Just Two Souls That Are So Intertwined They Don’t Know Where One Ends And The Other Begins….. - Blog Posts

Hoh my god they are so wonderful and soft and heartachingly sweet together. Holding the hopes of a good end for these two clenched in my fist right now.

Also, the ambiguous confession-that-was-kinda-is-and-not-a-confession???? Perfect

a world alone

the killerverse masterlist

pairing: luke castellan x daughter of ares reader

word count: 6.6k

summary: set before luke’s quest. you and luke take a well deserved day off at the lake, and you talk about the future

content: happiness. me waxing poetic about luke castellan via killers inner monologue about him lol, talks of having kids

notes: title from a world alone by lorde. this is probably my favorite chapter lol i hope you enjoy as much as i did!

Luke’s hands burn hot where they rest on your shoulders. You wonder if they’re going to leave behind marks in the shape of his palms, like brands pressed onto your skin forever.

The slight breeze coasts past your arms, tickling the bare skin of your arms and legs. The sun beats hot on your backs, but the excitement outweighs whatever discomfort it could bring. You can hear the sounds of the lake already, and you can’t help but turn to Luke with an uncontrollable smile.

The two of you speed up, listening to the sounds of nature and the crunching of dirt and gravel beneath your feet. Luke has been planning this day for forever, and even though he’d be stuck with two weeks of extra dishwashing, he swears it’ll be more than worth it.

The Hermes campers would officially be under Chris’ rule for a day, and you and Luke were free to take a day off.

“How much do you bet your cabin will be on fire when we get back?” you can’t help but ask.

He laughs quietly by your left ear, and it sends chills down your spine. “I’m trying not to think about that.”

The trees begin to grow sparse as the lake comes into view, so Luke slips your backpack from his shoulders, swinging it and letting it smack into his calves. The moment his feet hit the dock, the bag falls to the ground with a metallic thunk, and you sigh out his name, annoyed.

“I slaved over those sandwiches, you know. I’m making you carry me back to camp if they're flattened.”

He smiles, guilty, his hands frozen over the main pocket of the bag. The towels he’d packed are already hanging halfway out of it, the mat you’d brought to lounge on tucked under his arm. He’s practically halfway in the water already. “Sorry, chef.”

“You can relax. The lake’s not going anywhere,” you tease. Your shoulders brush when you nudge him away from your bag to rifle through it yourself.

Even though you poke fun at him, you can’t help but feel the same way. It’s been too long since you and Luke have had any personal time that wasn’t surrounded by other demigods. Your break’s been long overdue.

Luke surveys the best spot for swimming while you scrutinize the wooden dock. The old thing is riddled with splinters and nails and wobbly pieces of wood, but you find a good spot just on the edge of the structure.

The second your mat is rolled out, you collapse right on top of it. It’s an old plastic thing that one of Luke’s brothers stole from who knows where. The dark blue material folds into the shape of a bag so it’s easy to lug around, but years of lakeside lounges have worn it down — the strap that makes it into an actual bag snapped off a while ago.

You have to shove your hand to the very bottom of your backpack to find Luke’s sunglasses, but you’re quick to throw them over your eyes as you lay back down. The sun hits your skin and seeps the tension straight from your body. You wish Apollo were here so you could thank him personally; if it was possible to sunbathe forever, you would.

The rays on your skin are perfect. The lake is perfect. Being here with your best friend is perfect.

Luke moves from his spot by the other side of the dock and steps in front of you, eclipsing the sun. You peer at him over the rims of his glasses, unable to see much of him with the way he’s standing against the light.

“You look comfortable,” he says, rocking back onto his heels.

You prod at his ankles that are parallel with your face. “I am. Now move over, you’re blocking the sun.”

Something hard drops onto the wood beside your head, and your eyes shift to the container by your side.

It’s Luke’s sticky tube of sunscreen. The cartoon sun printed onto the front of the plastic is enjoying himself, his own shades pasted above a smug grin.

