#killerverse

Hook, line, and sinker.

After what was probably the shortest conversation of your entire life, you found yourself absolutely captivated with Luke’s friend.

You hoped Troy wasn’t able to tell how flustered you were at his compliment. He was the first boy that wasn’t Luke to ever say something so nice to you, and you still feel dizzy at the reminder that he had called you pretty.

You ended up not being able to talk to him for too long during that first meeting, being dragged away hastily by Luke to go look for the next exciting thing that caught his attention. But he hadn’t left your mind since that first conversation, and neither had his words.

It’s honestly kind of crazy how you hadn’t noticed him sooner, because you start to see him everywhere. You run into him a million more times in the days after, either by coincidence or careful timing on your part.

(You can’t help it — he’s really cute.)

You learn that he grew up in Tennessee when you ask him about his accent, and you find yourself clinging to every syllable that falls from his lips. He’s older than you by a year or so, and so charming you find yourself tripping over yourself in every conversation you have. It’s almost embarrassing how you forget how to talk the second he starts teasing you.

Luke catches you in a Troy-induced stupor the next day, much to your embarrassment. You aren’t sure how he manages to find you so quickly whenever you’re separated, but he always does. He catches you outside the greenhouse, leaning against the rail.

“What’re you thinking about?”

He stops you from jumping ten feet in the air when he drops his chin onto your shoulder, inching into your shared personal space with each word.

“Nothing,” you say, much too quickly. He gives you a look that makes you squirm. “I’m just thinking. You should try it sometime.”

Luke snickers before mumbling a quiet yeah, yeah. Interested in whatever you’re so taken by, he leans the side of his face against yours while he tries to follow your line of sight.

Unfortunately for you, it works. He follows your gaze directly to what is now beginning to draw a crowd in the center of camp — a son of Apollo serenading a girl on the lawn, a performance complete with a few of his siblings singing backup. As the song ends, he unravels a big sign that reads, Be My Valentine?

“Love is in the air, huh?” Luke muses, both of you watching as the girl throws herself into the guy’s awaiting arms. The crowd of spectators erupts in applause. When the two of them pull away, they’re both glimmering with the glow of love.

It’s February first, and you’re getting the feeling that you’re going to see at least ten more of these public displays by the time Valentine’s Day rolls around.

“Yeah. I guess so.”

Luke must notice something’s off in your tone, because his scrutinizing stare makes goosebumps erupt down your neck.

“No way. You’re telling me you’re into all that corny Valentine’s Day stuff?”

It’s a painful reminder of how much your best friend is such a boy.

You cross your arms over your chest defensively, not ready for the onslaught of teasing you’re about to endure. “You’re so unromantic. I think it’s sweet.”

He tilts his head at you, amused. “So you’re saying you’d want someone to proclaim their love for you in front of half of camp?” His smile only grows when you don’t answer.“You want a glittery poster? A trail of rose petals? Or maybe a—”

You burst out laughing, shoving him away by his shoulder. “Okay, whatever! I guess the gestures can be a little cheesy.”

Luke takes a step back, and you follow him thoughtlessly. “I didn’t know you were such a sap.”

You sigh, looping an arm around one of his. You think he’s walking you both in the direction of his cabin but can’t be too sure. “I’m not a sap, I just think it’s cute.”

The thought of being on the receiving end of one of those grand gestures is nicer than you’d ever admit out loud. You wonder what it feels like to be one of the cute and happy couples at camp.

As an afterthought, you add, “Maybe I’d really like all that sappy stuff if I had a boyfriend.”

“A boyfriend?” Luke repeats, almost in disbelief. A wrinkle forms between his eyebrows. “What would you need a boyfriend for?”

“For flowers and a glittery poster and a song dedicated to me in front of all of camp. Duh.”

“You don’t need a boyfriend to get gifts and do stuff on Valentine’s Day. Friends do that too.”

“Well, sure. But I need one for all the really cheesy stuff, don’t I?”

“Not really. You don’t need a boyfriend.”

