’t quite get rid of the thought of you. 

(iii. you don't care if your clothes are stained with blood)

“i just….i can’t fucking believe you, luke.”

“i don’t get why you’re so upset — you’ve never cared about quests before.”

luke was hoping to break the news to you after capture the flag. unfortunately for him, word travels fast around camp. 

annabeth had the two of you scouting the east side for the flag, while she and some other athena kids took the west. you hadn’t found anything so far, which meant that you’d spent the better part of an hour bickering over luke’s choice of companions for his quest. a choice that included charles beckendorf and chris rodriguez, and purposefully did not include you, much to your fury.  

before you could continue arguing, luke heard the sound of footsteps approaching. he looked over to you, and you already had your shield and sword at the ready. 

a few red defenders emerged from the trees. one charged at luke, but you stepped in so he could deal with the other two. one of his opponents went down fairly easily, but the other put up much more of a fight. metal clashed behind him as you kept fighting as well. you might not have been as skilled a swordfighter as luke, but he knew that you could hold your own, at least until he was finished with the person in front of him. 

luke parried his opponent’s strike, causing them to take a step closer. he was preparing to disarm them, just as he heard you yelp and stumble to the ground. it only took a millisecond of his attention, but it gave his opponent the opportunity to elbow him in the face. luke felt a crack upon impact, and pain radiated from his nose; he powered through. 

he had to finish this fight, and he had to do it fast. you needed him. 

his ears were ringing as he finally knocked over his opponent, kicking away their sword and keeping his foot on their chest. luke turned around to see you having turned the tides, the blade of your sword dangerously close to your opponent’s neck.

you locked eyes with luke, and you both understood — it was time to go. the two of you ran through the forest, as far away as you could before having to stop and catch your breath.

luke removed his helmet to get some air, and dropped his weapons. you did the same. you looked at him, brows furrowed.

“your nose.”

luke licked his lips, tasting blood. the triumph of winning that last fight overshadowed the ache of his potentially broken nose. in fact, he liked the image of a ruthless warrior emerging from the glory and gore of battle, that even though he did not bleed ichor like a god, he still had power. 

you, on the other hand, didn’t look impressed. instead, you stepped forward and offered the sleeve of your shirt to wipe away the blood. 

“you don’t have to —”

“i know you think you’re a badass walking around all broken and bloody, but you shouldn’t deny your admirers your pretty face,” you teased. 

it was no secret that luke had numerous admirers around camp, a fact you loved to tease him about. he was sure that you relished in how flustered that made him. all you had to call him was pretty boy, and luke could be reduced to a blushing mess. 

it was pathetic how much power you had over him.

“besides, i wouldn’t have gotten out of that last fight if you hadn’t taught me that disarming technique earlier. i owe you. it’s what we do. we take care of each other, right?”

he couldn’t argue with that.

a few moments of silence passed as you cleaned his face. something shifted as you worked, the flirtatious grin fading away. when you pulled away, your sleeve was stained a dark crimson. 

“just tell me honestly,” you finally murmured. “why don't you want me to join your quest?” 

luke was genuinely taken aback by the softness of your voice, now devoid of its usual fire. you wouldn’t meet luke’s eyes, but being that close to you, he noticed they were slightly glazed over.

he had expected you to be angry at his decision. he expected you to yell and argue and try to change his mind. luke hadn’t expected you to be so hurt. so broken. 

he hadn’t planned on it, but luke decided to tell you the truth then.

“look, karma, if you come with me, my heart wouldn’t fully be in the quest. i’d be so caught up in….well, you.”

a pause.

“is that a bad thing?”

“not usually, no.” 

you smirked a little at that, and luke’s heart skipped a beat. it also made his decision even clearer. 

“but i need to be focused for this. i need….” he let out a deep sigh. “i need to prove myself. this is my first real chance, and i can’t fuck it up.”

you met his gaze and smiled brightly at him, your signature spark of confidence returning.  

“you won’t.”

you reached a hand up to play with his necklace. luke hadn’t noticed how close you’d gotten until your fingers started tracing over those four clay beads. it made his entire body burst into flames.

“i’ve been wanting to do something for a while. and, aphrodite save me, it might be really stupid, but —”

luke took a lucky guess as to where you were going, and crashed his lips against yours. aphrodite knows that he'd been wanting to do that for a while, too. 

he often got drunk on the adrenaline of battle, the glory of winning, but nothing was quite like the rush of kissing you for the first time. 

it was messy and urgent, both of you aware that, at any moment, you could be interrupted. your noses were bumping together, teeth clacking against each other. the metallic tang of blood lingered on luke’s tongue, but neither of you seemed to care. you even bit his lip slightly, as if you wanted more. armor sat heavy and cold between your chests, preventing you from getting closer. luke had never loathed the protective gear more. 

he made up for it by lodging one hand underneath your jaw, and snaking the other beneath the celestial bronze, beneath the cotton of your shirt, admiring how your pulse quickened under his thumb when he grazed the soft skin of your stomach. you tangled your hands into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. he groaned and felt you smirk against his lips. 

luke had kissed a few people before, sure, but never like this: like a knife to the gut, and if you pulled away, luke would surely bleed out and die. 

it wouldn’t be a hero’s death, in the traditional sense, but at least he’d die happy. 

how many heroes could claim that?

when luke ran out of air, feeling like his lungs were burning, he had to pull away. 

you glanced down at luke’s kiss-bitten lips, then back to his eyes. luke flushed under the intensity of your gaze. 

“just promise me something, tiger,” you whispered, voice hoarse. 

“anything.”

“come back alive.”

luke leaned forward and placed another kiss on your lips, this one much gentler than before.

“i promise.”

(iv. you love like a scar that won't fade)

the nightmares were getting worse. 

luke woke up in a cold sweat, taking gulps of air in an attempt to steady his breathing.

“luke.” 

your whisper did little to quell the pit of dread growing in his stomach, but it did enough to bring him back down to reality. 

he was at camp half-blood (fuck the gods of olympus), in the hermes cabin (fuck you, dad), in a bed next to yours (fuck, if he could tell you what — who — was going through his head, he would).

“i’m…i’m fine,” he murmured back, voice catching slightly on the lie. 

like clockwork, you shifted from your bed to his, slipping under the covers. it didn’t matter that it was a hot summer night, and the minute your legs touched his, he could feel himself starting to overheat. 

your thumb brushed over the thick edge of his scar, up his cheekbone to the corner of his eye. it had been a year, living with this reminder. a reminder that he had failed, just as much as his father and the olympians had failed him. 

luke tried to pretend that he didn’t come back from his quest as a shell of who he once was. after all, it was meant to be his shining moment as a demigod, meant to gain him all the glory and father’s praise he once wished for. 

what a fucking joke.

every morning, luke would crawl into a different skin. he welcomed new campers and taught sword-fighting. he laughed with chris and his other siblings and strategized with annabeth for capture the flag. he would be the easy-going, charming, skillful senior counselor who respected the gods and honored them in everything he did. 

again: a fucking joke.

nights were different, though, with you so close to him, you who could always see right through him.

every night, luke was a fourteen-year old boy again, with so much rage and resentment he didn't know what to do with it. 

of course, you were always you - a bleeding heart underneath layers of armor. you didn't care about fate, or the gods, or the titans. you cared about justice, you cared about what was right and fair. 

most of all, you cared about luke.

“you were screaming,” you told him, voice barely cutting through the soft snores and sleeptalkings of your other cabinmates. 

“sorry,” he managed. looking at you in the dull moonlight, luke noticed the deep shadows under your eyes. 

“it’s fine. you just….you scared me, tiger.” 

your hand still rested on his cheek, and for a second, luke hoped you would kiss him, but you didn’t. instead, you told him to try and get some sleep, and sank further into his bed before closing your eyes. 

for the hundredth night in a row, luke hoped you couldn’t hear his heart hammering in his chest as you fell asleep next to him.

since coming back from his quest, luke didn’t have it in him to suggest being anything other than friends, and you didn’t push it. there had been a few....moments between you, sure, but nothing more.

luke thought you might have changed your mind, because who would want to be with a bitter, worthless, wannabe hero? then again, that voice haunting his dreams…. luke could change that. 

but, at what cost?

(v. you protect people as ruthlessly as a starving dog)

luke could hear you talking to percy jackson outside. though he couldn’t quite determine what was being said, as much as he tried.

you entered the bathroom and instantly caught luke’s eyes in the mirror. you were wearing your faded pyjama shorts with cartoon crows, and a flannel shirt that luke had a sneaking suspicion might have been his. you smiled at him before setting up at the counter, one sink between you. 

“what was that about?” luke asked after spitting out a mouthful of minty toothpaste.

“oh, nothing.” you were searching through your toiletry bag for something, and seemed to come up short. “hey, do you have any extra dental floss?”

luke threw some over to you. as you effortlessly caught it, he noticed your knuckles, bruised and bloodied.

“what happened?” 

you finished flossing and briefly examined your hands before pulling out your toothbrush. 

“it’s not a big deal,” you assured. “some ares kids were picking on percy, and then they started pushing him around, like, really pushing him around, so….” 

“....you decided to send them to the infirmary.”

you squeezed some toothpaste on your brush before continuing. “i don’t need you to lecture me about how i shouldn’t be fighting with other campers because i’ve been here longer and i should be a good role model. you know what a good role model does? not let kids beat up other kids and think the worst punishment they’ll get is no dessert for a week.”

luke watched carefully as you jammed the toothbrush in your mouth and brushed with such force, he was worried your teeth might dislodge. he knew that you would shed blood for someone you loved, and that you didn’t particularly care if you had to break rules in doing so, because you believed that what was written was not necessarily what was right. 

in fact, luke loved that about you.

no, it wasn’t the fighting that luke cared about — it was who you were fighting for. 

percy was a good kid, he really was. luke just didn’t want you getting attached. 

“i wasn’t going to lecture you. i’m guessing chiron already did?” 

you nodded and spat out what looked like a combination of toothpaste and blood. you rinsed your mouth until the water lost its pinkish hue. once you were done, luke continued his train of thought.

“i just didn’t realize you cared so much about him.”

“about percy?” 

luke could tell that he didn’t have your full attention. you were packing your stuff back up, accidentally tossing luke’s dental floss into your bag, but he had more pressing matters to deal with.

“yeah. the kid’s only been at camp for three days, and you’re already acting like his guard dog.”

you finally turned to luke and glared at him. 

“maybe. but percy’s sweet and he doesn’t seem like the type to put up with bullshit. he’s been through a lot, and annabeth seems to like him, too. as far as i’m concerned, percy’s one of us, and i’m not going to let anyone push him around.”

luke raised an eyebrow at you. “he’s sweet?”

“yeah. like, just now, he gave me some blue raspberry jelly beans as a thank you. said his mom used to work at a candy store. he also wanted me to apologize to you for him. he feels bad about beating you in sword-fighting earlier.” 

you scoffed, like you resented luke for having to apologize to him on percy’s behalf. you definitely did not appreciate that guard dog comment. luke clenched his jaw, seething over what you had just said. 

satisfied with his reaction, you gave luke that nauseating smile of yours, tilted your head towards the exit. a truce, because you never liked to fight with luke for too long, and a order, because you knew luke would always follow. 

the two of you began walking back to your cabin in the warm mid-june air. 

“i wouldn’t say he beat me,” luke huffed. “it was beginner’s luck.”