Luke nudges it towards you. “Could you get my back?”

You’re about to complain. He knows how much you hate the greasy feeling the sunscreen leaves on your hands and on everything you touch afterwards, but he’s making you do it anyway. Your eyes trail back up to glare at him, and you make it through a single syllable before your complaint evaporates in the heat.

He’s still looking at you expectantly, and he nudges the bottle closer to you with the point of his sandals again.

He’s trying to rush you, but you don’t really care. You’re thinking.

Yeah.

Thinking.

You’ve known Luke through everything. The terrible twos, your fear of the dark at six, his obsession with Pokémon cards at eight, and both of your awkward, gangly, preteen years.

In your head, Luke’s still your best friend that’s trying to relearn how to use a sword after he’d hit a growth spurt at fourteen. Whoever the fuck is standing in front of you now is not him.

Sometime between when you’d first arrived and had gotten settled on the dock, Luke had stripped himself down to his swimming trunks, eager to get into the water. Sunscreen he hasn’t fully worked into his skin leaves a white cast down his chest and arms, and you have to blink to see if the shadows are playing tricks on your eyes.

Luke had always been strong. But fighting off monsters thirsty for demigod blood generally did not require having abs.

Fed up with your staring, he pushes you over on the mat and places the sunscreen into your hand himself. His biceps shift and grow taut as he leans over.

“Have you been lifting?” you say, instead of anything normal. The tube of sunscreen feels like a thousand pound weight in your hand.

“Oh.” Luke looks down at his arms, as if he hasn’t even thought about how different he looks. He flexes just to show you, and your eyes actually widen at the definition of his arms. You trace the pathways his veins make from his wrist all the way up, feeling like you’re seeing muscles for the first time ever. “Yeah. A little.”

“A little?” you repeat, before actually laughing. “Dude.” You prod at his stomach, and he swats you away, red creeping up his neck. “Back in the day, they could’ve used your chest as like, one of those old laundry washboards. Since when do you work out?”

For a second, his face falls. The light air that’s been sitting between you two feels tainted. Luke shifts his eyes from your face to a spot behind your head, and you realize you’ve been walking carelessly through a landmine.

“Just, since…” He goes quiet for another few seconds. “Since Michael’s quest.”

Luke’s voice twists in a way it only does when he talks about things revolving around his dad. Your heart sinks with the weight of guilt.

Months ago, Luke’s older brother Michael had received a quest from Hermes himself. Him and his quest group had emerged victorious, finishing the quest with tons of time to spare. The three of them were treated like royalty the second they’d stepped through the entrance to camp.

Luke had never outright told you, but you know he’d been jealous. His relationship with his dad has always been rocky, but you think he wants to prove himself, for one reason or another. The bulking and the additional training… All of it must be to show his dad he’s ready. For his own quest, or something else.

Comfort has never come easy to you. But it does when it comes to Luke. A lot of the time, he just wants to be reminded that you’re there for him, even if you’re just sitting in silence. Words don’t usually work when he’s upset about things like this, so you finally pop open the sunscreen to give your hands something to do. He turns around without a word.

There’s a spot of white on his back in the shape of a smeared handprint where he must’ve tried putting it on himself before realizing it was no use. As you apply some more properly, the sunscreen disappears under your fingers, and you don’t even think about how gross your hands will feel later. You put on more of the lotion, rubbing slow circles into the broad stretch of his shoulders and then the dips of his back.

It feels weird touching the expanse of his bare skin like this. You’ve felt the warmth of him countless times, but always through a shirt or a jacket or that one sweatshirt that’s now yours. Luke’s skin is so warm it makes you want to slump forward and let him hold you until sleep takes you away. Absent-mindedly, your hands reach out to trace over a spot on his shoulder blades that’s covered in freckles.

“Killer,” Luke says softly. He pinches the skin just above your knee and your hands stop moving. “You’re supposed to help me put sunscreen on, not give me a massage.”