You appreciate the thought, but that’s not what you’re getting at. “Obviously I don’t need a boyfriend, but don’t you think it’d be kinda fun to be in a relationship?”

“Uh, I dunno. I don’t worry about that stuff, and you shouldn’t either.”

One of your friends waves to you as you pass by the Demeter cabin, and a light bulb goes off in your head.

After a cursory glance around, you drop your voice to a whisper. “Do you think…”

Luke stops walking. He gives you a weird look. “What?”

“Do you think Troy would be into that stuff? Like the flowers and gestures, or whatever.”

It takes a few seconds for your words to process, but when they do, Luke’s eyes widen.

“Troy? Why do you care what he thinks about that?”

You shrug. “‘Cause I think he’s cute.”

Luke sputters before he’s able to gather his thoughts. “No… Oh gods. No way. There’s absolutely zero chance I’m letting you date one of my friends, killer.”

Your eyes widen at his interesting choice of words. “Good thing I wasn’t asking for permission, then.”

He at least has the decency to look a little sheepish when he says, “Sorry. You know that’s not what I meant. But— I just... it’s Troy.”

You frown. You didn’t think he’d be so up in arms about you liking one of his friends. “You’ve done nothing but talk about how cool he is. You were the one that introduced us. I thought you liked him.”

“I did! I do like him,” he corrects, before you can mention the slip of his words. “I just… you can’t date Troy.”

His commitment to dancing around the reason is admirable. “Why not?”

“Because you’re my best friend,” he stresses, as if it’s obvious. “Not his. He’s…” Luke trails off, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Please just tell me you won’t date him, killer.”

You think about Troy and his kind smiles. Even though your interest in him was only a few days old, he was now the first boy you could remember having a real crush on. You laughed at every single one of his jokes. Butterflies erupted in your chest whenever your hands would brush together.

But face to face with Luke and his request, your infatuation seems to fizzle out to nothing.

“Okay.” You agree with him probably way too quickly, so much so that both of you seem a little surprised by it. “He’s your friend, so… I won’t push.”

The smile that spreads across Luke’s face is slow at first. He very clearly is trying to look indifferent, as if he isn’t pleased that he got his way.

It doesn’t last long. After another second, he pulls you forward with an arm around your neck to press a loud kiss into your hair.

Luke laughs. “Good. Cause you’re my best friend. He has to find his own.”

It only takes a few days for you to completely forget about your crush on Troy.

You still wave at him whenever you pass and stop to talk to him whenever time allows, but you no longer find yourself staring into his eyes or stumbling over your sentences. He becomes as good of a friend to you as he is to Luke.

And when Valentine’s Day comes around, you become even more sure of the fact that you don’t need a boyfriend — because the second you step outside of your cabin, you’re greeted with the sight of Luke and a flower arrangement three times the size of your face.

He’s lucky enough to get the bouquet out of the way before it gets crushed between the hug you pull him into.

“Are you here to sing for me, too?” you ask, breathless as he slips the bouquet into your hands. You recognize bulbs of ranunculus and stocks between pink hydrangea and roses. You feel dizzy.

He’s grinning at you when he says, “Yikes. This is awkward. I got these for Grover.”

“You’re hilarious, hero.”

“And I’m sorry to disappoint, but the song and dance are gonna have to wait until later. I left my backup singers at home.”

You touch your face gently, your cheeks already sore from smiling. “I think I’ll find a way to cope.”

You throw your arms around his neck again, so overcome with affection you wish you could wring the life out of him. You mumble thank you a hundred times into the crook of his neck, and he reciprocates by squeezing you around the middle.

“You’re so much better than any lame boyfriend,” you admit, still unable to wipe the smile off your face.

Luke laughs into your hair. “It took you this long to realize that?”

notes: because nothing says platonic friendship like a flower arrangement on valentines day <3

—

It’s one of those rare days in October where it reaches just over seventy-four degrees, which means that everyone is happier than usual. It also means that the two of you could play hooky without the usual repercussions.