“sure, tiger. it was beginner’s luck that disarmed the best swordsman we’ve had in the last 300 years.”

you nudged luke’s shoulder with yours, but he recoiled from your touch. 

“are you trying to make me feel worse?” luke tried his best to avoid snapping at you, keeping his tone measured.

“i’m just saying that maybe the kid has natural talent and that doesn’t make you any less talented. there’s no need to get jealous.”

luke resisted the urge to growl at your suggestion. 

to be clear, he was not jealous. it’s just that luke had spent years of blood, sweat, and tears getting to where he was then, and percy jackson had just gotten to camp. 

and, to be even more clear, luke was not jealous of how you were already defending percy with your whole body and your whole heart, the way you did for him. 

by then, you reached the front of the hermes cabin. luke could already hear the commotion of what he would need to deal with as soon as he walked in. the burden of being head counselor, one he approached with an elastic smile that could snap at any moment. 

you tugged on luke’s sleeve before he could open the door. 

“hey. are we okay?”

luke looked down at your fingers grasping the fabric of a sweatshirt he was just realizing was yours. your nails were painted a dark red, now chipped after a week of wear. you had begged luke to paint his nails then, and once again, he gave in. he even started to like the purple you had chosen just for him, so deep it was almost black. the same color you were wearing the first time you and luke met.

he smiled at the memory — a real smile, no plastic — and then smiled back up at you.

“we’re fine, karma.” and he moved to enter the cabin. luke could hear the threat of an argument bubbling up, what sounded like a petty one over a prank gone wrong.

“wait.” you tugged at his (your) sweatshirt once more. “there’s something i wanted to talk to you about, about tomorrow night—”

“annabeth called a meeting during free time.”

“yeah, i know, it’s just —”

“she’ll run through strategy for capture the flag then.”

“one of the aphrodite senior campers asked me to the campfire,” you blurted it out, and luke decided to ignore the sound of a fight breaking out from behind the wooden door.

what in the name of hades were you talking about?

“they asked you out? like…like a….” luke didn’t even want to speak the word, scared it would make it real.

“a date,” you said casually, as if that one word didn’t rip luke’s heart in a million pieces. “i said yes.” an admission that took all those pieces and set them on fire. 

sure, in the seven years since you and luke met, you’d each talked about boys, about girls, about dating and kissing them and going further. but there was something about this one that felt different. something about the way you told him.

“but, listen, i wanted to let you know it’s not —”

“good for you,” was all luke said through gritted teeth before someone started calling his name again, louder and more urgently, and he had to duck inside.  

(vi. you taste like burning cherries and righteous anger)

your team had won capture the flag, of course. the biggest news of the evening, though: percy jackson was the son of the sea god. 

he was a forbidden child, the hero of the great prophecy. 

everything was falling into place. 

all luke should be thinking about is kronos’ plan, and his role in it, and how a world without the gods of olympus was that much more in reach.  

unfortunately, for the time being, he was so consumed by you. 

you, from across the campfire, sporting cutoff denim shorts and fresh wounds from the game earlier. you, who had wrapped your knuckles in gauze, concealing their bruising, fixed the chips in your nail polish and stacked rings on your fingers. (for the record: luke had gifted you the one on your left thumb.) you, with dark lips that whispered too closely and laughed too loudly with a child of aphrodite— jordan li.

you hadn’t so much as looked at luke since congratulating each other on another win. when chiron announced his weekly gratitude to the gods at the start of that night’s campfire, you didn’t punctuate your resentment with your usual eye-roll or biting remark. you were too busy giggling at something jordan said.

luke wanted to be the one to whisper jokes in your ear. he wanted to be the one you left lipstick stains on later, along his jaw and down his neck. he wanted to be the one who kissed the blade mark on your shoulder and the bruises on your knuckles. 

and yet, hours passed and it seemed that the thought of luke had never so much as crossed your mind. he found himself at an after hours party with a few senior campers on the beach. a lethal recipe: a poorly crafted bonfire, some contraband drinks and you in jordan li’s lap, playing with their hair and pretending luke castellan did not exist. 

meanwhile, luke had katie gardner’s full attention. she was talking to him about the strawberry season, potentially leaning a bit too close into luke’s personal space, definitely flirting with him. 

luke could have done a lot worse than the head counselor of the demeter cabin, who always smelled like fresh lavender, whose eyes were the bright green of spring grass and whose lips tasted like golden honey. 

the problem was that luke only wanted you, and his eyes kept sliding over to where you were kissing jordan’s cheek, and he accidentally called the girl he was kissing by your name, which did not make her happy. 

katie threw her drink in his face, told him to wake the fuck up, and walked away.

a chorus of gasps and chuckles erupted as luke stood there, diet coke and vodka seeping into his shirt. the commotion seemed to capture your attention, because you suddenly appeared next to luke, an empty bottle of cherry soda in your hand.

“rough night, tiger?” your voice, that nickname, made luke sick, his face twisting into a frown. you don’t seem to notice or care. instead, you switched your bottle with luke’s and took a sip.

“looks like you were having a pretty good time,” luke practically sneered. “where’s your date?” 

 “they went to bed.” you swallowed a mouthful of beer, grimacing at its bitterness. “gods, this is terrible. you and i should go on the drink run next time — we have better taste.”

“so, are you and jordan like a thing now?”

you gave luke a smile he didn’t quite understand, but made his stomach churn in ways only you could. “would that be a problem?”

“of course not.” he answered way too quickly for that to be true. 

“let’s get out of here,” you suggested. “i think katie is about this close to strangling you with a tree branch.”

luke glanced over your shoulder to where green eyes glared back at him. 

nowhere could luke find it in him to care. he wasn’t even sorry. he just shrugged, took the bottle back from you, took his first sip all night. luke almost gagged (because of course you were right, and the stoll brothers had better fake ids than they had taste) but he suppressed it. 

“no. i’m good.”

biggest lie he ever said. like there wasn’t anger caught in his throat and jealousy swelling between his ribs.

“go find jordan,” he taunted. “kiss them, show them a good time! isn’t that the reason why you got all pretty?”

you narrowed your eyes at him carefully. your nostrils were slightly flared, and luke took a bit of pride in being able to rile you up.

“look, we haven’t really talked lately, and i think we should.”

“go find jordan,” he mocked once more. “almost all the aphrodite kids are here, and i’m sure you can be quiet enough to sneak into their cabin and if you want a quick fu—”

“luke.” you clipped his name, obviously getting to the limit of your patience with him. “if you want to stay here all night and be an asshole, you’re welcome to. you should know, though, that your happy-go-lucky hero mask is starting to crack and i don’t know if you could deal with the fallout from it shattering completely.”

you leaned in close and whispered that last part, very aware of the chattering that stopped and the eyes that watched the pair of you anxiously. luke was usually good at hiding that part of himself who wanted to burn the world down. 

in ways you didn’t realize, you were right: he couldn’t risk revealing it, not now.

not yet. 

“do whatever you want, castellan,” you spat out his last name, the combination of letters foreign in your mouth.“i’m leaving.”

luke should be proud of himself. he waited a whole two seconds before following you like a stray dog. 

luke didn’t know if he’d ever felt you that enraged by him, and it horrified him. it also made him hungry for more. 

“i’m not sure that jordan would want the two of us alone together at night,” he shouted after you, words echoing into the starless sky.

“gods, enough about jordan!” luke practically ran into you with how fast you turned around to confront him. “i was helping them with that stupid aphrodite tradition!”

“you….” luke faltered, all the snark leaving his body. “what?”

luke remembered silena beauregard once explaining the rite of passage to him: to prove themselves, a child of aphrodite had to make someone fall in love with them, and then break their heart.

“why…why would you agree to do that?”

you had reached the dining area by then, and you sat on one of the steps leading to the pavilion. luke stayed a few feet away, looking at you cautiously. 

“jordan and i are already friends, and they figured a fake relationship would be the way to avoid anyone from actually getting hurt in the process.”

“you seemed so…so into it, though,” luke stammered, the memory of you in jordan’s lap, laughter bubbling from your lips, still fresh.

“it’s called acting, dumbass.” the camp didn’t rely on electricity, but there were enough torches around that luke could see you roll your eyes. “anyways, i was trying to give you a heads-up last night, but you wouldn’t listen.” you took a deep breath. “and, honestly, i didn’t push it because….i figured i should test a hypothesis.”

a hypothesis? you’d known annabeth for too long.

“what hypothesis?”

you hesitated. 

“it doesn’t matter. fuck, this was stupid,” you muttered, and without another word, stormed through the dining pavilion, a short cut to the hermes cabin. your footsteps fell heavy against the marble, and luke’s not far behind. 

“what hypothesis?” he asked again.

nothing but rushed footsteps.

“what hypothesis?” luke finally yelled.

third time was the charm, because you stopped in your tracks and faced luke once again. a fire burned in the bronze brazier, where campers were forced to offer up portions of your food to the gods at every meal. its roaring seemed to captivate you, and the flames danced across your face, illuminating all your curves and edges.

“i’m angry at the gods,” you stated. 

this caught luke off guard. from the day the two of you met, luke knew you shared that feeling. you’d gotten quieter with your rage as you’d gotten older. luke supposed he got better at hiding it himself, as well. 

“i’m angry at the gods for letting bad shit happen even if they can stop it, and for building this world in the fucked up way they did. i’m angry at your dad for the way he’s treated you, but — you, luke castellan.” you finally met luke’s eyes with a gaze so sharp, luke almost felt himself bleed. “i’m also angry at you, and not just for your bullshit tonight.” 

your admission felt like a punch to the stomach, and luke was left with no air to breathe.

did you know?

“you haven’t been the same since your quest,” you continued, words slow and deliberate, the way you spoke when you were worried your voice would shake. “and i’ve come to terms with that in the past few years, but you….you’ve never tried to ice me out before. you’ve been acting distant since december, and it’s been driving me insane. do you realize how much i miss my best …..” you swallowed the word friend. “how much i miss you?”

luke hesitated, because what could he say? i know i’ve been distant, but i’ve been busy trying to start a war between the gods. sorry babe! 

would you hate him, if you knew? 

you had to have known that, despite the distance, luke missed you. for tartarus sake, in the last two days, he’d driven himself mad at you calling a fourteen year old boy sweet, and he was about to combust at the image of you dating someone else, with little care as to the collateral damage. 

"you can't just avoid me, makeout with katie fucking gardner, and then….” you trailed off, hiding your face in your hands. whether it was to hide embarrassment or tears, luke wasn’t sure.

a smirk spread across luke’s face at the revelation that he hadn’t been the only one jealous at the bonfire that night. it lit luke up with the confidence he needed to not completely fall to his knees in front of you, beg for your forgiveness for everything he’s done.

“why do you care if i make out with katie fucking gardner?” 

as he waited for a response, luke walked towards you until your back hit one of the marble columns. 

“why do you care if i’m with jordan fucking li?” you clenched your jaw and looked right through luke. a clear indication that you wanted him to break down first; it wouldn’t be you who yielded this fight.

“because i want to be the one you’re with.” at that point, luke was so close to you that he swore he could hear your heartbeat. he reached out and played with the hem of your shorts. “why do you care if i make out with katie gardner?”