“Oh.” You realize his back has been thoroughly covered two times over. “Sorry. I got distracted.”

“That’s okay. It’s your turn, though.”

You sigh, slumping back onto the mat. He turns around to face you again, the harsh lines of his frown already disappearing off his face.

“You need to invest in better sunscreen,” you say as he works to undo the buttons of your old Hawaiian tee. “This one makes me feel so gross.”

Luke doesn’t say anything about your complaining. He’s too busy looking perfectly sun kissed, a light dusting of red across his cheeks glowing against his tan. He motions for you to turn over, and you oblige.

You don’t mention how you haven’t even put sunscreen on the parts of your body you can reach, but he doesn’t bring it up, so neither do you.

You’ll give him this. He needs something to do that isn’t sitting and thinking about his dad, and you’re willing to let it slide even if it’s at the cost of feeling greasy and gross.

“You know what’s even worse than the sunscreen?” he asks.

“What?”

“Skin cancer.”

Luke’s already grinning when you tilt your head to glare at him. “What even possessed you to say that?”

He laughs, squeezing the bottle of sunscreen directly onto your back. You flinch at the coldness, but it’s quickly remedied with the warmth of Luke’s hands. He doesn’t let the sunscreen sit for a second before he’s working it into your skin. You can feel every single movement of his fingers and every shape he traces there.

The slowing of his hands when he lingers at the scar on your back nearly causes a full body reaction.

“Thought we weren’t giving each other massages,” you choke out, just so he stops dragging his nails over the raised skin.

He hums. “Your scars look really badass.”

(Luke does this a lot — says something offtopic in lieu of responding. He doesn’t mean to do it to ignore you, and you don’t take offense, especially if it's during quiet moments like these. When you sit in silence like this, his off topic thoughts tend to morph into compliments.)

You feel flushed all of a sudden. “Thanks, hero. But keep going, please. I can feel my skin withering away under the sun already.”

You can hear the smile in Luke’s voice when he says, “Told you.”

A bit higher up, closer to your spine, he presses a finger into your back twice, each prod an inch apart. And then, just below, he drags his finger in the shape of an arc. He leans back on his heels to look at it.

You push yourself off of the dock, trying to crane your neck around to look at your spine. “Did you just… draw a smiley face?”

“What?” his left hand pushes your face away while the other swipes quickly over your skin again. “No. Stop moving around.”

“So that wasn’t you trying to wipe away the evidence?”

He scoffs. “I’m not five years old.”

“Sure.”

He wipes away the last of his sunscreen art once and for all. As quick as he can, he smears more into your shoulder blades, and the back of your neck, and the tops of your shoulders.

Luke pauses for a second, and for a second you think he’s finally done. But you can feel his hands move out of the dip of your back and higher up, his touch feather light. His index finger ghosts over the band of your top, and he pinches the fabric between his fingers.

“Is it good if I lift this for a second?”

“Yeah.” You clear your throat of whatever’s blocking your windpipe. The fraction of space between you burns with heat. “You’re good.”

The split second he spends passing his hand over the skin there feels like it lasts an hour. A moment later, the fabric is snapping back into place, and he pats your back twice to let you know he’s done.

“Want me to get your arms for you?” he asks.

A weird wave of restlessness washes over you. You shove the cap back onto the sunscreen, your hands fumbling to toss it back into your bag with his sunglasses.

“We’ve been up here forever,” you groan, Luke’s impatience from earlier suddenly infectious. “I’m trying to spend at least some of our lake day in the actual lake.”

“Great.” Luke lifts himself to his feet and extends a hand.

The mat is warm under your feet when he helps you up. You can feel his hand squeeze yours a little too tight, and your stomach nearly drops when you realize he’s looking away from you, towards the water.

“Luke,” you warn, planting your feet and trying to resist the way he pulls you forward. “No.”

When he turns back to look at you, his eyes glint the same way it does when he’s waiting for one of his brothers to fall for one of his stupid pranks. And of course, he’s grinning at you the same way he does when someone doesn’t realize he’s nicked something straight out of their pocket. It’s the always mischievous face of a son of Hermes.

