No Labels
You and Luke have been best friends for years, you tried dating but it didn’t work out. After a brief conversation with Jocelyn, they talk.
You had been best friends with Luke since school. When we started the Shadowhunter Academy, we had different schedules and Luke struggled, which led him to meet Jocelyn. She would later become our best friend too. You and Luke tried dating, but it never really worked.
Years later, you, Luke and Jocelyn are 35 and Jocelyn has a 15 year old daughter called Clary.
***
The three of you stood on the porch of Jocelyn's brownstone in Brooklyn, nursing warm mugs of tea. It was a comfortable, familiar routine—a trio that had survived the Shadowhunter Academy, The Circle, Valentine, heartbreak, and parenthood.
At thirty-five, Luke looked exactly like the man you had grown up loving.
You had long black hair and sapphire eyes. Your hair was currently in a messy bun, and you wore an oversized flannel.
Luke leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, watching Jocelyn tinker with something inside while Clary was presumably upstairs brooding. His golden-brown eyes kept drifting to you—habit, maybe. An old neural pathway that refused to rewire itself despite all these years. "You're doing it again," Jocelyn called out without looking up from the box she was sorting through. “Doing what?” Luke asked. "Whatever it is you're doing," Jocelyn said, finally looking up with a knowing smile. She gestured vaguely between the two of you. "You two have that look. That..."
"That what?" Luke's voice was too quick, too defensive. His jaw tightened slightly. "That *old* look," Jocelyn finished. “We tried dating. It didn’t work out.” Luke said. "I know, I know," Jocelyn held up her hands, still smiling. "But chemistry doesn't just disappear because you decide to quit being romantic with each other. It becomes... this." She gestured at how close Luke was leaning toward you, how his fingers had found the edge of your flannel sleeve like they might be checking for warmth. “It’s not like we’re just going to turn around and start kissing Joce.” You laughed. "God, no," Jocelyn laughed, shaking her head. "I'm not saying that. But... you two are like this all the time. It's like the universe is saying 'Hey, you two should probably just...'" She trailed off, grinning mischievously. "You know." You raised an eyebrow. “Fuck?” You finished. "Language," Jocelyn warned, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. "I'm going to go check on Clary. She's probably done something reckless already today."
She left you and Luke alone on the porch, the door clicking shut behind her. The silence settled between them—comfortable, years deep, yet somehow heavy.
“Jocelyn and her meddling.” You said it with a soft shake of your head, as you leant back into Luke. "She's not meddling," Luke muttered, though there was no conviction in his voice. He looked out at the Brooklyn street, watching the occasional car pass by. "She's just..." He trailed off, running a hand through his brown hair—an old nervous habit you'd seen in high school, the Academy, everywhere. "She's being Jocelyn.” He said. “So meddling.” You chuckle. "She loves it," Luke admitted, a low rumble of laughter escaping his chest. He shifted his weight against the doorframe, turning those soulful hazel eyes back on you. "She thinks she's fixing things. That somehow, twenty years of history just needs a little push to turn into... something else." He took a slow sip of his tea. "We tried, Y/N." You nodded. “I know.” You said fondly. "We really tried," he added softly, almost to himself. His voice held a hint of that old sadness—the one you both carried around like an old wound sometimes. "But it didn't work. We're better as friends."