“because.” you drew in a sharp breath when luke’s fingers brushed underneath the denim, across the warm skin of your thigh. you closed your eyes. “don’t make me say it, tiger.” 

the desperation in your voice made luke want to do unholy things with you, to you. luke knew you didn’t think of him as a saint, and you never expected him to be one. the reality was that you weren’t much better, either. what was essentially an altar to the gods burned bright next to you, but it seemed neither of you had ever cared less about it than in that moment. 

luke would watch olympus fall. he would dethrone the gods and watch their glass castle shatter and find glory in a new world. in the grand scheme of things, he was willing to lose this battle.

in fact, he would have rather betrayed the titan lord himself than waste another second not kissing your lips. 

so, he kissed you, and you kissed him back with such force, such hunger, it was ungodly.

no, you certainly weren’t a saint — but you were divine, in the most brutal, intoxicating way. in the way you shuddered when luke lodged a leg between your thighs; in the way you threaded your fingers through the belt loops of his jeans to bring him closer; in the way the metal of your rings burned through the skin of his hip, right to the bone, which made him shudder, and you smile triumphantly against his jaw.

the more he tasted your smirk flavored by cherry soda and the ashes of nearby flames, the more he felt your feral teeth against his neck and your wicked nails digging into his shoulders, the more you tugged on his curls, the more luke thought: maybe. 

maybe you would give into your seething resentment, live up to those eye-rolls and snarky comments that got you in trouble with chiron, on the edge of hot water with the gods. maybe you would join the titan army. maybe, just maybe, this time, you would follow luke.

and yet — maybe wasn’t enough if it meant he could lose this. luke wouldn’t risk it, not until he kissed every battle scar and bruise on your body, and you did the same to his. 

“wait.”

it was the last thing luke wanted to do, but he complied. he took the opportunity to appreciate the chaos he created: your shirt in disarray, your lipstick a mess, your chest heaving and desperate to catch a breath. 

“i promised jordan that we’d keep up our charade for a week, two at the most. do you think we could keep this…” you tightened your fist around the fabric of his shirt. “a secret until then?”

luke responded by pressing his lips to yours once more, because there were definitely worse secrets to keep.

(vii. you wouldn’t hesitate to make him bleed)

luke had just left percy jackson to die.

he should be leaving camp, now, but he needed to see you one last time. 

the universe works in mysterious ways, because you were out on a run through the forest, and you crossed paths before he even had time to wonder where you were.

“hey, tiger.” you smiled as if this was a regular afternoon. the two of you would teach your afternoon activities, sneak away during dinner so luke could kiss you in that spot that made you gasp. “wanna join me? i was just wrapping up, but i could be convinced to go longer.”

for a second, he was tempted to. very tempted. 

“i don’t have much time.”

you seemed to notice luke’s sullen mood and you dropped your playful demeanor. 

luke explained: the messages from kronos in his dreams, him stealing the lightning bolt and helm of darkness to start a war between the gods and framing percy. the plan to destroy olympus that luke had pledged his life to.

percy was surprised at what luke had done, and luke could imagine that the rest of camp would be, too. luke was the golden boy of camp half-blood, everyone’s big brother. 

you, on the other hand, didn’t express any sense of shock. 

“luke.” you said his name like you weren’t quite sure it was poison. “i’m going to give you five seconds to tell me that you’re joking.”

five seconds of silence passed. you took a few steps back from luke.

“i….i should have told you sooner.”

“yeah,” you scoffed. “you should have. but, you didn’t. did it feel good, having the titan king whispering sweet nothings in your ear? all the lies about how this war is the only way to get the glory you so desperately want? it’s fucking delusional.” 

“it’s not delusional—”

“yes, it is!” you glared at him. “you’re on the wrong side of a war you made the mistake of starting.”

luke straightened his posture, thinking about how hypocritical you were being. 

“isn’t this what you’re all about? revenge, karma. your mom will probably join us, too. don’t you want to see the gods finally get what they deserve?”

“not like this. i can’t believe how desperate you are, to believe that kronos is going to make everything right. it’s pathetic,” you spat. “i’m not saying the gods don’t deserve to be taken down a notch. their fucking obsession with power and glory….it’s sick and twisted, but i don’t think your titan king is any better. i don’t think you are any better.” 

“it’s time that the gods fall. this is the only way, even if it isn’t perfect,” luke countered. his voice was firmer now as he absorbed your anger. your mother was the goddess of revenge, but you clearly didn't understand the sacrifices, pain, and blood that was required to make the world a better place.  

luke just needed to convince you.

“we’ve talked about this for years,” he continued. “nothing is balanced! there’s no justice here, for anyone.  we can build a better world where we don’t have to burn our scraps and throw ourselves at monsters to get attention. we can fight together like we always have. y/n, i love—”

“don’t,” you snapped. “don’t you fucking dare. you should have died on your quest.” your voice laced with venom. one hand gripping the knife you always kept on your belt. “that dragon should have fucking sliced through you and saved us all the trouble.”

something pricked in the back of his throat, down to his stomach.

“you don’t mean that.”

“i do,” you promised. “at least you would have died with all of us thinking you’re a hero instead of the traitor you really are.”

you grabbed your knife, took a fighting stance. 

“i’m not going to fight you,” was all luke could say. he noticed your hand tremble, and you tightened the grip on your knife to prevent emotion from slipping through your invisible armor. 

in that moment, you have could slice through luke, and it would hurt less than everything you just said, less than the murderous look you were giving him, like he was just another monster you wouldn’t think twice about sending to tartarus.

luke didn’t even have a chance to unsheathe his sword before you charged at him, but he quickly had you pinned to the ground, the tip of your own knife pointed at you. he hesitated. the blade pressed harder against your cheek than he intended, enough to break the skin and let a few droplets of dark crimson escape. 

“please come with me,” he pleaded. you didn’t answer, but you did seem surprised by the softness of his voice. 

a few moments passed, the celestial bronze still between you. luke waited for you to see his way, to yield to his proposal.

you didn’t. instead, you took advantage of the situation. you wrapped your leg around his and flipped your position. in the process, you regained possession of your knife. without the hesitation that held luke back, you sliced through his cheek, deep. luke bit his lip to suppress a groan, tasting blood. your gaze set his whole body on fire as he waited for your next move. that was when you glanced down at his camp necklace, and the new clay bead added to commemorate this summer.

a turquoise trident.

“percy told me he was on his way to see you,” you realized. “what did you do?”

luke didn’t answer. he knew then that a choice ran through your head. 

and it stung, just a little, watching you sprint away through the trees in a last ditch effort to save percy’s life. 

a/n: i have been thinking of lara jean's lost scrunchie the past few days so i made this out of that idea. this one's for my sentimental girls if u get it i get it <33

It’s not difficult to avoid each other completely. When his habits are ingrained into every part of your being, knowing what time to steer clear of the armory on Mondays and only lingering around the places he hates the most becomes as easy as breathing. The two of you also manage to synchronize your eating schedules, so his usual spot at the Hermes table is starkly empty every time you find your way to the pavilion. It’s a twisted dance of avoidance.

The feeling of him remains though, his memory lingering around every single corner of Camp Half-Blood. The lack of him ends up becoming just as much of a reminder as the actual sight of him. You can’t count the amount of times you’ve turned to your side, expecting him to be there the same way he always has.

Luke Castellan has always been the only steady presence in your life. Your friends had jokingly called him your human shadow. There was never you without him, and never him without you.

The emptiness at your side is almost as stark as the empty ache in your heart.

It feels like a part of you has disappeared. It’s hard, because you see Luke in just about everything. You hear his laugh in the creaking patio of Cabin Eleven and feel the ghost of his touch over your spine whenever someone brushes too close to you. The twin sized mattress always feels two sizes too big when you find your way back to your own cabin to sleep.

You had gone to Luke’s after leaving the lake that night, your hand shaking on the door knob and a sick feeling in your chest. The empty bag slung over your back felt as heavy as the sky itself.

A cabin that you knew just as well as your own began to distort in front of your eyes. The squeaking of the sticky door hinges felt like they were mocking you. The familiar chatter of Luke’s siblings that flowed into the night air filled your stomach with dread.

Usually, the shame of cowardice was enough to get you to push forward when it was hard. But as you stood in front of the door, you hadn’t felt any of that familiar humiliation. You would have turned around and fled if a heavy hand hadn’t landed on your shoulder.

You’d tensed, the edges of your vision darkening. But whatever apology or insult that was waiting to fall from your lips slipped your mind when you’d been spun around.

It was only Chris.

“Hey,” he had said, entirely unaware of the way you were about to be sick on the front step. Chris had been giving you an easy smile. “What’ve you been—”

“Is Luke here?”

Your interruption had been as rude as it sounded, but it was difficult for you to think over the sound of your heart racing in your chest. You were afraid of the answer Chris had to offer.

How would you be able to look at Luke when just the thought of seeing him made your hands shake with fear?

Chris’ brows had furrowed, confused. “No. I just saw him over by the Big House. He should be heading this way soon, though, if you need to talk to him—”

The door creaked loudly as you pulled on it, though the sound went unnoticed by the kids talking inside. Sheer muscle memory was what let you step over askew sleeping bags and stray soccer balls without much thought. The ease of it all had been too much to think about at the moment.

Your vision narrowed as you crossed the room, nausea rearing its ugly head once again as you hurried over the floorboards.

For what would be the last time, you found yourself face to face with Luke’s things.

Luke’s stuff laid cluttered all over his dresser. There was a stick of deodorant tossed haphazardly between his sunglasses and an empty cardboard box, and one of Annabeth’s drawings sitting on top of a few loose pieces of paper. He had also kept a makeshift flag football trophy a Hephaestus kid made for him. You let your eyes rake over every inch of it greedily, your hand unsteady where it curled into the fabric of one of his jackets.

“—t’s the matter? Did something happen?”

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realized that Chris was standing a few steps behind you. He had no doubt followed you from the front door, concern dripping heavy from his words.

It almost stung to hear. You had met Chris as Luke’s brother first, but he had become your friend over the years too. You knew him well enough to know that he would want nothing to do with you when he found out what had happened.

As selfish as it was, you let yourself enjoy the last moment of kindness you probably would ever receive from Chris Rodriguez.

The details of Luke’s things grated on your heart. The closer you had looked, the more you saw yourself, too. One of your shirts was draped over his headboard. The water bottle you’d left this morning was sitting in front of the mirror, right next to—

Your heart had felt like it stopped in your chest. The memories flashed back through your head against your will.

You and Luke’s trip to the city for your sixteenth birthday. The diner. The sightseeing boat. The photobooth.

It’d only been a few years ago, but it felt like you didn’t recognize the people in the pictures. Your faces were pressed together in one of them, and you were laying a kiss on his cheek in another. The last one showed you laughing, your arm over his shoulder. You couldn’t see it, but you could still feel Luke’s embarrassed smile pressed into your neck, the redness of his cheeks lost to the black and white photo.

A sick sense of jealousy surged through you. This version of you was ignorant. Ignorant but happy. She had no idea that the person who held her heart in his hands would be the same person to shatter it.

Distantly, you realized you didn’t feel upset anymore.

You felt nothing but angry.

How could Luke do this to the two of you? Where had it all gone wrong?

Chris’ sharp intake of air was what snapped you out of your stupor.

You blinked, looking down in confusion, and you froze. The photo was in your hands, the strip ripped quickly in half.

Your immortalized laughter taunted you from where the lower half of the photo remained taped on Luke’s mirror. You looked away before any tears could form, your fist closing hard over the broken piece in your palm.

It all unraveled after that.