Ever innocent, he asks, “What’re you talkin’ about?”

You stumble when Luke uses his other hand to tug you closer. Dread spikes in your chest. He pulls you right into his chest at the edge of the dock, locking his arms around your waist.

You’re stuck. “The water’s cold, Luke, please—”

“You’ll warm up,” he promises, his voice sweet and low.

A second later, with his firm grasp around your middle, Luke tip both of you backwards off the dock.

The cold water jolts you out of the peaceful state you’d been in just a few seconds ago. The air is effectively shocked straight from your lungs, the water rushing past your ears and bubbles dancing across your vision. He releases you so both of you can resurface, and his laugh is the first thing you hear when you come up for air.

You make sure to splash him in the face the second you gain your bearings. “Asshole.”

The dark mess of curls on his head hangs over his eyes, heavy with water. He shakes it out like a dog, sending droplets straight at your face.

“Maybe if you didn’t always take fucking forever to get in, I wouldn’t have—”

You drop your tone and mock him accordingly. He splashes you again, grinning. The water has washed every remaining part of his frown away, the quest slipping from his mind.

This spot by the dock is shallow enough for both of you to just be able to stand. Sated with happiness, Luke lets his guard down enough to let you come closer and wrap your arms around his neck. You seize the opportunity to shove his head underwater, managing it for a few seconds before you feel his hands go under your arms.

You scream, your hands slipping off of his wet shoulders when you try to hold onto him. Armed with a steady grip, he tosses you straight over his shoulder and head first into the water.

His smile is what greets you when you resurface. He slicks your wet hair away from your eyes, laughing at the scowl on your face.

“I’m sorry, I swear,” he insists, pulling you closer. He’s using that stupid starry eyed look he always uses to get you to forgive him. “I’m done now, no more fighting.”

He puts both of his hands on your face, swiping away drops of water that track down your cheeks.

“Luke Castellan.” You sigh, leaning into his palm.

His eyes follow a droplet that runs down your neck. “Yeah?”

“I hope you can swim fast.”

When you catch him halfway down the lake, his laughter echoes throughout the clearing, joining the sound of the wind rushing through the trees and the choir of birds over your heads.

—

The sun has long moved from the high point of the sky when you decide to get out. Luke calls it a day when he can barely move his legs, thighs burning from swimming. You’d been clinging to his side for a while at that point, teeth chattering without the hot sun to warm the water.

Luke pushes himself up onto the dock and nudges his waterlogged hair out of his face. When he extends a hand to you, water runs down the slopes of his arms and drips down his fingertips.

He snaps his fingers in your face when you don’t reach for him. “The hypothermia get to your brain already?”

You grip his hand in yours, tugging him forward like you’re going to pull him back in. “Funny. I was actually deciding whether or not I should make you face plant.”

You dry yourselves off before Luke disappears into the woods for firewood — not without a comment about what happened the last time he let you go get it — and you set up your stuff on a soft tuft of grass as close to the water as you can get.

He reappears after a few minutes, his arms full with sticks that he drops at the foot of the mat. “There wasn’t much dry wood out there. Might only have enough for an hour or two.”

“That’s okay. It’s more wood than I ever managed to bring back by myself, anyway.”

Luke freezes from where he’s starting the fire, the flame of his lighter dancing in his cupped hands. He turns to see the shit-eating grin on your face. “That was a good one.”

“Thanks.”

Luke busies himself with the fire, letting the kindling catch while you take out the sandwiches you’d brought. Thankfully, only one of them is a little smushed from Luke’s reckless bag handling, but you set aside the nicer one for him anyway. You work your hands over the aluminum wrapping as you sit back.

“It’s been a while,” you say, just loud enough for your voice to carry over.

Luke tosses another piece of wood into the fire to feed the growing flames. “Since what?”