You decide to head deeper into the woods today. It’s farther in than usual, because even though your counselors won’t care that you skipped out on archery today, they’re bound to give you disappointed looks if they see you lounging around openly by the lake.

It’s only been a couple of years since the two of you have come to camp, but Luke is already beginning to find it insanely boring. There’s nothing to do except the same six activities and there’s nowhere to go except the miles of woods on site. You’ve already combed through what feels like every square inch of the place, taking him with you even when he drags his feet.

You find some spot just south of the shed where they keep the canoes. It’s shielded from the wind by a big oak tree you decide to lay your back against, yawning almost immediately when you sit down. The sun has warmed the ground and made it an optimal nap spot, apparently.

Luke sits a little bit ahead of you, keeping you in his peripheral vision. It gives him an unobstructed view of the small clearing you're in, and it’s fortunately nicer than most corners of the woods you take him to.

(He’s also pretty sure this is where he knocked you on your ass during Capture the Flag once, but he knows you’d deny it if he brought it up.)

Luke unfolds a piece of scrap paper from his pocket. He’s not that bad at drawing for a beginner, but he’s pretty sure art isn’t for him. He’s only doing it because Annabeth encouraged him to try.

She has sketchbooks full of random things. It’s mostly buildings she finds interesting and the occasional scene of camp, but all of it is insanely good and Luke would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit jealous.

He personally finds the act of drawing insanely boring, and it’s even worse because he’s pretty average at it. Annabeth insists he just has to find something he likes and it’ll come natural to him, but he’s seen everything at camp millions of times over again and knows it’ll be lame no matter what.

For now, he’s satisfied with drawing another uninspired view of a tree to give to Annabeth.

From behind him, you take the ball cap off his head, exposing his messy head of hair. He’s too tired to argue for it back when he watches you put it on, letting the bill settle over your eyes.

“No shot you’re sleeping right now,” he says hotly. “All you do is sleep. I barely even talk to you ‘cause all you wanna do is nap all the time.”

“Looking after you is exhausting,” you say, smiling as you do.

He scoffs, but lets you put your feet sideways in his lap while you try and get comfortable.

Stifling another yawn, you explain. “Carter and Nika were up all night talking. They’re trying to pull a prank on Austin.”

“And you didn’t tell them to go to bed?”

You shrug. “I’m not a hypocrite. We’re loud whenever we have sleepovers too.”

He pinches your calf but doesn’t say anything else. There’s absolutely no way you guys whisper that loud.

“I’m giving you an hour,” he lies. He knows he’s going to let you sleep longer than that. He always does. “Then we’re actually doing something.”

You press your sneaker into his thigh before laying back, leaving Luke somewhat alone with his thoughts and a blank page.

It probably takes him fifteen minutes to pick up his pencil. It’s partly because he doesn’t know what to draw, but it’s also because you start complaining whenever he stops passing his hand back and forth over your thigh.

He stops five times and you complain five times, but after the sixth time you’re silent. It’s at this time he decides on sketching the tree ahead of him. It looks just like the ten other trees he’s given Annabeth this week, but some practice is better than no practice. Maybe the wood nymphs will be extra nice to him if he gives them a drawing of their favorite tree, or something.

He adds in the sun just to see what it’d look like, and decides against it when it ends up making the whole thing cartoony. A few minutes later, he gets halfway into a drawing of a bird before it flies away, leaving Luke with a rough shape and making him more irritated than before.

He finally gives up when a squirrel shows up and chews through the flower he was drawing for you.

Luke sighs, leaning back against his hands and letting his eyes go to the only other thing around.

You.

You’re fast asleep already, so he takes the time to look at you. There’s a scratch going up the side of your calf, stopping around the bend of your knee. The hoodie over your shoulders is his — the one with the paint stains he hasn’t worn in a while. He’s never been happier that he gave up that piece of clothing, especially now that he sees how comfortable you are in it. He squeezes your ankle affectionately.

Before he thinks too much about it, he picks up his pencil and begins to draw.