It didn’t take you long to clear out the bottom drawer of Luke’s dresser, the one he’d dedicated to your things. There were a few things under his bed that you went back and forth on, like that paint splattered hoodie that was yours just as much as it was his and a shirt he’d given to you a few years ago. You weren’t sure if you would be able to take the sight of any of it after this.

You’d lost your camp necklace somewhere here too, and had been meaning to find it. You wondered if you would have time before Luke came back.

It felt like your breath grew shorter and shorter the longer you stayed in the cabin. Images flashed through your head no matter where you looked. He’d kissed you for the first time against this bed. He’d helped you sneak in through the back window of the cabin years before that, and you didn’t realize that you were hyperventilating until something warm settled at your side.

It was Chris, his eyes wide where he was kneeling next to you.

His hand slipped into yours, unclenching your fist the same way Luke would. You were still holding onto half of the photo. His face fell with sympathy and something that looked like understanding.

You wiped your face, beyond glad when you realized it was completely dry. It had been an hour or so, but you still hadn’t cried about losing your best friend.

In that moment, you promised yourself that you never would.

“Are you okay?” Chris had asked, voice low to not draw too much attention. He tossed a furtive glance over his shoulder in the direction of where a group of younger campers were giggling over a magazine.

“Yeah,” you said, a complete and utter lie. “Sorry about all of this. I’m all done now.”

The familiar weight of eyes on you made you rush to your feet.

It seemed now that Luke would be able to keep your camp necklace. He was standing in the doorway of his cabin, his eyes trained on where you were sitting in front of his things.

You had no intention of staying in Cabin Eleven for another second. You never wanted to step foot in this room ever again.

The two of you tracked each other as you moved.

Even though you were—or, had been—his best friend, anyone would’ve been able to tell Luke had been crying. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, though they were not still wet with tears. You did not take as much comfort in the thought as you thought you would have.

His mouth had been parted in surprise, clearly not expecting to see you so soon. The heel of his palm was frozen against his sternum, like he had stopped moving the second he had realized it was really you inside of his cabin.

When Luke was younger and had nightmares every other night, he would rub circles into his chest to get his heart to stop aching. You wondered if that was what he had been doing just now. You also wondered who would hold him through the rest of his nightmares now.

He didn’t let his gaze stray as you stepped closer and closer and closer until you were near enough to touch.

If it had been any other day, you would’ve brushed your thumbs over the tear tracks on his cheeks. He would’ve kissed your palm. He would’ve kissed you.

As you stepped close enough to touch him, your eyes traced over the tightness of his shoulders. It was like he was scared you would brush against him. The skin of his neck was tinged red with tension.

You couldn’t tell if you would ever stand this close to him again.

The smell of his cologne followed you as you stepped past him, and you were slammed with the realization that one day, you would forget the little details of Luke Castellan. Eventually, you wouldn’t remember that he liked to press his forehead to your shoulder, or that he only needed two alarms to wake up in the morning.

He was leaving you, and the memories of him would eventually fade too.

You hadn’t been able to hold his gaze for another second, fixing your eyes on some far off point ahead of you. Emotion clouded your vision. Chris had mumbled some sort of greeting to his friend, probably pulling him inside before he shut the door behind them.

You made it fifteen feet before a resounding slam echoed from somewhere inside the building.

You didn’t recognize it as the sound of your now empty drawer until sometime later.

TWO

The next time you see Luke, you almost don’t recognize him.

Some of the kids had decided to put together an informal fighting tournament, with the winner getting a whopping prize of thirty-three drachmas. Half of camp came to the arena to watch, the summer campers eager to spend some of their last days here doing something seriously fun.

The Ares cabin was taking the bracket a little more seriously than you’d expected them to. Your siblings had passed around eye black before the big event, and a few of the boys painted letters on their chest spelling out your sister Lana’s name.

(Most of the time though, they rearranged themselves to spell out something that was clearly not Lana.)

You were excited for your siblings who were participating, of course, smiling whenever someone looked your way and even letting Clarisse smear a line of red face paint under your eyes. But to say your heart wasn’t in it would be an understatement.

It had officially been a week since you’d last spoken to Luke.

It meant that you’d officially broken your record of not speaking to each other. Seven whole days had passed, though it felt a lot closer to a year.

Embarrassment burns hot in your chest when you acknowledge it, but it feels like you’re missing a part of yourself. He was a part of you. The biggest part.

It’s shameful how you’re only halfway functioning without him. You finally understand what it means when people say they are ‘going through the motions’. Every day, you wake up to a nightmare where your best friend hates you and you hate him. You eat, walk the grounds of camp more as a ghost than as a person, let sleep evade you, then get up to the same nightmare.

You haven’t been able to sleep through the night since your fight. When the sun sets on camp, you stare up at the ceiling and try to pretend like you aren’t thinking about the empty spot next to you. You’ve started burning food as an offering to Hypnos, but find not even that’s enough to let you sleep for more than an hour at a time.

In the days after your fight, you almost found yourself flinching at every reminder of Luke. You’ve gone out of your way to avoid anything that would even make you think of him, which meant you lost interest in most things you used to love doing. You haven’t sparred since. You sat out of yesterday’s Capture the Flag game to sit by the beach instead. It felt like he had taken every aspect of your life from you.

His memory taints everything you even think about doing. But after a week of silence, you find that you’re almost hungry for any glimpse of him you can manage. In every crowd, around every corner, and in every shadow, you look for the outline of his back, or the cut of his jaw. You still search for him despite the fact the thought of seeing him fills you with dread.

Annabeth had explained something to you a couple of years ago — the concept of negativity bias. Even when positive or neutral things of equal intensity occur, a person’s psychological state is more likely to be affected by something negative.

You think that’s what’s happening to you now. You’re trying your best, but every time you think of every hug you shared, every hour you spent together, every moment Luke had been the only thing that felt safe, you only seem able to think of that night.

Is it really that hard to believe someone doesn’t love you?

You can’t get the way he looked at you out of your head. It felt like he hadn’t known you at all. The person you were convinced you were going to spend the rest of your life with looked you in the eyes and swore his love had been a lie.

And you can’t even think about him long enough to remember if any of it had even been real.

It ends up being here, at the camp’s makeshift fighting tournament, that you see Luke Castellan for the first time in a week.

Even when faced with only the sight of his back, you know immediately that he looks almost nothing like your Luke.

He’s sitting next to Chris on the edge of the mat the campers are fighting on, his shoulders slumped, like he’s curling in on himself. He seems completely unresponsive to the shouts and heckles of the rest of the kids from his cabin, who are currently cheering on Travis in the ring.

You’re torn between two opposite gut reactions.

The new unease that rises at the thought of him sits uncomfortably in your chest. You move to duck behind a taller Aphrodite camper to your left when you feel your hands reach to pick at a loose thread on your jeans.

But somewhere else, deep down, your lifelong instinct takes over, and you’re taking a step in his direction before you can stop yourself.

After all, something was wrong with Luke. You were supposed to comfort him, weren’t you?

Their entire section stands up abruptly when Travis manages to knock his opponent’s weapon onto the floor, and you watch with morbid curiosity as Luke remains seated, his jaw resting in the palm of his hand.

You get hit in the back so hard you almost stumble forward.

From right next to you, you catch a glimpse of a sharp glare aimed at your direction, and you realize belatedly that your entire cabin is now standing too, cheering loudly as your brother Cole gets ready to step into the ring. You get to your feet abruptly, clapping mindlessly.

Even if she wasn’t glaring, Clarisse’s disappointment would still feel almost palpable. “Stop giving ass-face your time of day.”

It didn’t take long for your siblings to put together what happened between you and Luke, though none of them knew the full story. They saw that he stopped coming by to ask for you and that your sleepovers came to an abrupt stop, and the pieces settled into place for them. You realized the Hermes cabin came to a similar understanding when whispers of Luke’s apparent mood swings made their way to you.

The general consensus among them at first was that you two were having a little fight. To everyone else, it had seemed like the silent treatment you had given him earlier in the summer. Your brother insisted that Luke had been wandering around camp like a kicked puppy dog, though you sincerely doubt that.

You could feel the looks people gave you whenever the Hermes cabin was nearby, waiting to see if you were going to go running over like you used to. People were shocked to see your twenty-four hours of silence creep into forty-eight and then roll over into seventy-two.

It was clear that everyone expected for it to blow over eventually. After all, no one has ever known who you are without Luke. You arrived at camp together and haven’t spent a day apart since.

Your stomach twists when you realize you aren’t sure who you are without Luke either.

Five days after your argument, you snapped at someone who asked when your boyfriend was coming over, and their suspicions were confirmed. Whatever was happening between the two of you was serious.

You and Luke are the only two people alive who knew whatever this was was permanent.

Permanent.

You’re having a tough time coming to terms with the fact that the feelings of resentment you held toward him were going to remain a permanent thing. Luke had been more than just your best friend. He’d been your… boyfriend? Partner? Soulmate? You aren’t even sure there was a single word that could perfectly describe what he had been to you. None of the words in the English language seemed to encompass it.

You still half believed that Luke was going to come back to you and apologize. After all, he’d drawn first blood. But as the days passed, and the end of your time at camp drew nearer, you felt yourself losing hope.

He’d asked you to stay away from him. It was over. He swore it.

“I’m not giving him my time of day,” you insist to your sister, though it’s clearly a lie. Your eyes are still trained on the outline of his back. “I was just looking.”

A group of people next to you knock you closer to Clarisse when one of your brothers in the ring lands a good hit on his opponent.

“Then stop looking,” she grits out, not bothering to keep her voice low with how loud the arena is. “He doesn’t deserve you thinking about him.”

“I’m thinking about how much he looks like shit,” you say flatly, your voice lacking any of the vitriol you planned to say it with. Even after everything that happened, you still can’t bring yourself to hate him completely. You aren’t sure you’re even capable of it. Not even playing your last conversation in your head seems to work. You’re hurt by what he said, but hatred isn’t something you think you can feel for him.

Your sister snorts from next to you. “You can’t even see his stupid face.”

You don’t respond. She leans closer to you to try and catch a glimpse of him too, craning her neck around to get a good look.

You’re just about to hiss at her to stop being nosy when she grabs your bicep, an amused sound coming from her throat in surprise. Your heart jumps to your throat.

Somewhere in the commotion, Annabeth wandered over to the Hermes cabin. She’s just tapped on Luke’s shoulder, and he’s spun around to face her, giving you your first good look of him in a week.

Clarisse laughs. “Holy shit.”

Dark circles mar Luke’s under eyes like twin bruises. He’s listening to Annabeth, nodding along as he does so, but his eyes look vacant and unfocused. He looks just as exhausted as you feel.

Even when you’re apart, you can’t help but be connected in the worst ways.

“He’s sure taking your little breakup hard,” she muses. “Couldn’t handle being dumped, I guess.”

You whip your head in her direction. “Clarisse—”

“What?” She rolls her eyes. “It’s not like Castellan would’ve dumped you. He’d probably cut off his own arm if you said it would make you happy.”

Her words make your insides twist. There was a time when you believed that too. “I didn’t dump him. We weren’t even… it wasn’t—”

“Yeah, yeah, you ‘weren’t dating.’” You don’t appreciate the quotes she makes around her last few words. “I know, you’ve only said it fifty times.”

“And I’ll say it fifty more times if that’s what it takes for you to get it,” you snap, finally tearing your eyes away from him. “Drop it, okay?”