Since this. Everything’s the same. There’s the silhouette of Luke’s back, a shape you’d recognize even without the light of the sky. There’s the familiar warmth of the fire at your feet. And there’s that summertime buzz in the air — a sound you can’t place, but know like the sound of your own voice. It’s the sound of you and Luke’s nighttime lullaby from all those years ago. It’s been so long since you’d been out here alone together.

“Eating sandwiches by the fire. The woods. Us.”

He mumbles something that you can’t hear. Louder, he says, “At least the sandwiches are good this time around.”

You crack a smile. “That’s true. No more old peanut butter and crumbly bread.”

Luke had hated eating those things as a kid, but he’d toughed it out for you. The sandwiches reminded you of home. Even though the dry crust tasted nearly powdery in your mouth, you would close your eyes and imagine sitting under the tree in Luke’s backyard, eating a plate of sandwiches and drinking your mom’s lemonade.

You reach for the sweater at the bottom of your bag, tugging it over your top. When you pull out the blanket you’d brought, you’re surprised to see the bottom of the bag. You turn to face Luke.

“You didn’t bring a jacket?” you ask. He shakes his head no, calm and collected like he can barely feel the breeze that whips his hair around.

“You’re gonna get cold,” you chastise.

Satisfied with the fire, he finally settles down next to you. “It’s not even that bad out. You’re just cold-blooded.”

You hold the back of your hand against his neck, and he cringes away. Teasingly, you say, “You know what they say. Cold hands, warm heart.”

He tugs the blanket over both of your laps and opens his left arm for you to lean against him. You’d slept like this as kids, too, his left arm over your shoulder and his weapon of choice sitting in his right hand. You would switch when it was your turn to keep watch, the familiar weight of your knife in your dominant hand and Luke’s warmth coming from your other side.

But you’re at home now. You no longer have to sleep with the handle of your knife imprinted into your hand, and Luke is free to take your hands in his. He rubs his thumbs over your skin, his hands hot and soothing.

“If that saying’s true, my heart must be made of ice, then,” he says, no doubt feeling the warmth seeping back into your hands from the heat of his.

You smile, watching as he turns your palms over in his until they feel normal again. You probably would’ve turned into a demigod popsicle without Luke all those years ago, and the same is true. The mutual body heat was often the only source of warmth you’d have in the colder months.

Keeping each other alive is all you two seem to do.

After a few seconds, Luke tugs you back to lay on the mat with him. You turn further into him, soaking up every ounce of comfort he offers.

With your head tilted back, you can see the makings of stars in the sky, just beginning to fade into the blue with the sun setting. You’d have to ask someone to teach you the constellations visible this time of year.

Luke taps out a rhythm on your forearm, and then on your bicep, and then up to your shoulder. His hand finds its way into your hair, rubbing at your scalp before slipping down to the ends.

There’s a glowing form brighter than the rest just above the treeline. A planet, maybe. Or a star. You’d probably be able to remember if you weren’t so tired.

You can feel light tugs at the end of your hair — Luke, playing with the ends, twisting strands around his finger before letting it go.

“We’re gonna fall asleep,” you warn, but you’re much too comfortable to actually do something about it. His chest rises steadily at your side, the even movements drawing you closer and closer to sleep.

Luke’s eyes have taken on a faraway look to them, his hand still messing with the tips of your hair. While you stare skyward, he’s focused his eyes on the setting sun right ahead.

“Hey.” You link his restless hand with yours. “Can you start talking about something? I don’t want to fall asleep yet.”

He squeezes you twice. “You cut your hair.”

You wilt, your face already beginning to heat up. “Preferably anything but that.”

“Why?” he asks, turning to face you. His eyebrows knit in genuine confusion. “It looks great.”

“Not really.” Your own hand slips from his to pull at the ends self-consciously. “I love Junia, I do, but she cut it way too short. I can’t look at it.”

He tilts his head to look at you head on, a frown on his pretty face. He nudges a strand behind your ear, deep in thought, like he’s trying to look for something. “Don’t say that. It looks good. You just haven’t had it this short in a while.”