He gets more into it than he thought he would. It takes him a few tries to get the shape of your jaw right, but it’s probably the only thing he’s drawn today that he’s remotely happy with.

It turns out that Annabeth was right. Drawing something he liked did make it a lot easier. Sketching the curve of your cheek was a lot more fun than drawing another uninspired pine branch.

Luke stares at the lead on the paper for so long he only notices you’re shifting around when you jolt awake.

The paper in his lap flutters into the dirt. It’s not like he was doing anything wrong, but his face still grows hot as he shoves it back into the pocket of his jacket.

Grogginess makes your movements sluggish. He lets his hand pass over your leg again, wondering if that'd be enough to put you back to sleep.

“Good nap?” he asks.

He pokes at the back of your thigh, and your eyes snap up at him.

There’s tears in them.

“Woah—hey.” He sits closer to you, trying to get you to look at him. Leaves protest under his knees. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t think you’re going to start crying, but you’re teary and quiet and he doesn’t really know what to do. You’re so warm with sleep that sweat has formed on your upper brow.

He knocks off the cap to see you better, but it does nothing but make you press your palms into your face. The nerves are making you so tense he can’t pry your hands away.

“Killer,” he says slowly. “Come here. Do you want to—”

As if you hadn’t been close to tears a second before, your hands drop from your face. “Can we go back, please?”

You don’t look sad anymore. Just tired.

Your breathing is fine, but he still reaches to feel the pulse at your wrist. Just to check. Just to be sure you’re actually alright.

It doesn’t take you long to get what he’s doing. You frown. “Luke, stop. I’m fine.”

Your pulse thrums erratically under his thumb. He looks you up and down, searching for… something he’s not really sure of.

Injury isn’t possible. He’s been with you the whole time.

“Luke, please,” you insist, rising on unsteady legs. You reach for his wrists this time to tug him up with you. “Let’s go back.”

You look tired, and Luke is forced to accept the fact that you aren’t going to talk about it right now. He gathers his stuff in one arm and you in the other, and you begin the quiet walk back to camp.

—

It’s been a few hours since then, and you’re still not totally back to normal. You’re still avoiding him. Whatever you dreamed about must’ve been bad.

Because that’s what it had to be, right? A bad dream?

There wasn’t anything wrong with you physically. You were a little shaken up, but a bad dream would’ve done that to anybody.

Whatever it was, Luke is determined to figure it out.

He finds the perfect time to investigate when everyone is captivated by Board Game Night. Luke is supposed to be the banker for his siblings’ Monopoly game (he’s the only person trusted not to steal the fake money), but he’s too busy watching you play Clue with Annabeth and your friends.

He sits through thirty minutes of Travis’ failed attempts at stealing money before he catches sight of you getting up across the room.

The plastic container of money goes flying when Luke stands up too. Paper flutters to the ground as everyone fumbles to catch the crumpled bills.

You mumble something to your group before turning in the direction of the exit.

“Luke!” Cynthia complains. Tiny red hotels land all over the floor. Her empire on the left side of the board has been crushed.

“I uh… gotta piss,” he lies, jumping over the board to catch up with you.

“I win, then!” someone (likely Travis) declares.

Luke leaves the ensuing argument in his rearview as he jogs out the front doors.

You’re insanely fast unfortunately, because you’re already about a third of the way to the bathrooms by the time Luke’s sneakers are even touching the grass.

The sound of the crunching leaves beneath his feet catches your attention immediately, if the way that you start walking faster indicates anything.

“Killer,” he says loudly, so you know it’s him and not some rando following you. “Can I come?”

You turn slowly to face him like you’re in a microwave. A smile is plastered on your face, and though it’s not fake, it’s a little awkward. “To the girl’s bathroom?”

He catches up with you in a few strides, more winded than he’ll admit. “I’ll wait outside, if that’s okay. You shouldn’t be walking around by yourself.”

The upturn of your lips softens into something a little more natural. You tilt your head, extending your hand. “Let’s go then, hero.”

The bathrooms aren’t too far away, so Luke makes sure to drag his feet. You are kind enough to match his pace and not leave him in the dust, even if it means you’re walking at the rate of one yard per minute.