“Yeah, but it doesn’t mean we can’t be comfortable around each other.” You smiled, gesturing to the way you were lying against his chest. "True," Luke agreed, his voice warming as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer. You fit perfectly against his chest—your head tucked under his chin, your legs stretched out along the porch. It was a familiar position, one you'd shared countless times over the years. “I like how warm you are.” You said. Luke chuckled, the vibration rumbling soothingly against your cheek where it rested against his chest. "I run hot. You know this," he murmured, shifting slightly to tuck the oversized flannel more securely around you. "It's why you were always glued to me during winter at the Academy." He rubbed a hand gently up and down your back, chasing away the evening chill. “Yeah, yeah, some of us aren’t human radiatiors.” You laughed, snuggling closer. "Some of us aren't," Luke agreed, smiling down at you with a gentle teasing tone. His thumb brushed absently against your lower back, the gesture so familiar it felt like second nature. The porch light cast a warm glow over the scene—a cozy moment frozen in time between two old friends. “I sometimes think about it you know?” You said out of nowhere. The rhythmic stroking of his thumb faltered for only a split second, though Luke's expression remained carefully blank. He watched you, his golden-brown eyes searching your face. The quiet of the Brooklyn evening seemed to press heavier against the porch now. A car passed by on the street below, tires splashing through a puddle. "About what?" he asked carefully. “How we used to be.” You said. "I do too," he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. His arms tightened slightly around you, holding you closer as if to anchor himself in the present moment. The past was a delicate subject between them—full of what-ifs and could-have-beens. “You do?” You asked. Something flickered across his face—something you'd learned to read over years of friendship. Guilt, maybe. Or longing, quickly buried. "Yeah," he said finally. But his jaw tightened, and he looked away, back out at the street, watching a stray cat pick its way across the pavement. Something was definitely unsaid. “I just wonder ‘what if?’ You know?” You said. The muscle in his jaw jumped. He knew exactly what you meant—the sliding doors moment, the diverging paths. He stayed silent for a long moment, his thumb resuming its slow rhythm against your spine, though it felt more deliberate now, like he was grounding himself. "I know," he murmured, voice low and rough. "We ask ourselves that a lot, don't we?" You nod. “Jocelyn’s not wrong though, as much as I hate to admit it. About the chemistry.” Luke let out a slow breath, his head tipping back against the doorframe. He didn't deny it—not a single instinct in him tried. "She isn't," he admitted honestly, his voice dropping to that intimate rumble that had always undone you. "The chemistry never went anywhere, Y/N. We stopped dating because the romantic part didn't work, not because the attraction died." You nod. “For a long time I thought you had a thing for Jocelyn.” Luke let out a sharp, surprised laugh, shaking his head against the doorframe. "God, no. Don't get me wrong, I adore Jocelyn. She's my family." He looked down at you, his hazel eyes serious. "But it was never like that. Not with her." He squeezed your shoulder gently. "You know that, right?" You hum in understanding. “You don’t have to explain anything to me Luke.”
"I know," Luke murmured, his voice vibrating against your back. He pressed his chin to the top of your head, breathing in the familiar scent of your shampoo. "Doesn't mean I don't want to make sure you know."
His thumb stroked absently against your spine. "We've got twenty years of history, Y/N.”
“I know. But you don’t owe me anything.” You said with a small smile. "I know I don't *owe* it to you," he corrected gently, his arms tightening fractionally around you. "But I want to give it to you anyway. Clarity." He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head—a gesture of pure comfort, devoid of the complication of romance but heavy with decades of intimacy. "You’re my person, Y/N.” Your breath hitched. “You can’t just say shit like that Luke. Not when we’re having this conversation.” You sighed. Luke shifted, his jaw tightening. "What? It's true." He sounded exasperated, but there was an edge to it—something defensive. "Y/N, I've been saying the same thing since we were sixteen. You've known it your whole life." His thumb paused on your spine. "Doesn't change anything." But you knew it did. “But when we’re talking about our relationship, or lack of, you can’t just say that.” You sighed. "That is exactly the point, Y/N." Luke said gently, his voice dropping into that low, coaxing register you knew too well. "I am telling you that you are my person regardless of relationship status. The friendship, the intimacy, the chemistry—it exists without the label." His hand rubbed slow circles against your spine. "That distinction matters." You lean your head against his chest. “It’s the wording. It’s like if I turned around and said I love you.” You said. The silence that followed was deafening. The playful rhythm of his thumb against your spine stopped completely. Every muscle in Luke’s chest went rigid beneath your cheek. It was the line in the sand. The thing you had danced around for decades, whispering it in drunken stupors or desperate moments, but never sober, never in the daylight. “See what I mean?” You said. "Y/N..." Luke rumbled, his voice strained now, caught somewhere between warning and something else entirely. His arms remained around you, but they'd gone tense—the gentle hold now felt restrictive. “You can't just say that and expect no reaction." The admission hung between you, heavy and raw. He wasn't denying it. He was never denying the way things were between you. “Precisely my point.” You said. Luke swallowed hard, his jaw working against the tension. "My point," he countered quietly, pressing his forehead briefly against your temple. "Is that saying 'you're my person' and saying 'I love you' are two entirely different things." His voice dropped, dangerously intimate. "One is the foundation. The other breaks the entire fucking agreement." You sighed. “What agreement? But I could mean I love you as a friend. But in the context of this conversation, you’ve taken it the wrong way.”