“I know, which is why I hate it,” you lament. “It’ll be a while until it grows back.” You’d been mourning the lost length all day, and thought Luke wouldn’t be able to notice the difference.

He flicks your forehead, eliciting an ow from you. “Always so stubborn. You look cute, killer.”

You let your hair that you’d worried between your fingers fall back into place. You squint at Luke for any sign of a pity compliment.

“You really think so?”

He seems to take offense at your doubt. “You really think I’d lie to you?”

It’s crazy how much weight Luke’s words hold in your mind. You know the next time you look in the mirror, you’ll rethink everything about the way you look.

When you settle back down without a word, Luke knows he’s won. He tugs at the fabric of your sweatshirt.

“You talk to your sister lately?” He asks, just to change the subject.

You look down at your sweater. Emblazoned across the front are letters that spell out UC San Diego.

“Kinda. She sent me and Clarisse a postcard and some merch from school. Clarisse refuses to wear the t-shirt she got, though.” Luke’s hand reaches out to trace over the embroidered letters. “Mel says she wants to visit soon. I can’t wait to see her.”

Mel was the Ares cabin counselor up until last summer, when she’d left for college on the other coast. You’ve missed her terribly, but you heard all about her life out there and knew she was having a great time.

“She’s almost done her sophomore year. I think she switched her major to nursing, or something,” you add on. “Kinda ironic, isn’t it? A daughter of Ares healing injuries instead of causing them.”

Luke smiles. “I can see it. Mel’s always been the nicest Ares kid I know.”

You huff. “Well, thanks.”

He pretends to think it over again for a few seconds. “Don’t worry. I’d say you’re tied with Clarisse for last.”

“Ha ha,” you drawl. “Fuck you.”

“Actually, you rank just above her, I think. She would definitely drown me if she found out she wasn’t at the bottom of the list.”

“Probably.”

Luke’s hand is still pressed to the letters on your sweatshirt, his eyes trained on the words there. Something begins to form in the back of your mind.

“Maybe we could take another trip,” you suggest. “Me and you. California.”

The amusement is written on his face. “As if Chiron would let us take another vacation. We barely got him to agree to the last one.”

“But he caved eventually!” you remind him. “And wasn’t it great?”

“I guess.”

“Oh, please. That was the most fun we’ve ever had, and you know it.”

(For your sixteenth birthday, you and Luke had managed to charm your way into letting Chiron and Mr. D set you loose in New York City. You’d been on your own for a day, spending your allowance of a whopping fifty dollars on two small meals at an even smaller restaurant. You had also managed to score sight-seeing tickets on a rickety boat that didn’t look safe to ride.

Luke had rubbed your back for you when you’d gotten seasick, and given you Dramamine he’d pilfered from the bag of a man a few rows ahead of you. You’d given each other an awkward look when the guy got sick over the side of the boat an hour later.

“Here, man,” Luke had said. He placed the foil of Dramamine tablets in his hand. “We have extra.”

The man nearly got down on the floor, thankful out of his mind. There were tears in his eyes when he said, “Thank you so much. I seem to have forgotten mine, and I get so terribly sick on boats.”

You and Luke were silent for the last ten minutes back to the dock.)

“We might have to wait a while to ask,” Luke says, giving in. “Chiron’s not gonna be too happy when he finds out we skipped out on everything today.”

“You’re like the camp golden child. I’m sure if you flashed your pretty smile at him, he’d give in.”

Luke turns away, smug.

The two of you settle into another bout of silence, thoughts of the sunny California beaches running through your minds. You can picture the both of you there already — a little older, a lot happier. Luke would probably take up surfing, because he’s that kinda guy. You’d have a Jeep, or something, driving to the beach with the top down to watch the sun setting over the water.

“We could always say we’re touring schools,” you offer. “We should probably be thinking about future colleges, anyway.”