Clarisse puts her hands up in surrender, though the amusement hasn’t faded from her eyes. “Heard.”

You try to put your focus back on the tournament, where your sister Lana is finally taking her turn after your brother’s win. Your brothers in the front row have their arms around each other’s shoulders, and they’re cheering in sync.

“Sheesh,” Clarisse says again, though her attention is clearly not on the fight in front of you. She’s still looking over at Luke.

“Clarisse,” you warn, voice firm, but as stubborn as ever, she ignores you.

“He looks like he got trampled. And then hit by a bus that pushed him off a cliff.”

You can’t tell if the lump in your chest is concern or intrigue. Whatever it is, though, is strong enough to get you to look back up at him again.

He and Annabeth are… arguing.

It’s subtle enough that Clarisse can’t tell, too busy making a snide comment about how it looks like he’s climbed his way out from the Underworld.

And while the slight sheen to his eyes is enough to give you pause, you’re much more stunned by the way his fists clench at his sides, jaw twitching with irritation. Luke’s never gotten upset with Annabeth before. You almost don’t believe your own eyes.

Luke has been soft on Annabeth your entire lives. While the three of you were always close, you knew their similar home lives meant that the two of them understood each other in a way you would never be fully able to. He doted on her a lot, and had probably stolen hundreds of dollars worth of trinkets for her over the course of your time on the road. He was more likely to jump into a pit of vipers than say no to her.

It’s why you can’t quite make sense of the scene in front of you. Even Clarisse has started to realize the conversation is shifting more into a fight, because she gives you an amused smile before putting her attention back onto Lana’s match in front of you.

Annabeth’s shaking her head vigorously, and you watch as Luke cuts her off abruptly, which she doesn’t take lightly. His brows knit as he crosses his arms in front of his chest. They go back and forth some more before he scoffs, his dark eyes rolling briefly. She pokes a finger into his chest with so much force his eyes widen, and then she’s whirling around so quickly you almost don’t realize she’s making a beeline in your direction.

You don’t bother pretending you weren’t watching. Annabeth’s face is scrunched with frustration, and she looks about a second away from pulling her own hair out. She weaves between people swiftly until she finds herself in front of you, her features pulled into a scowl.

“There is seriously something wrong with him,” she grumbles, not bothering to use his name. Her eyes are steely, but you can see they’re hurt, too. “What happened to you two? He’s been weird this whole week. What are you even fighting about?”

“Annabeth,” you say, your voice catching on the last syllable. You don’t know what to tell her.

“Did he do something?” she pushes on, brow furrowing. “It’s his fault, isn’t it? He wouldn’t be so mad if—”

You cut her off before she can continue. “It’s nothing, okay?”

As sharp as ever, Annabeth hears the break in your voice and drops it. She can probably tell she clearly isn’t going to get anything else out of you despite how much she wants to press it. She sighs and doesn’t say anything even when some of your siblings jostle the two of you around.

Before she disappears into the crowd again, she gives you a look you can’t quite understand. “Just talk to him.”

You direct your gaze somewhere in the direction of the tournament in front of you, but your vision is swimming. You and Luke Castellan have already spoken for what you know is the last time.

Your cabin surges forward again when Lana finally bests her opponent, and you feel your heart plummet to the ground.

THREE

It’s been another week since you last saw Luke.

You leave Camp Half-Blood tomorrow morning.

You’ve already gorged yourself on strawberries from the field and run your hands over the Ares cabin’s flag for the last time. You said goodbye to the naiad who saved your life a few years ago and had one last climbing wall race against Clarisse, which you won, obviously. A little after, your little sister pushed you on the tire swing outside the Big House until you got dizzy. Your hands are stained from painting your very last camp bead, which sits safely in your packed bag next to your bed.

You’ve revisited almost every hidden corner and every inch of camp that exists, and there’s only one place left on your goodbye tour.

The lake.

You haven’t gone back since your fight. The spot had belonged to both of you, and it didn’t feel right going back without him.

Truthfully, you haven’t wanted to go back there, either. Your last conversation had tainted your memory of the place, but you know that you won’t be able to leave without seeing it one last time.

After promising your siblings that you’ll be back before the fireworks start, you start the short walk through the woods.

Nothing has changed, of course. The grass to your right rustles as a rabbit darts across your path. When you reach for the thick branch to pull yourself over a fallen log, your hands fit perfectly in the grooves you’ve worn into the wood over the years. The air is sticky with humidity, and the laughter that rings out from behind you grows quieter as you move further away from camp.

The only thing missing is the steady presence at your side. Luke probably would’ve made ten bad jokes by this point of the walk, and would’ve bounced a few times between trying to trip you and trying to hold your hand.

You shift your focus intently to where you’re stepping instead. You estimate how many yards away the lake is. You think about what being on a plane will be like. You wonder how you’re going to say goodbye to Annabeth. You wonder if you’re going to say goodbye to Luke.

No matter how hard you try, it all comes back to him anyway.

Before you can even stop and realize it, you’re stepping past the treeline, gravel crunching quietly under your shoes.

The lake is eerily silent.

A canoe that someone was too lazy to put away rests overturned by the water. In the distance, you can see a duck dipping into the lake looking for something to eat. Its small movements send ripples throughout the rest of the water.

It’s so quiet that you can only hear the sound of your own breathing.

Being here by yourself is unsettling. You almost get the urge to turn around and leave, but something tells you to plant your feet. You know you’re going to regret not saying goodbye to a place that has watched you grow up. It witnessed the entirety of your love for Luke — the oblivious years, your first real kiss, and the crash and burn of all of it.

There’s movement in your peripheral vision. You swear for a moment that you can hear the familiar crackling of fire by the trees, but when you turn there’s nothing there.

You start to regret coming here. For the first time, being at this lake isn’t making you feel better. It’s nothing but a painful reminder of what you’ve lost.

The last few weeks have been the hardest of your entire life. It’s even worse than the weeks after you nearly died in Pennsylvania, and even harder than your first weeks on the run.

You had Luke through all of it. Nothing had been too hard to bear because he had been there to shoulder it with you. He’d held you through nights where your stomach would cramp from hunger, and he would always let you sleep an extra hour or two even when it was your turn to be on watch.

Nothing about those years were easy. It’d been hard, but you were always together. When you couldn’t rely on yourself, you knew you could rely on Luke.

Your eyes sting as you take in the emptiness of your surroundings. The slow breeze that whips at your face bites a little harder. It’s so quiet that your ears start to ring. You try to pop your ears to stop the incessant noise, but find that the silence gets worse. There’s nothing out here but you.

The weight of it hits you a second later.

For the first time in your life, you are completely and utterly alone.

You’d promised yourself that you wouldn’t cry over Luke. You blink quickly to try and stop the onslaught of tears and find that your eyes begin to burn despite it. Pain stirs in your chest as you finally feel yourself fall apart.

You’ve been alone for a long time.

Did you ever truly have Luke? You wonder how long he’d been harboring that anger against you. When did he start pulling away? Had you been too love-blind to see it? Was any of it real?

Everything about your relationship had been a secret. Was it because he was ashamed of you? Has this been his plan all along?

The outline of the dock comes into focus despite how unsteady your gaze is.

You can still see the version of yourself that sat here and believed in a future you were never going to have. It had only been a month since that morning.

A breeze kisses the apples of your cheeks, and more memories come back to you.

Phantom laughter rings in your ear, taunting you. If you focus hard enough, you can almost feel the soreness of your arms from a day full of playful fighting and racing Luke through the water. A few summers ago, he had held you by the fire here and told you he wanted to stay with you forever. He saw a future with you in it.

You had so many plans, and none of them would come true.

Tomorrow morning, you are going to get on a plane that will take you miles away from this place and the person you’ve called home for almost as long as you can remember.

You stumble away from the water.

It’s too late, but you finally realize that you’re heaving.

It feels like your chest is trying to collapse in on itself. You can barely breathe around the physical weight that’s compressing your ribcage, pressing hard against the rampant beating of your heart. You can’t take a breath in without your entire body shaking, the tightness in your chest stopping you from getting any air in.

You clutch at your shirt like it might help, trying to pull it off the space above your lungs, but the fabric is as loose as it's always been. You can barely feel your fingertips.

The sobs that wrack your body ache.

You’re so sick of feeling sad. Only one person has ever made you feel better when you get like this, and you have no idea what to do when he’s the reason you feel this way.

You want him to come back to you. You want to never see him again. You want him to apologize. You want to beg him to forgive you. You want to leave camp and never look back. You want to shackle yourself to him so you’re never separated again.

There’s shuffling behind you. Deja vu creeps around your shoulders and curls around your insides like a familiar friend. It feels like the sand at Compo Beach and tastes like your mom’s lemonade. It feels like coming home.

Warmth envelops you from every side. You find yourself sinking into it despite the way it feels like you’ve been turned inside out.

How could you stop yourself, anyway?

It’s Luke.

His cologne fills your senses as you shove your face into the crook of his neck, slotting yourself so close to him he stumbles back a step.

The familiar feeling of his skin against yours causes a sob to wrack your chest. You start grabbing for any part of him your hands can reach, one of your hands fisting in his hair while the other grabs blindly for one of his arms that he has around you. You never thought you would feel this whole again.

“I’m sorry,” you plead. You aren’t sure what you’re apologizing for. For your fight? For reaching for him like he’s the only thing that’s holding you together? You can’t tell. “Luke. I love you.”

His grip loosens and you panic. You grab onto him harder, your nails digging into the skin of his bicep painfully, your vision swimming. He’s a blur of orange fabric and curly hair as you shake your head, refusing to let him leave. He can’t.

You don’t recognize that he’s saying something to you until the familiar feel of his palms settles on both sides of your face. Your eyes trace the shape of his lips as he speaks, though none of it processes. Your ears are ringing again.

He pulls you against his chest again, letting you feel the rise and fall of it. His breathing is barely more even than yours. The setting sun paints the two of you in pink and gold.

“How could you do this?” You feel bile rise to your throat. You think you’re going to be physically sick. “Why are you doing this to us? I’m sorry. I’m sorry, you know I’m so sorry, please—”

“I know. I know.”

“You’re my best friend. I’m sorry. I love you. I love you, Luke. Please don’t do this to me.”

“You need to breathe, okay?” His hand passes over your back. It’s shaking so badly that he has to clutch at your shirt. His words are fraught with tension, like he’s forcing them out through gritted teeth.

“I’m sorry. I need you to forgive me. You have to forgive me.” Half of your words are choked out between gasps for air, but you know he understands.

“Breathe. I know. I promise you, I know.”

You vaguely feel his grip on you loosen again, and you protest with every ounce of energy you have left. Your tears are soaking his shirt.

“Hey,” he says, rubbing a line down your arm. Warmth creeps into his voice and another sob wracks your body. “You’re hiccuping. You’re gonna be sick.”

He rubs your back through the entirety of it. You must make quite the sight, the both of you on your knees in the dirt as you empty your stomach.

You fall back against Luke when it’s over, pressing against him as much is physically possible. Your neck is craned at an impossible angle so you can see his face. You want to memorize every inch of it. You never thought he would be this close to you ever again.

“I don’t know how to do this without you, Luke,” you admit without an ounce of shame. Your voice comes out rough from the tears and coarse from your retching. “I’m so scared.”

He stays silent while he cradles you against him, his eyes unmoving from the sand. The dark circles under his eyes have somehow gotten worse, which makes you frown. His lips are red and bitten too. He looks just as sick as you.