You squeeze his hand, a form of a truce. “How’s Monopoly?”

It makes him happy to know you weren’t ignoring him completely. “Fine. I’ve been giving your sister an extra couple of fifties when no one’s looking.”

A wicked smile spreads across your face. “I expected nothing less from you.”

Luke’s chest burns while he looks at you. He’s said it a million times before, but he wishes you were happy all the time.

“Are you okay?”

Luke knows he’s spoken out of turn, but the way your eyes widen makes it loud and clear.

“Uh, what do you mean?” you say, pulling him to a stop.

“Nothing.” He shrugs, the picture of nonchalance. “I was just worried about you. You scared me earlier.”

You slip your hand out of his to pat his cheek. “You don’t have to be worried, Luke. I’m fine.”

“You gotta see where I’m coming from, though,” he says, catching your wrist when you try to walk away. “You were crying earlier. I thought you were hurt.”

You frown, then give a weird look to his hand around your wrist. “I’m okay. You don’t have to worry, I promise.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says, watching you try to slip out of his reach again. “I let you worry about me. Why aren’t you letting me worry about you?”

The look you give him is loaded. “Because I actually need to worry about you. You nearly snapped your neck trying to backflip off the dock yesterday.”

“Pfft. I was fine.”

Luke’s not some rookie. He wants to say that he’s done much more dangerous stunts off of much more dangerous structures, but he has a feeling that won’t go over so well with you.

“And I was fine too,” you argue. “No need to worry.”

“Let’s just say we can both worry, and you tell me what you were crying about.”

You almost look upset. “I wasn’t crying—”

“—Didn’t know there’s another word for when tears are coming out of someone’s eyes—”

You scoff so loudly it practically echoes. “You’re being totally ridiculous, Luke.”

“Killer,” he nearly snaps. “You’re my best friend and I care about you. I don’t think that’s ridiculous.”

His words disarm you. The irritation in your eyes evaporates — your argument fizzles out just as quickly as it started.

The fight leaves you almost immediately. Very quietly, you admit it.

“I had a dream about you.”

Luke knows you hate arguing with him, but he’s surprised you gave in this early on. He was ready for about ten more rounds of back and forth.

You look upset again. He beckons you closer, ready to bat your fears away.

“I get nightmares all the time. You know that better than I do.” Luke’s pleased to see that you step willingly into his reach. He squeezes your upper arms in a way he hopes is soothing. “Half of my bad dreams have to do with something happening to you. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Luke’s pretty sure he has more nightmares than dreams. He’s seen you die a hundred times over, a fact he’s admitted to you every time he wakes you up with his restless sleep. Sometimes his dreams are about Annabeth or even himself, but you seem to be the most popular star in his night terrors.

When his nightmares are bad enough, they can ruin his entire day. He’s grateful that you’re there for most of them, since your sleepovers are so common. You’re willing to sit with him at ungodly hours of the night, doing nothing but matching each other's breathing until one of you falls back asleep.

When they’re really bad and Luke’s reluctant to let go of you, you play imaginary tic-tac-toe on one of your arms. He’s beyond lucky to have you.

“You coulda just talked to me. Why’re you running away, killer?”

When you’d woken up from your nightmare earlier, you seemed to want to do nothing but get away from him. It would be embarrassing to admit that the thought of that stings, so Luke tries not to think about it.

You shift around nervously on your feet like you’re about to take flight any second. There’s a brief moment where your eyes flicker away from him, and Luke remembers he kind of ambushed you on the way to the bathroom.

“Oh,” he says, embarrassed. “I’ll uh— let you go. My bad—”

You look confused and then irritated all over again. “It wasn’t a nightmare, Luke.”

He turns the information over in his head.

Huh.

You had a dream. About him.

Unfortunately, Luke is a teenage boy.

He laughs.

“You had a dream about me, huh? What kind?”

Whatever emotion was on your face turns quickly into horror. “Not like that, you asshole!”