Luke sits up abruptly, so you do too. When you see the look on his face, fear strikes in your chest. His eyes are shining with something unreadable, and it’s beginning to dawn on you that you and Luke haven’t discussed this before. You have no idea if he even wants to go to college, and you’re already roping him into your fantasy of school on the west coast.

“You want that?” he asks, quiet.

“I think so,” you say honestly. “I kinda just assumed we’d go somewhere together.”

Luke is silent, his face a complete mix of emotions that you can’t tell are good or bad.

It sounds beyond dramatic, but it feels like the rest of your life is riding on the rest of this conversation. There’s no future for you without Luke in it.

Your voice is quiet when you speak next. “Do you want that?”

You can’t imagine what would happen if Luke suggests something like the two of you splitting up, finding your own ways after camp. He’s in every plan you have, a permanent mark on the rest of your life.

Your attachment issues are serious. You’re barely able to imagine yourself as a person without Luke Castellan.

The way he smiles makes it feel like someone’s pumping air back into your lungs. It dispels every single doubt you’d ever had.

“Do I wanna go to college? Sure,” he says. The grin on his face lights up his eyes, gorgeous pools of dark brown. “But if you’re asking me if I want to be with you?”

Luke laughs in disbelief, like your question is the funniest thing in the world. The sound makes something in your chest constrict. “I hope you know it’s been a definite yes for the past decade.”

You don’t even realize how much you’re grinning until Luke leans forward to knock your forehead against his.

“Can I be honest with you?” you whisper, serious as ever.

The joy is written on your face, plain as day. It’s like you’ve ascended into the sky and merged into literal nature all at once. The wind rustles the taller grass blades behind you. A dove chirps over your heads.

Luke nods.

“Even if you decided you didn’t want to go to college, and just wanted to fuck off and live in the Canadian wilderness or something…”

You slide your arms around his neck just so you can hide your smile. You’re embarrassed out of your mind, knowing he can feel your grin against his skin. “I’d still go with you, honestly.”

A shocked laugh bursts from his throat. Luke’s arms link behind your lower back, and you fight the urge to do something stupid. “Fuck. Are you proposing, killer?”

You feel like you’ve been set on fire.

“I think we should go ask Chiron about plane tickets, like right now,” you say, no trace of a joke in your voice.

His chest rumbles against yours when he laughs. “Sure.”

The two of you stay like that for a few more minutes, and Luke only lets go of you to add the last remaining sticks into the fire. He sits back again, this time dragging you against his chest. He slumps onto your back, resting his chin on your shoulder.

It’s weird, knowing for a fact that you’re going to spend the rest of forever with your best friend.

“Do you ever think about, like, the other parts of the future?” you press, your curiosity getting the best of you.

His shoulders lift against your back in what you think is a shrug. “Like what? Up until now, I had no idea I even wanted to go to college.”

Of course.

“Like anything after college. Where you wanna live. If you want kids.”

Luke’s taken to rubbing the skin of your thigh through the blanket over both your laps. “I have, actually.”

His answer surprises you. He’s thought about stuff like that, which is a million years from now, but not college? Something that could very much happen in the next few years?

“Care to share?” you push. “I haven’t really thought about it yet.”

Luke hums, and you can tell he’s thinking everything over. You watch the fire dance in the pit while you wait for him to speak.

“I’ve always wanted to live by the water,” Luke admits. “I liked that about where we grew up.”

His voice takes on a quiet tone, always awkward whenever he mentions Connecticut. You’d lived in the suburbs about ten minutes from the coast, and so many of your summers and few weekends were spent down by the water.

“I think that’s why California sounds good to me,” Luke continues. “It’s not New England, and it’s different in a good way.”

You would love to go back to your mom’s house — see the place that shaped you and Luke into people. But you know he could never consider it. Westport haunts him even now, his own personal ghost.

“And I want a big house,” he continues. “With one kid. A boy or a girl, I don’t really care.”

“Luke Castellan, girl dad,” you tease, everything about it sounding fond.