After another bout of quiet, he finally looks at you. He wipes at the corner of your mouth, his stare blank.

“I was so mean,” you try again, nodding, like it’ll help him understand. “I’m so sorry. How could I have said those things to you?”

One of the last times you sat like this was the morning after you first kissed. You wonder if he realizes that too.

“You’re nothing like him,” you promise. “You’re good. So good, Luke.”

Luke’s face crumples with an emotion you can’t quite read. “I have to do this.”

You shake your head, desperate. “No. No. I’ll do better. I’ll be better. I’ll make it up to you for the rest of my life, I promise, Luke, I promise.”

He presses his forehead against yours, the two of you so close together that it feels like you’re sharing oxygen. His eyes are glassy and almost unfocused, and you brush your thumb over his cheek, greedy and desperate. You should feel guiltier than you are.

“He… he is the only one who can fix this. All of this. I don’t have a choice,” he says, almost whispering it.

Your head spins. It feels like he’s talking through you and not to you. “I don’t understand. You’re… you always have a choice, Luke. You’re nothing like your father. You don’t need him to do anything. And you know I didn’t—there’s not a world that exists where I actually thought those things. I didn’t mean it.”

You can’t believe you used his father against him. You can’t even blame Luke for wanting to leave you. What kind of person says those things to someone they love?

Luke’s features pull down into a grimace as he shakes his head. He says nothing else as his eyes trace the path of your tears down your cheeks.

The July humidity makes it feel almost unbearable to be this close to him, but you soak up every second he’s willing to offer you. Sweat beads at your hairline and in the small of your back.

A month wasn’t long enough to erase the nuances of Luke from your memory. You trace the cut of his jaw with your thumb. His tan has come in full force this summer, and you mourn the time you could have spent together.

“Leave with me.” You nod quickly, reaching for his hand that rests limply against your side. “It’s not too late, Luke. It’ll never be too late.”

You can’t remember why you’d even been angry with him at all. Your flight is tomorrow morning. How did you think you could ever leave without him?

He doesn’t respond, his eyes tracing down the length of your face. You wonder what he sees there.

You glance down at his lips, and wish instantly that you hadn’t.

Luke tenses, and it feels like you’ve been struck.

He shakes his head, his throat bobbing as he swallows stiffly. His words are even and practiced when he says, “Kissing me won’t change anything.”

“Then what will?” you beg. Your face heats, not with embarrassment, but with grief. The words sound just as desperate as you feel.

You feel his entire body go very still behind you.

You’re almost grateful that he doesn’t grace you with a response. You’re all out of words to say.

Your eyes slide shut when you feel the warmth at your back disappear.

Surprisingly, there is no tell-tale feeling of your eyes burning with tears. In place of grief is the all-consuming ache of numbness.

Sometime later, you get the strength to face the empty space behind you. Luke is gone.

For the next hour, you sit alone by the lake as the fireworks explode over your last night at Camp Half-Blood. Red and blue lights make shapes in front of your unseeing eyes. You wonder if Luke had even been here or if you’d just imagined him when you’d needed him most.

An hour later, by the time you find your way back to your siblings, it’s over.

You’re standing on the front steps of your cabin when you find out that Luke has betrayed camp.

—

It’s not difficult to avoid each other completely. When his habits are ingrained into every part of your being, knowing what time to steer clear of the armory on Mondays and only lingering around the places he hates the most becomes as easy as breathing. The two of you also manage to synchronize your eating schedules, so his usual spot at the Hermes table is starkly empty every time you find your way to the pavilion. It’s a twisted dance of avoidance.

The feeling of him remains though, his memory lingering around every single corner of Camp Half-Blood. The lack of him ends up becoming just as much of a reminder as the actual sight of him. You can’t count the amount of times you’ve turned to your side, expecting him to be there the same way he always has.

Luke Castellan has always been the only steady presence in your life. Your friends had jokingly called him your human shadow. There was never you without him, and never him without you.

The emptiness at your side is almost as stark as the empty ache in your heart.

It feels like a part of you has disappeared. It’s hard, because you see Luke in just about everything. You hear his laugh in the creaking patio of Cabin Eleven and feel the ghost of his touch over your spine whenever someone brushes too close to you. The twin sized mattress always feels two sizes too big when you find your way back to your own cabin to sleep.

You had gone to Luke’s after leaving the lake that night, your hand shaking on the door knob and a sick feeling in your chest. The empty bag slung over your back felt as heavy as the sky itself.

A cabin that you knew just as well as your own began to distort in front of your eyes. The squeaking of the sticky door hinges felt like they were mocking you. The familiar chatter of Luke’s siblings that flowed into the night air filled your stomach with dread.

Usually, the shame of cowardice was enough to get you to push forward when it was hard. But as you stood in front of the door, you hadn’t felt any of that familiar humiliation. You would have turned around and fled if a heavy hand hadn’t landed on your shoulder.

You’d tensed, the edges of your vision darkening. But whatever apology or insult that was waiting to fall from your lips slipped your mind when you’d been spun around.

It was only Chris.

“Hey,” he had said, entirely unaware of the way you were about to be sick on the front step. Chris had been giving you an easy smile. “What’ve you been—”

“Is Luke here?”

Your interruption had been as rude as it sounded, but it was difficult for you to think over the sound of your heart racing in your chest. You were afraid of the answer Chris had to offer.

How would you be able to look at Luke when just the thought of seeing him made your hands shake with fear?

Chris’ brows had furrowed, confused. “No. I just saw him over by the Big House. He should be heading this way soon, though, if you need to talk to him—”

The door creaked loudly as you pulled on it, though the sound went unnoticed by the kids talking inside. Sheer muscle memory was what let you step over askew sleeping bags and stray soccer balls without much thought. The ease of it all had been too much to think about at the moment.

Your vision narrowed as you crossed the room, nausea rearing its ugly head once again as you hurried over the floorboards.

For what would be the last time, you found yourself face to face with Luke’s things.

Luke’s stuff laid cluttered all over his dresser. There was a stick of deodorant tossed haphazardly between his sunglasses and an empty cardboard box, and one of Annabeth’s drawings sitting on top of a few loose pieces of paper. He had also kept a makeshift flag football trophy a Hephaestus kid made for him. You let your eyes rake over every inch of it greedily, your hand unsteady where it curled into the fabric of one of his jackets.

“—t’s the matter? Did something happen?”

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realized that Chris was standing a few steps behind you. He had no doubt followed you from the front door, concern dripping heavy from his words.

It almost stung to hear. You had met Chris as Luke’s brother first, but he had become your friend over the years too. You knew him well enough to know that he would want nothing to do with you when he found out what had happened.

As selfish as it was, you let yourself enjoy the last moment of kindness you probably would ever receive from Chris Rodriguez.

The details of Luke’s things grated on your heart. The closer you had looked, the more you saw yourself, too. One of your shirts was draped over his headboard. The water bottle you’d left this morning was sitting in front of the mirror, right next to—

Your heart had felt like it stopped in your chest. The memories flashed back through your head against your will.

You and Luke’s trip to the city for your sixteenth birthday. The diner. The sightseeing boat. The photobooth.

It’d only been a few years ago, but it felt like you didn’t recognize the people in the pictures. Your faces were pressed together in one of them, and you were laying a kiss on his cheek in another. The last one showed you laughing, your arm over his shoulder. You couldn’t see it, but you could still feel Luke’s embarrassed smile pressed into your neck, the redness of his cheeks lost to the black and white photo.

A sick sense of jealousy surged through you. This version of you was ignorant. Ignorant but happy. She had no idea that the person who held her heart in his hands would be the same person to shatter it.

Distantly, you realized you didn’t feel upset anymore.

You felt nothing but angry.

How could Luke do this to the two of you? Where had it all gone wrong?

Chris’ sharp intake of air was what snapped you out of your stupor.

You blinked, looking down in confusion, and you froze. The photo was in your hands, the strip ripped quickly in half.

Your immortalized laughter taunted you from where the lower half of the photo remained taped on Luke’s mirror. You looked away before any tears could form, your fist closing hard over the broken piece in your palm.

It all unraveled after that.

It didn’t take you long to clear out the bottom drawer of Luke’s dresser, the one he’d dedicated to your things. There were a few things under his bed that you went back and forth on, like that paint splattered hoodie that was yours just as much as it was his and a shirt he’d given to you a few years ago. You weren’t sure if you would be able to take the sight of any of it after this.

You’d lost your camp necklace somewhere here too, and had been meaning to find it. You wondered if you would have time before Luke came back.

It felt like your breath grew shorter and shorter the longer you stayed in the cabin. Images flashed through your head no matter where you looked. He’d kissed you for the first time against this bed. He’d helped you sneak in through the back window of the cabin years before that, and you didn’t realize that you were hyperventilating until something warm settled at your side.

It was Chris, his eyes wide where he was kneeling next to you.

His hand slipped into yours, unclenching your fist the same way Luke would. You were still holding onto half of the photo. His face fell with sympathy and something that looked like understanding.

You wiped your face, beyond glad when you realized it was completely dry. It had been an hour or so, but you still hadn’t cried about losing your best friend.

In that moment, you promised yourself that you never would.

“Are you okay?” Chris had asked, voice low to not draw too much attention. He tossed a furtive glance over his shoulder in the direction of where a group of younger campers were giggling over a magazine.

“Yeah,” you said, a complete and utter lie. “Sorry about all of this. I’m all done now.”

The familiar weight of eyes on you made you rush to your feet.

It seemed now that Luke would be able to keep your camp necklace. He was standing in the doorway of his cabin, his eyes trained on where you were sitting in front of his things.

You had no intention of staying in Cabin Eleven for another second. You never wanted to step foot in this room ever again.

The two of you tracked each other as you moved.

Even though you were—or, had been—his best friend, anyone would’ve been able to tell Luke had been crying. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, though they were not still wet with tears. You did not take as much comfort in the thought as you thought you would have.

His mouth had been parted in surprise, clearly not expecting to see you so soon. The heel of his palm was frozen against his sternum, like he had stopped moving the second he had realized it was really you inside of his cabin.

When Luke was younger and had nightmares every other night, he would rub circles into his chest to get his heart to stop aching. You wondered if that was what he had been doing just now. You also wondered who would hold him through the rest of his nightmares now.

He didn’t let his gaze stray as you stepped closer and closer and closer until you were near enough to touch.

If it had been any other day, you would’ve brushed your thumbs over the tear tracks on his cheeks. He would’ve kissed your palm. He would’ve kissed you.

As you stepped close enough to touch him, your eyes traced over the tightness of his shoulders. It was like he was scared you would brush against him. The skin of his neck was tinged red with tension.

You couldn’t tell if you would ever stand this close to him again.

The smell of his cologne followed you as you stepped past him, and you were slammed with the realization that one day, you would forget the little details of Luke Castellan. Eventually, you wouldn’t remember that he liked to press his forehead to your shoulder, or that he only needed two alarms to wake up in the morning.

He was leaving you, and the memories of him would eventually fade too.

You hadn’t been able to hold his gaze for another second, fixing your eyes on some far off point ahead of you. Emotion clouded your vision. Chris had mumbled some sort of greeting to his friend, probably pulling him inside before he shut the door behind them.

You made it fifteen feet before a resounding slam echoed from somewhere inside the building.