You whip your head around, walking away faster than Luke can jog. The only reason you probably don’t sprint away is because he drops an arm around your shoulder, sticking you to his side.

He’s still shaking with laughter. You scowl.

You try shoving his face away with the heel of your hand, and you’re very regretful when — as usual — he takes it as an opportunity to lock your hands together.

“Why do I even try?” you grumble to yourself.

For the rest of the walk to the bathroom, you are simmering with anger while Luke smiles, your hands linked in front of you.

“I know! I know, I’m sorry. You looked stressed, I was just kidding.”

(He was only half kidding. He was pretty sure it was that kind of dream.)

“Please never speak. Ever again.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he agrees quickly. It’s only a few seconds until you reach the bathrooms, so he lets go of your hand when he’s certain you won’t (rightfully) shove him.

“I’m too nice to you, Luke.” You sigh heavily as you take the steps up to the big building. He trails behind you dutifully. “I’ve made your ego too big. I’m actively hurting the whole camp.”

He gives you a wet kiss on the cheek, lighting up when you don’t wipe it away. “Yeah, yeah, I said I was sorry. Tell me what your dream was about and I’ll let you go.”

“No. You're a dick, but you’re still my friend. If I tell you, your head will get so big that it’ll explode. I already know.”

It is an impulsive decision to ask, “Was I that good?”

“Yes.” Your voice is flat while you push open the door to the bathrooms. “That’s why I was crying.”

Despite the boredom in your voice, Luke catches a glimpse of your smile when you look away.

“Tell me, killer,” he says to the silhouette of your back. He’s sure you can hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll do you a favor.”

“Already owe me plenty of those.”

“Then you can cash one in right now!”

You sigh loudly again, but Luke knows you’re just being dramatic for fun. You turn around, leaning against the open doorway. There’s a soft gust of wind, and you look rather pretty even when you’re half-glaring at him. The fluorescent lights behind you form a halo over your head.

It’s muffled by your embarrassment, but you say something that sounds like, “I had a dream that you got a girlfriend.”

Luke nearly laughs at the thought, but he knows that you’d take it wrong if he busted out laughing right now. Very calmly, he says, “You gotta speak up, killer. I don’t understand.”

Your hands are clasped together behind your back, probably making creases in the fabric. Very quickly, you repeat, “I had a dream that you got a girlfriend.”

Luke squints. He tilts his head slightly and taps the other side in hopes it’ll fix his hearing issue. “Uh. Say that again?”

You lean forward to shove at his shoulder, your eyes tilted towards the floor.

You’re embarrassed.

“I know you heard it the first time. I’m not saying it again.”

The words ring in his head.

I had a dream that you got a girlfriend.

It wasn’t a hallucination. You actually said that.

He sputters, his face catching on literal fire. “I—oh. I didn’t… couldn’t hear you. Did she… Who was she?”

You roll your eyes at his first choice of question. “I dunno. Some girl.”

Luke definitely feels like there’s more to it, but he’ll take whatever information he can get. “But why were you crying? Was she mean to you?”

You stay quiet. You’re halfway into the building now, shifting away from him.

“She was nice,” you offer, picking at a piece of wood on the pillar you’re leaning on.

“That’s why you were upset?”

You shake your head. “No.”

“Killer.”

“What?”

“Just tell me. I won’t joke, I promise.”

He even tucks hair out of your face because he knows it makes you happy when he does. Something he’s learned about you over the years is that just the right amount of affection will get you to do anything — even admit something you find super embarrassing.

The confession spills out of you without another second of prompting.

“I was sad because you had a girlfriend. And nothing was the same anymore.”

The thought of it is insane to him. Sure, having a girlfriend is something he’s thought about before, but not once has he ever thought about it affecting your friendship.

After all, you’re you. No single person could ever come between that.

“Why?” he asks genuinely. “You’re my best friend. Nothing will change that.”

You step out of the doorway to stand in front of him, which Luke takes as an absolute win.

