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he’s still a ghost. they all are. but before, when luke would reach for his notebook where it lay open next to her, she’d feel the chill of a breeze. now, she can feel the warmth of his skin as he sits on the couch next to her, his arm brushing against hers.
warm or cold, it doesn’t matter. goosebumps rise on her skin either way.
//
one night, they’re up late writing in her room. alex and reggie are on the beanbag chairs on her floor, tossing a ball back and forth as they chime in with melodies or lyrics. luke’s crosslegged on her bed across from her, several papers strewn over the bedspread next to them.
julie yawns, waving a hand when reggie says they should let her sleep. “i’m good,” she replies, rolling her shoulders. “we’re almost done, anyway. just - can you...?”
she starts to ask alex if he can toss her a pair of socks from her dresser, but it’s easier to just tuck her bare feet underneath luke’s shins.
he grins, shifting a bit but not moving away. “your toes cold, jules?”
“not anymore,” she replies. “sing the bridge again. we’ve almost got it.”
//
it becomes habit after that. if luke notices that she doesn’t wear her slippers anymore, he doesn’t mention it.
she notices the way he smiles every time it happens. the way his eyes shift to look at her for a breath of a second, the way he’ll keep talking or writing or singing, the way he’ll make space for her like it’s right where she belongs, anyway.
she doesn’t mention it.
//
years later, when she’s on a flight back home after their last night of tour, luke shows up in the empty seat next to her.
“hey, you,” he whispers, voice soft.
“hi.”
he swallows. watches her.
“don’t say it,” she whispers, but she knows.
luke just nods. “i won’t.”
julie moves to sit sideways, propping her pillow against the window. luke lets her stretch her legs over his lap, adjusting the blanket over her toes and tucking it beneath her calves. they’re quiet long enough that she nearly falls asleep, but she hears him whisper her name and she sleepily blinks her eyes open.
“yeah?”
“.... if we ever cross over, the boys and i left something in the garage, okay? there’s a box in the loft under one of the floorboards. it’s for you. but, y’know. don’t go hunting for it unless we’re really gone, alright?”
julie reaches for his hand and threads their fingers together. “okay. i won’t.”
she feels luke squeeze her hand. warmth floods through her, a low burn that starts in her fingers and spreads to her toes as she falls asleep.
//
they cross over three months later.
it hurts like hell, but she knows it’s time - they’re ready, she knows they’ll always be with her, and it doesn’t feel final. it doesn’t feel like a goodbye. doesn’t carry the weight she always thought it would.
it feels like a see you soon.
she makes her way up to the loft of the garage a few days later, pulling aside the floorboard and smiling at the shoebox beneath the wood. it’s covered in ink; she can recognize their handwriting, their drawings. the inside jokes they’ve documented, the different album cover designs they worked on, the lyrics that almost were.
opening the box, she finds notes from them.
alex’s is on top, folded around the rainbow bracelet she made for him - one that he wore every single day, one that she loops twice around her own wrist now to keep him close.
reggie’s note is wrapped around a page of temporary tattoos she’d ordered for him. she recognizes the set immediately and smiles at the memory of helping him apply and reapply the lightsaber to his forearm, running her fingers over the design.
luke’s note is at the bottom, wrapped around a pair of socks with small ghost designs.
his note is the shortest, but it’s the one that she holds the longest.
for when your feet get cold and i’m not there to fix it.
i love you, julie.
see you soon.