You didn’t recognize it as the sound of your now empty drawer until sometime later.

TWO

The next time you see Luke, you almost don’t recognize him.

Some of the kids had decided to put together an informal fighting tournament, with the winner getting a whopping prize of thirty-three drachmas. Half of camp came to the arena to watch, the summer campers eager to spend some of their last days here doing something seriously fun.

The Ares cabin was taking the bracket a little more seriously than you’d expected them to. Your siblings had passed around eye black before the big event, and a few of the boys painted letters on their chest spelling out your sister Lana’s name.

(Most of the time though, they rearranged themselves to spell out something that was clearly not Lana.)

You were excited for your siblings who were participating, of course, smiling whenever someone looked your way and even letting Clarisse smear a line of red face paint under your eyes. But to say your heart wasn’t in it would be an understatement.

It had officially been a week since you’d last spoken to Luke.

It meant that you’d officially broken your record of not speaking to each other. Seven whole days had passed, though it felt a lot closer to a year.

Embarrassment burns hot in your chest when you acknowledge it, but it feels like you’re missing a part of yourself. He was a part of you. The biggest part.

It’s shameful how you’re only halfway functioning without him. You finally understand what it means when people say they are ‘going through the motions’. Every day, you wake up to a nightmare where your best friend hates you and you hate him. You eat, walk the grounds of camp more as a ghost than as a person, let sleep evade you, then get up to the same nightmare.

You haven’t been able to sleep through the night since your fight. When the sun sets on camp, you stare up at the ceiling and try to pretend like you aren’t thinking about the empty spot next to you. You’ve started burning food as an offering to Hypnos, but find not even that’s enough to let you sleep for more than an hour at a time.

In the days after your fight, you almost found yourself flinching at every reminder of Luke. You’ve gone out of your way to avoid anything that would even make you think of him, which meant you lost interest in most things you used to love doing. You haven’t sparred since. You sat out of yesterday’s Capture the Flag game to sit by the beach instead. It felt like he had taken every aspect of your life from you.

His memory taints everything you even think about doing. But after a week of silence, you find that you’re almost hungry for any glimpse of him you can manage. In every crowd, around every corner, and in every shadow, you look for the outline of his back, or the cut of his jaw. You still search for him despite the fact the thought of seeing him fills you with dread.

Annabeth had explained something to you a couple of years ago — the concept of negativity bias. Even when positive or neutral things of equal intensity occur, a person’s psychological state is more likely to be affected by something negative.

You think that’s what’s happening to you now. You’re trying your best, but every time you think of every hug you shared, every hour you spent together, every moment Luke had been the only thing that felt safe, you only seem able to think of that night.

Is it really that hard to believe someone doesn’t love you?

You can’t get the way he looked at you out of your head. It felt like he hadn’t known you at all. The person you were convinced you were going to spend the rest of your life with looked you in the eyes and swore his love had been a lie.

And you can’t even think about him long enough to remember if any of it had even been real.

It ends up being here, at the camp’s makeshift fighting tournament, that you see Luke Castellan for the first time in a week.

Even when faced with only the sight of his back, you know immediately that he looks almost nothing like your Luke.

He’s sitting next to Chris on the edge of the mat the campers are fighting on, his shoulders slumped, like he’s curling in on himself. He seems completely unresponsive to the shouts and heckles of the rest of the kids from his cabin, who are currently cheering on Travis in the ring.

You’re torn between two opposite gut reactions.

The new unease that rises at the thought of him sits uncomfortably in your chest. You move to duck behind a taller Aphrodite camper to your left when you feel your hands reach to pick at a loose thread on your jeans.

But somewhere else, deep down, your lifelong instinct takes over, and you’re taking a step in his direction before you can stop yourself.

After all, something was wrong with Luke. You were supposed to comfort him, weren’t you?

Their entire section stands up abruptly when Travis manages to knock his opponent’s weapon onto the floor, and you watch with morbid curiosity as Luke remains seated, his jaw resting in the palm of his hand.

You get hit in the back so hard you almost stumble forward.

From right next to you, you catch a glimpse of a sharp glare aimed at your direction, and you realize belatedly that your entire cabin is now standing too, cheering loudly as your brother Cole gets ready to step into the ring. You get to your feet abruptly, clapping mindlessly.

Even if she wasn’t glaring, Clarisse’s disappointment would still feel almost palpable. “Stop giving ass-face your time of day.”

It didn’t take long for your siblings to put together what happened between you and Luke, though none of them knew the full story. They saw that he stopped coming by to ask for you and that your sleepovers came to an abrupt stop, and the pieces settled into place for them. You realized the Hermes cabin came to a similar understanding when whispers of Luke’s apparent mood swings made their way to you.

The general consensus among them at first was that you two were having a little fight. To everyone else, it had seemed like the silent treatment you had given him earlier in the summer. Your brother insisted that Luke had been wandering around camp like a kicked puppy dog, though you sincerely doubt that.

You could feel the looks people gave you whenever the Hermes cabin was nearby, waiting to see if you were going to go running over like you used to. People were shocked to see your twenty-four hours of silence creep into forty-eight and then roll over into seventy-two.

It was clear that everyone expected for it to blow over eventually. After all, no one has ever known who you are without Luke. You arrived at camp together and haven’t spent a day apart since.

Your stomach twists when you realize you aren’t sure who you are without Luke either.

Five days after your argument, you snapped at someone who asked when your boyfriend was coming over, and their suspicions were confirmed. Whatever was happening between the two of you was serious.

You and Luke are the only two people alive who knew whatever this was was permanent.

Permanent.

You’re having a tough time coming to terms with the fact that the feelings of resentment you held toward him were going to remain a permanent thing. Luke had been more than just your best friend. He’d been your… boyfriend? Partner? Soulmate? You aren’t even sure there was a single word that could perfectly describe what he had been to you. None of the words in the English language seemed to encompass it.

You still half believed that Luke was going to come back to you and apologize. After all, he’d drawn first blood. But as the days passed, and the end of your time at camp drew nearer, you felt yourself losing hope.

He’d asked you to stay away from him. It was over. He swore it.

“I’m not giving him my time of day,” you insist to your sister, though it’s clearly a lie. Your eyes are still trained on the outline of his back. “I was just looking.”

A group of people next to you knock you closer to Clarisse when one of your brothers in the ring lands a good hit on his opponent.

“Then stop looking,” she grits out, not bothering to keep her voice low with how loud the arena is. “He doesn’t deserve you thinking about him.”

“I’m thinking about how much he looks like shit,” you say flatly, your voice lacking any of the vitriol you planned to say it with. Even after everything that happened, you still can’t bring yourself to hate him completely. You aren’t sure you’re even capable of it. Not even playing your last conversation in your head seems to work. You’re hurt by what he said, but hatred isn’t something you think you can feel for him.

Your sister snorts from next to you. “You can’t even see his stupid face.”

You don’t respond. She leans closer to you to try and catch a glimpse of him too, craning her neck around to get a good look.

You’re just about to hiss at her to stop being nosy when she grabs your bicep, an amused sound coming from her throat in surprise. Your heart jumps to your throat.

Somewhere in the commotion, Annabeth wandered over to the Hermes cabin. She’s just tapped on Luke’s shoulder, and he’s spun around to face her, giving you your first good look of him in a week.

Clarisse laughs. “Holy shit.”

Dark circles mar Luke’s under eyes like twin bruises. He’s listening to Annabeth, nodding along as he does so, but his eyes look vacant and unfocused. He looks just as exhausted as you feel.

Even when you’re apart, you can’t help but be connected in the worst ways.

“He’s sure taking your little breakup hard,” she muses. “Couldn’t handle being dumped, I guess.”

You whip your head in her direction. “Clarisse—”

“What?” She rolls her eyes. “It’s not like Castellan would’ve dumped you. He’d probably cut off his own arm if you said it would make you happy.”

Her words make your insides twist. There was a time when you believed that too. “I didn’t dump him. We weren’t even… it wasn’t—”

“Yeah, yeah, you ‘weren’t dating.’” You don’t appreciate the quotes she makes around her last few words. “I know, you’ve only said it fifty times.”

“And I’ll say it fifty more times if that’s what it takes for you to get it,” you snap, finally tearing your eyes away from him. “Drop it, okay?”

Clarisse puts her hands up in surrender, though the amusement hasn’t faded from her eyes. “Heard.”

You try to put your focus back on the tournament, where your sister Lana is finally taking her turn after your brother’s win. Your brothers in the front row have their arms around each other’s shoulders, and they’re cheering in sync.

“Sheesh,” Clarisse says again, though her attention is clearly not on the fight in front of you. She’s still looking over at Luke.

“Clarisse,” you warn, voice firm, but as stubborn as ever, she ignores you.

“He looks like he got trampled. And then hit by a bus that pushed him off a cliff.”

You can’t tell if the lump in your chest is concern or intrigue. Whatever it is, though, is strong enough to get you to look back up at him again.

He and Annabeth are… arguing.

It’s subtle enough that Clarisse can’t tell, too busy making a snide comment about how it looks like he’s climbed his way out from the Underworld.

And while the slight sheen to his eyes is enough to give you pause, you’re much more stunned by the way his fists clench at his sides, jaw twitching with irritation. Luke’s never gotten upset with Annabeth before. You almost don’t believe your own eyes.

Luke has been soft on Annabeth your entire lives. While the three of you were always close, you knew their similar home lives meant that the two of them understood each other in a way you would never be fully able to. He doted on her a lot, and had probably stolen hundreds of dollars worth of trinkets for her over the course of your time on the road. He was more likely to jump into a pit of vipers than say no to her.

It’s why you can’t quite make sense of the scene in front of you. Even Clarisse has started to realize the conversation is shifting more into a fight, because she gives you an amused smile before putting her attention back onto Lana’s match in front of you.

Annabeth’s shaking her head vigorously, and you watch as Luke cuts her off abruptly, which she doesn’t take lightly. His brows knit as he crosses his arms in front of his chest. They go back and forth some more before he scoffs, his dark eyes rolling briefly. She pokes a finger into his chest with so much force his eyes widen, and then she’s whirling around so quickly you almost don’t realize she’s making a beeline in your direction.

You don’t bother pretending you weren’t watching. Annabeth’s face is scrunched with frustration, and she looks about a second away from pulling her own hair out. She weaves between people swiftly until she finds herself in front of you, her features pulled into a scowl.

“There is seriously something wrong with him,” she grumbles, not bothering to use his name. Her eyes are steely, but you can see they’re hurt, too. “What happened to you two? He’s been weird this whole week. What are you even fighting about?”

“Annabeth,” you say, your voice catching on the last syllable. You don’t know what to tell her.

“Did he do something?” she pushes on, brow furrowing. “It’s his fault, isn’t it? He wouldn’t be so mad if—”

You cut her off before she can continue. “It’s nothing, okay?”

As sharp as ever, Annabeth hears the break in your voice and drops it. She can probably tell she clearly isn’t going to get anything else out of you despite how much she wants to press it. She sighs and doesn’t say anything even when some of your siblings jostle the two of you around.

Before she disappears into the crowd again, she gives you a look you can’t quite understand. “Just talk to him.”

You direct your gaze somewhere in the direction of the tournament in front of you, but your vision is swimming. You and Luke Castellan have already spoken for what you know is the last time.

Your cabin surges forward again when Lana finally bests her opponent, and you feel your heart plummet to the ground.

THREE

It’s been another week since you last saw Luke.