He opens his arms, and you wrap yourself around his torso. “Thanks, hero. But we weren’t spending any time together when you had a girlfriend. And I get why, but I was just upset.”

This is interesting to him, seeing as finding time for you is like a literal power he has. He once communicated with you through paper and a window when you were isolated with the flu.

Luke gives you a self indulgent shoulder rub. “Why didn’t we spend time together?”

You shrug. “You spent all your time with your girlfriend instead. It was so weird. I couldn’t remember the last time I spoke to you.”

Luke thinks the way you’re so worked up about it is sweet. He understands why you’re upset, but he wishes you knew that there was no possibility of this specific dream becoming real.

Even his nightmares where you’re jumped by an evil Chiron are more likely to happen than him ignoring you.

“I wouldn’t stop talking to you, no matter if I had a girlfriend or not. You’re important to me. I don’t know what I’d do if we weren’t friends.”

You stay quiet with your chin hooked over his shoulder. You don’t really believe him — Luke can tell by the way you don’t settle.

“Okay,” you say.

“Hey. I’m serious.”

“I know.”

He says your real name, and you soften into the hug.

(It’s like his trump card.)

He wonders if thinking like this would make him a bad future boyfriend, but he tells you the truth. “Nothing would change my friendship with you. Not even a girlfriend.”

You pick at a loose thread along the line of his shoulder.

“C’mon, you know me. I’d never stop talking to you. Ever. You come first before anything.”

Luke trails off towards the end of his last sentence. If he did have a girlfriend, that part wouldn’t sound normal, but he says it anyway because it’s true. He would choose you over anyone.

When you lean back, it’s to smile at him. He finds himself reflecting it back to you.

“You done worrying now?” he asks.

You’ve been biting your lip. It’s stained a little red, and he presses his thumb into a spot where you’ve drawn blood.

“Yep. I’m done worrying.”

Luke already knows he has a stupid smile on his face when you close the door to the bathrooms. He just doesn’t care.

a/n. killer is the girl best friend luke tells other girls not to worry about (she is going to sleep in his bed tonight btw.)

i tried to make the end as cheesy and sappy and cringy as i could bc i already Know they were traumatizing anyone at camp who’s ever had a crush on the other lol.

Ok contrary to what may have been the obvious writing choice to make, i feel like killer and clarisse are not THAT close because it feels a lot more realistic to me. shes obviously a lot closer to annabeth and luke bc of how they came to camp together. and their lack of closeness is not because anything bad happened between them or anything, i just imagine them as siblings with a slightly large age gap who arent Best friends. however i dont imagine them as strangers at all LOL. at camp halfblood i inagine that everyone knows each other to some degree and since theyre in the same cabin they definitely spend a lot of time together.

i think clarisse defo gives off kind of annoying younger sister vibes to me (affectionate). i kind of imagine her looking up to killer in a way and thinking shes kind of a cooler older sister (not that she’d ever admit that tho.) i think the best comparison i have of them is mike and nancy wheeler if rhey were much closer. clarisse and kille know each other pretty well! its why throughout the series clarisse is seen continually clocking luke and killer LOL kind of in the way ur siblings can be nosy about ur crushes and significant others. and killer does it back when shes like “hm u and chris seem close 😐” and random ares kid who i randomly named teases killer for “making out with her boyfriend.” everyone is constantly in each others business LOL

also fun fact i think clarisse is the only prominent named ares kid in the entire pjo series. its why i had to make up a plot device oc even tho i lowkey hate writng ocs in fanfic HAHA. thank you sister mel for being a surprise tool that will help us later x

on the topic of the ares cabin i do remember joking in a chapter that killers siblings dont really like luke LMAO. killer goes to the hermes cabin more than luke goes to the ares cabin because

A. luke is the counselor so he can do whatever tf he wants

B. cabin eleven just took to liking killer more Tbh. like she is seen having a teasing relationship w the stolls in the chapter they go to olympus bc they know her pretty well with how much she is around

i imagine all of the ares kids to be fiercely protective of each other!! in competitions of course but also in general life i imagine ares kids ride Hard for each other.