Chapter Text
It’s an odd experience. Being alive, that is.
Luke feels like a ghost possessing his own body. His brain and his heart disagreed with each other often, and that really doesn’t help with Luke’s self control. He realised he’s become very good at rational thinking and impulsive acting. Simultaneously.
Like letting Juno teleport him into the middle of a Roman courtyard, for example. Impulsive acting.
This is a bad idea.
Romans don’t take well to strangers and Percy won’t take well to seeing Luke. Appearing in the middle of a public festival and yelling ‘surprise’ would be funny, but all-around a terrible idea.
A very terrible idea.
But he wanted to see Percy immediately, so his body stepped through Juno’s portal even as his brain yelled ‘NO’.
Luke arrives to see Annabeth judo-flip Percy.
For a heartbeat, time froze, and Luke with it, because seeing Percy’s limp body on the ground—
“Percy!” Luke screams, rushing over. “Don’t move! Let me take a look at your shoulder.”
He hears gasps all around him. Romans are probably not used to seeing people appear out of thin air. Annabeth’s face contorts into shock and disbelief and — for some reason — fear.
But Percy… Percy doesn’t even react to Luke’s voice. The cold knot in Luke’s stomach tightens.
“You alright?”
Being alive did not help Luke’s temper either. Annabeth’s hands were still on Percy.
“What the fuck, Annabeth?” Luke snarls. Percy’s stirring again. “No— Percy— don’t move! Annabeth! Get the fuck off him!”
Percy laughs — gods, it sounds so fake, anyone who knows him would be able to tell— “Okay Annabeth, you can get off me now.”
Annabeth just stares.
Percy turns around, “What—”
And then he freezes.
Luke is suddenly self conscious. Those green eyes are intense.
He hopes he isn’t blushing when he gives Percy a small wave: “Hi. It’s been a while.”
Percy flinches, and Luke’s heart twists again.
“Shit. I’m sorry,” Luke mutters, backing off. What was he thinking? He didn’t belong here. Percy has every right to want him dead. “I should go. Yeah— I’m just going to—
“Are you…” Percy tries, but the words seem stuck in his throat. “Are you real?”
Luke smiles softly. “Yeah. I’m here, Percy.”
Percy reaches out to touch him, and Luke—
Dodges a roll of duct-tape that nearly hit him in the head.
“Leo!” A girl hisses.
“Hey, just trying to confirm if this is a collective hallucination!”
Luke scowls at them.
“Sorry, we were kinda having a moment here,” he bites, motioning at himself and Percy.
“Yeah,” The guy who flung the duct-tape nods enthusiastically, “Sorry, by all means, take the floor.”
Luke forgives him for the atrocious hair.
Then,
“Excuse me.” Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano says, eyes cold. “Who are you? How are you here?”
Oh. The Romans raised their weapons.
This is probably dangerous.
Hm.
“Hold on,” Luke ignores her, turning to smile at Percy again, holding out his hand. “Percy. Let me help you.”
He sees the war in Percy’s eyes—the mistrust, the flash of pain… and something Luke can’t identify.
He wills himself to be still. To not falter. This was the first, real thing he could offer to Percy: a choice. Luke isn’t very — alive. He’s more ghost than human. But— if nothing else— he could respect Percy. No one else mattered but Percy.
He notices the way Percy’s jaw tightens, the conflict locking in his muscles.
A part of Luke, the old, wounded, rational part, whispered that he deserved the rejection. That he should lower his arm and walk away.
But the selfish part told him to wait.
Then, Percy moved.
Percy’s hand was cold.
Percy.
Luke closes his fingers around it, careful but firm, feeling the strength in the grip that had once fought him to the death. He pulled, not too hard, just enough.
Percy stands, but he doesn’t let go. He just holds on, his gaze locked on their joined hands — as if he were drowning, and it was the only lifeline.
Gods, Luke sucked in a breath.
No, shut up Luke, you’re reading too much into this.
He can feel the slight tremble in Percy’s fingers, the shock vibrating through him. He sees the sheen in those sea-green eyes, and… it isn’t hatred.
Percy’s looking at him in awe.
The weight of it almost buckled Luke’s own knees. This was the boy he’d wronged most of all, and here he was, holding on as if Luke were the anchor. The warmth between their palms was the most profound truth he’d felt since his own consciousness had reignited in the quiet fields of Elysium.
Slowly, he released his grip, letting Percy have his hand back, letting him have his space, but Percy doesn’t let go.
“Hey, Percy,” Luke says. The words were gravel in his throat.
“Hey.” Percy replies, with a tilt of his head. “‘Sup?”