You leave Camp Half-Blood tomorrow morning.

You’ve already gorged yourself on strawberries from the field and run your hands over the Ares cabin’s flag for the last time. You said goodbye to the naiad who saved your life a few years ago and had one last climbing wall race against Clarisse, which you won, obviously. A little after, your little sister pushed you on the tire swing outside the Big House until you got dizzy. Your hands are stained from painting your very last camp bead, which sits safely in your packed bag next to your bed.

You’ve revisited almost every hidden corner and every inch of camp that exists, and there’s only one place left on your goodbye tour.

The lake.

You haven’t gone back since your fight. The spot had belonged to both of you, and it didn’t feel right going back without him.

Truthfully, you haven’t wanted to go back there, either. Your last conversation had tainted your memory of the place, but you know that you won’t be able to leave without seeing it one last time.

After promising your siblings that you’ll be back before the fireworks start, you start the short walk through the woods.

Nothing has changed, of course. The grass to your right rustles as a rabbit darts across your path. When you reach for the thick branch to pull yourself over a fallen log, your hands fit perfectly in the grooves you’ve worn into the wood over the years. The air is sticky with humidity, and the laughter that rings out from behind you grows quieter as you move further away from camp.

The only thing missing is the steady presence at your side. Luke probably would’ve made ten bad jokes by this point of the walk, and would’ve bounced a few times between trying to trip you and trying to hold your hand.

You shift your focus intently to where you’re stepping instead. You estimate how many yards away the lake is. You think about what being on a plane will be like. You wonder how you’re going to say goodbye to Annabeth. You wonder if you’re going to say goodbye to Luke.

No matter how hard you try, it all comes back to him anyway.

Before you can even stop and realize it, you’re stepping past the treeline, gravel crunching quietly under your shoes.

The lake is eerily silent.

A canoe that someone was too lazy to put away rests overturned by the water. In the distance, you can see a duck dipping into the lake looking for something to eat. Its small movements send ripples throughout the rest of the water.

It’s so quiet that you can only hear the sound of your own breathing.

Being here by yourself is unsettling. You almost get the urge to turn around and leave, but something tells you to plant your feet. You know you’re going to regret not saying goodbye to a place that has watched you grow up. It witnessed the entirety of your love for Luke — the oblivious years, your first real kiss, and the crash and burn of all of it.

There’s movement in your peripheral vision. You swear for a moment that you can hear the familiar crackling of fire by the trees, but when you turn there’s nothing there.

You start to regret coming here. For the first time, being at this lake isn’t making you feel better. It’s nothing but a painful reminder of what you’ve lost.

The last few weeks have been the hardest of your entire life. It’s even worse than the weeks after you nearly died in Pennsylvania, and even harder than your first weeks on the run.

You had Luke through all of it. Nothing had been too hard to bear because he had been there to shoulder it with you. He’d held you through nights where your stomach would cramp from hunger, and he would always let you sleep an extra hour or two even when it was your turn to be on watch.

Nothing about those years were easy. It’d been hard, but you were always together. When you couldn’t rely on yourself, you knew you could rely on Luke.

Your eyes sting as you take in the emptiness of your surroundings. The slow breeze that whips at your face bites a little harder. It’s so quiet that your ears start to ring. You try to pop your ears to stop the incessant noise, but find that the silence gets worse. There’s nothing out here but you.

The weight of it hits you a second later.

For the first time in your life, you are completely and utterly alone.

You’d promised yourself that you wouldn’t cry over Luke. You blink quickly to try and stop the onslaught of tears and find that your eyes begin to burn despite it. Pain stirs in your chest as you finally feel yourself fall apart.

You’ve been alone for a long time.

Did you ever truly have Luke? You wonder how long he’d been harboring that anger against you. When did he start pulling away? Had you been too love-blind to see it? Was any of it real?

Everything about your relationship had been a secret. Was it because he was ashamed of you? Has this been his plan all along?

The outline of the dock comes into focus despite how unsteady your gaze is.

You can still see the version of yourself that sat here and believed in a future you were never going to have. It had only been a month since that morning.

A breeze kisses the apples of your cheeks, and more memories come back to you.

Phantom laughter rings in your ear, taunting you. If you focus hard enough, you can almost feel the soreness of your arms from a day full of playful fighting and racing Luke through the water. A few summers ago, he had held you by the fire here and told you he wanted to stay with you forever. He saw a future with you in it.

You had so many plans, and none of them would come true.

Tomorrow morning, you are going to get on a plane that will take you miles away from this place and the person you’ve called home for almost as long as you can remember.

You stumble away from the water.

It’s too late, but you finally realize that you’re heaving.

It feels like your chest is trying to collapse in on itself. You can barely breathe around the physical weight that’s compressing your ribcage, pressing hard against the rampant beating of your heart. You can’t take a breath in without your entire body shaking, the tightness in your chest stopping you from getting any air in.

You clutch at your shirt like it might help, trying to pull it off the space above your lungs, but the fabric is as loose as it's always been. You can barely feel your fingertips.

The sobs that wrack your body ache.

You’re so sick of feeling sad. Only one person has ever made you feel better when you get like this, and you have no idea what to do when he’s the reason you feel this way.

You want him to come back to you. You want to never see him again. You want him to apologize. You want to beg him to forgive you. You want to leave camp and never look back. You want to shackle yourself to him so you’re never separated again.

There’s shuffling behind you. Deja vu creeps around your shoulders and curls around your insides like a familiar friend. It feels like the sand at Compo Beach and tastes like your mom’s lemonade. It feels like coming home.

Warmth envelops you from every side. You find yourself sinking into it despite the way it feels like you’ve been turned inside out.

How could you stop yourself, anyway?

It’s Luke.

His cologne fills your senses as you shove your face into the crook of his neck, slotting yourself so close to him he stumbles back a step.

The familiar feeling of his skin against yours causes a sob to wrack your chest. You start grabbing for any part of him your hands can reach, one of your hands fisting in his hair while the other grabs blindly for one of his arms that he has around you. You never thought you would feel this whole again.

“I’m sorry,” you plead. You aren’t sure what you’re apologizing for. For your fight? For reaching for him like he’s the only thing that’s holding you together? You can’t tell. “Luke. I love you.”

His grip loosens and you panic. You grab onto him harder, your nails digging into the skin of his bicep painfully, your vision swimming. He’s a blur of orange fabric and curly hair as you shake your head, refusing to let him leave. He can’t.

You don’t recognize that he’s saying something to you until the familiar feel of his palms settles on both sides of your face. Your eyes trace the shape of his lips as he speaks, though none of it processes. Your ears are ringing again.

He pulls you against his chest again, letting you feel the rise and fall of it. His breathing is barely more even than yours. The setting sun paints the two of you in pink and gold.

“How could you do this?” You feel bile rise to your throat. You think you’re going to be physically sick. “Why are you doing this to us? I’m sorry. I’m sorry, you know I’m so sorry, please—”

“I know. I know.”

“You’re my best friend. I’m sorry. I love you. I love you, Luke. Please don’t do this to me.”

“You need to breathe, okay?” His hand passes over your back. It’s shaking so badly that he has to clutch at your shirt. His words are fraught with tension, like he’s forcing them out through gritted teeth.

“I’m sorry. I need you to forgive me. You have to forgive me.” Half of your words are choked out between gasps for air, but you know he understands.

“Breathe. I know. I promise you, I know.”

You vaguely feel his grip on you loosen again, and you protest with every ounce of energy you have left. Your tears are soaking his shirt.

“Hey,” he says, rubbing a line down your arm. Warmth creeps into his voice and another sob wracks your body. “You’re hiccuping. You’re gonna be sick.”

He rubs your back through the entirety of it. You must make quite the sight, the both of you on your knees in the dirt as you empty your stomach.

You fall back against Luke when it’s over, pressing against him as much is physically possible. Your neck is craned at an impossible angle so you can see his face. You want to memorize every inch of it. You never thought he would be this close to you ever again.

“I don’t know how to do this without you, Luke,” you admit without an ounce of shame. Your voice comes out rough from the tears and coarse from your retching. “I’m so scared.”

He stays silent while he cradles you against him, his eyes unmoving from the sand. The dark circles under his eyes have somehow gotten worse, which makes you frown. His lips are red and bitten too. He looks just as sick as you.

After another bout of quiet, he finally looks at you. He wipes at the corner of your mouth, his stare blank.

“I was so mean,” you try again, nodding, like it’ll help him understand. “I’m so sorry. How could I have said those things to you?”

One of the last times you sat like this was the morning after you first kissed. You wonder if he realizes that too.

“You’re nothing like him,” you promise. “You’re good. So good, Luke.”

Luke’s face crumples with an emotion you can’t quite read. “I have to do this.”

You shake your head, desperate. “No. No. I’ll do better. I’ll be better. I’ll make it up to you for the rest of my life, I promise, Luke, I promise.”

He presses his forehead against yours, the two of you so close together that it feels like you’re sharing oxygen. His eyes are glassy and almost unfocused, and you brush your thumb over his cheek, greedy and desperate. You should feel guiltier than you are.

“He… he is the only one who can fix this. All of this. I don’t have a choice,” he says, almost whispering it.

Your head spins. It feels like he’s talking through you and not to you. “I don’t understand. You’re… you always have a choice, Luke. You’re nothing like your father. You don’t need him to do anything. And you know I didn’t—there’s not a world that exists where I actually thought those things. I didn’t mean it.”

You can’t believe you used his father against him. You can’t even blame Luke for wanting to leave you. What kind of person says those things to someone they love?

Luke’s features pull down into a grimace as he shakes his head. He says nothing else as his eyes trace the path of your tears down your cheeks.

The July humidity makes it feel almost unbearable to be this close to him, but you soak up every second he’s willing to offer you. Sweat beads at your hairline and in the small of your back.

A month wasn’t long enough to erase the nuances of Luke from your memory. You trace the cut of his jaw with your thumb. His tan has come in full force this summer, and you mourn the time you could have spent together.

“Leave with me.” You nod quickly, reaching for his hand that rests limply against your side. “It’s not too late, Luke. It’ll never be too late.”

You can’t remember why you’d even been angry with him at all. Your flight is tomorrow morning. How did you think you could ever leave without him?

He doesn’t respond, his eyes tracing down the length of your face. You wonder what he sees there.

You glance down at his lips, and wish instantly that you hadn’t.

Luke tenses, and it feels like you’ve been struck.

He shakes his head, his throat bobbing as he swallows stiffly. His words are even and practiced when he says, “Kissing me won’t change anything.”

“Then what will?” you beg. Your face heats, not with embarrassment, but with grief. The words sound just as desperate as you feel.

You feel his entire body go very still behind you.

You’re almost grateful that he doesn’t grace you with a response. You’re all out of words to say.

Your eyes slide shut when you feel the warmth at your back disappear.

Surprisingly, there is no tell-tale feeling of your eyes burning with tears. In place of grief is the all-consuming ache of numbness.

Sometime later, you get the strength to face the empty space behind you. Luke is gone.

For the next hour, you sit alone by the lake as the fireworks explode over your last night at Camp Half-Blood. Red and blue lights make shapes in front of your unseeing eyes. You wonder if Luke had even been here or if you’d just imagined him when you’d needed him most.

An hour later, by the time you find your way back to your siblings, it’s over.

You’re standing on the front steps of your cabin when you find out that Luke has betrayed camp.

—