"No, Y/N.” Luke said quietly, finally stepping back enough to look at you directly. His eyes were intense, almost angry—but you knew that spark in his gaze. "You didn't say 'I love you like a friend.' You said 'I love you.' Period." You sigh. “I say I love you to Jocelyn all the time. Doesn’t mean I want to date her.” You say. "You're not having this conversation with Jocelyn," Luke pointed out, his voice low and dangerously controlled. "You're having it with me. About *us*. And when you say 'I love you' in the middle of discussing our chemistry, our history, our 'what ifs'... it doesn't land the same way." He ran a hand through his hair, agitated. “Well that’s how I felt about the ‘You’re my person’ comment.”
"So we're even," Luke said, but there was no humor in his voice. He looked exhausted suddenly—the weight of decades pressing on his shoulders. "You throw a grenade, I throw one back. Classic us." He held your gaze, hazel eyes searching yours. "What are we doing, Y/N?" It wasn't a rhetorical question. It was a plea for clarity. “It’s not a competition Luke. Truthfully, I have no idea what we’re doing. Do you?”
"No," Luke admitted, his voice rough with frustration. "I have no fucking idea what we're doing. Because every time I think we're on the same page, you go and say something like that and I realize we're not." He said. Your brows furrowed. “What do you mean ‘when I say something like that?’ Something like what?” You said. "'I love you,'" Luke said bluntly, throwing the words back at you like a challenge. "'I love you' is a big fucking deal, Y/N. It's not something you throw around in conversations. Especially not in a conversations about us." You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t mean it literally! I was just using it as an example.”
"An example of exactly what I feel with you," he countered sharply, cutting through your dismissal. "That's my point. When I say 'you're my person,' I don't say it lightly either. I mean every single fuckin' word of it." He stepped closer, closing the gap again. “What? Romantically?” You ask. "That," Luke said sharply, tapping your forehead lightly with two fingers, "is exactly the problem." He dropped his hand, voice dropping dangerously low. "When I say 'you are my person,' I mean it in every single capacity. Friends, partners, emotional anchor, soul connection. The whole fucking spectrum." He looked you dead in the eye. "Stop compartmentalizing it." Your brows furrowed. “Whats the problem? My head?”
"Not your head," Luke said quietly, rubbing the bridge of his nose with frustration. "Your walls. The fact that you keep slapping categories on every feel and connection we have." He stepped back, running a hand through his hair, looking at you like you were a puzzle he couldn't solve. "You're a master at avoiding anything real, Y/N." You stepped back, offended. “That’s not fair.”
"It is entirely fair," Luke countered, though his tone lacked its previous bite, replaced by a heavy exhaustion. "You just used 'I love you' as a hypothetical example to prove a point about wording, then immediately rolled your eyes when I took it seriously." He gestured between the two of you. "You deflect. You intellectualize. You turn raw emotion into a debate about semantics." You rolled your eyes again. “Well sorry for wanting a direct response.” You said folding your arms. "See, that right there." Luke held up a finger. "Sarcasm as a shield. Redirecting because you don't want to actually deal with the weight of what we're talking about." He leaned against the doorframe, watching you with that same expression—the one that said he'd been studying you for twenty years and still couldn't crack the code. “Well what are we talking about then? Are we getting back together or just staying best friends with chemistry? I don’t want to dance around things.” You said. "For once in your life, stop reducing everything to binary choices," Luke snapped softly, pushing off the doorframe to close the distance between them again. "Why does it have to be 'get back together' or 'just best friends'? Why can't it be... something else entirely?" You frowned. “Well what else would we be?”