In a few years, the same boy who used to chase you through his backyard with worms in his hands will be an adult. Your best friend, pressed against you right now, could one day be a dad.

“Maybe,” he answers. He squeezes your knee two times, and it keeps you from drifting off into your thoughts.

“I don’t know if the world could handle a Luke Castellan Jr. running around. You were a crazy kid.”

Luke pinches you in offense. “Big talk coming from you, killer.”

He draws out the syllables in the old nickname to drive his point across. The joke had come from somewhere, of course.

“It wasn’t like you were the angel between the two of us,” he adds.

You smile because you know he’s right. You’d been a handful for your mom, always causing some sort of trouble in one way or another. And Luke had been right there with you, every step of the way.

Beyond college, you don’t know what you want for yourself. You just know that you’re going to have Luke, no matter what happens.

You think of the two of you a few years from now with your college diplomas and your families in the audience. Years of laughter and sunscreen and your big house on the California beach. And then the two of you, old and tired but with a lifetime of stories to tell.

You sink further into the cradle of his arms. “I just can’t wait, Luke. For all of it.”

Straight ahead, the last of the light from the sun gets consumed by the darkness of the night. You and Luke lay there, alone under the stars.

He mumbles his answer into the quiet of the sky. “Me too.”

The fire goes out sometime later.

—

Luke dreams of you that night.

You’re about sixteen years younger, but it still looks just like you.

You’re both sitting on the beach, though it doesn’t quite look like the one from your childhood.

The water is so blue and the sand is so fine and white and Luke knows he’s never been here before. When he turns around, he can see nothing else but more sand behind him, an eternal beach his mind has drawn for him. In front of him is a stretch of water that goes as far as his eye can comprehend. And to his left is you.

He knows it has to be you the moment he sets his eyes on the back of your head, the same messy hair of his youth.

It’s the same kid he sat with on the back steps of his porch, hands sticky with melted popsicles. The same kid he’d watch late night cartoons with on his couch, asleep with a half eaten bowl of ice cream on the floor.

You turn to face him, and Luke knows if he had full control over his body, his face would’ve split into a grin.

You’re just a baby.

You’re so tiny that even the version of him in his dream reaches out for you. It seems that Dream You is still a baby, but Dream Luke isn’t.

There’s a ridiculous sunhat on your head, the kind his mom would make him wear as a kid. It’s in your favorite color, and when you toddle closer, he sees you smile with all three of your baby teeth.

There’s a few things different about you that don't feel familiar to him. Something about the curve of your nose is off, and your hair looks curly in the way that his is. There’s a look in your eye that reminds him a lot of one of his younger brothers, the makings of a mischievous smile new on your face. You waddle right into his arms, and he lets you clamber onto his left thigh. When you throw your tiny arms around his neck, he realizes you smell like his sunscreen and salt water.

You pat his face, your eyes wide and glittering. He wipes a bit of drool away from the corner of your mouth, and you jump a little.

“Mama,” you babble, since it’s probably the only world you know.

He thinks of your mother, all the way back in Connecticut. He thinks of her big smile and warm hands and her freshly squeezed lemonade and her empty house.

She was like a second mother to him. He thinks of how she likely saw this same thing — this tiny version of you, unable to talk and lacking motor skills.

“Mama,” you say again, insistent. You pat his face again, like you’re trying to get him to understand. But Dream Luke can’t do anything but hold you, it seems. So he does.

There’s a shift, and you notice it too. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he feels movement behind him. Luke knows he should feel on edge, but his body physically refuses to. Baby Killer goes crazy, blabbering excitedly as familiar arms go around his shoulders.

Luke recognizes the feeling immediately. They’re the same arms that he feels curled around him when he wakes up from his dream.

my commentary on the ending

the killerverse masterlist

notes: and somehow they still aren’t together… idk. this was definitely my favorite chapter to write so please oh please leave feedback if you enjoyed!! it means sooo so much.

tags in the rbs!

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