"Two people who love each other, have known each other since they were teenagers, and refuse to define it," Luke said, his voice dropping into that quiet, firm register that demanded you listen. "Something undefined. Something fluid. Something that involves intimacy and chemistry without the pressure of a label." He spread his hands. "Stop trying to shove us into a box." You looked at him. “I’m not trying to put us in a box.” You said. "You literally just asked if we're 'getting back together' or 'staying best friends'," Luke pointed out dryly. "That's putting us in a box. A really small, restrictive box. And honestly? It's exhausting." You folded your arms. “Well you’re exhausting!” You shot back. "Yeah, well you're exhausting too," Luke shot back, but there was no heat in it—just the exhaustion of two people who had been circling each other for decades. He let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. "We sound like a couple of idiots right now." He reached for your folded arms, prying them apart gently. "Y/N." You move your arms away from him. Luke let his hands drop to his sides, respecting the boundary you just threw up. He didn't try to grab you again, instead just watching you with that same tired, resigned look. "Stop fighting me," he said quietly. "I'm not attacking you. I'm trying to have an actual conversation about what the hell we are, and you turn it into a defense match." You scoffed. “I thought you didn’t want labels.” Luke sighed. "I don't," Luke said, his voice low and steady. "But that doesn't mean I want to be kept in the dark either. I want to understand what this is. What we are. Without putting a label on it. Can you fucking wrap your head around that?" You look at him. “Kept in the dark with what? You know, this conversation was a bad idea clearly.”
"Running away. Again," Luke said softly, the accusation lacking bite but hitting its mark nonetheless. He leaned back against the doorframe, watching you retreat into your defense mechanisms. "Kept in the dark about where your head actually is. One minute we're deep in it, the next you're throwing up walls and sarcasm because it got too real. That is the problem." You turned to him. “I’m not running away.”
"You literally just said this conversation was a bad idea," Luke pointed out flatly. "That's the definition of running." He rubbed the back of his neck, the gesture exasperated but controlled. "Twenty years, Y/N. We've been doing this dance since we were teenagers. Every time it gets too close, too honest, you fold." His voice lowered. “Maybe I just want a straight answer for once.” You say quietly. "And maybe I'm trying to give you one," Luke retorted softly, pushing off the doorframe to step closer without invading your space. "Maybe I'm trying to tell you that straight answers don't exist with us." You looked up at him. “What does that even mean? Why can’t it just be one or the other?”
"Because it's never just one thing with us," Luke said, his voice dropping. "That's the whole fucking point. We tried 'one or the other'—we dated, we broke up, we tried to be just friends. And neither of it stuck." He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident. "We fall back into each other every single time."
“So what are we now then?”
"I don't know," Luke said honestly, his shoulders sagging. "But I do know that the minute we try to shove it into a box, we fuck it up." You sigh. “What do we do from here?”
"We don't try to define it," Luke answered immediately, his gaze steady on yours. "We stop putting labels on every goddamn thing between us. We just... be. We spend time together. We fuck when we want to. We fight, we make up, we laugh..." You watch him. “That sounds suspiciously like a relationship.”
"It sounds like *our* relationship," Luke corrected gently, a sad smile tugging at his lips. "The one we've always had but never named. The one that exists outside of labels because they never fit." He looked at you, hazel eyes softening. "Can you just... let it be messy for once? Unnamed. Undefined. Ours." You look up at him studying his expression. “I can try.”
"That's all I'm asking," Luke said quietly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. It was a gentle, affectionate gesture—something he'd done a thousand times before. But now, it felt different. More intentional. More... something. Luke didn't bother to name it.
