Archive of Our Own ^beta

Luke doesn’t know how he survives. 

No, that’s not quite right—Luke doesn’t know he’s alive right now. 

Because he did die, that he’s definitely sure of. He stabbed himself, which defeated Kronos, the war ended. That was supposed to be that. But it wasn’t, for whatever reason, and now he’s here, alive, wandering around New York and trying to wrestle with his memories.

Well. Now they’re even, if nothing else. Even if Luke’s death was a mere few months.

He has a phone, and he has a shitty apartment, and he has a shitty job to pay for his shitty apartment. He doesn’t even know who set him up with it. He remembers—a kind voice. Sad eyes. Long hair. Someone saved him, he knows. He just doesn’t know who.

He can deal with that later, though, because his name just got called. So he gets up to collect his coffee from his favorite cafe, and sits back down at the booth he’d claimed—in the back, sitting in a way that he can see the rest of the cafe but only a few people can see him. He’s not hiding. He’s not paranoid. He’s strategic.

He sips his coffee—black—and tries to think.

Okay. So. He died. Now he’s alive. But he’s died before, only it was like, over a thousand years ago, and fucking cultivators like those xianxia shows were real, and he was in one of them. An important one, at that. In New York, drinking his coffee and checking his phone periodically to keep track of the time so he’s not late for his shitty job, it’s hard to reconcile who he was. Because. What the fuck. He was a war hero. He was married. He has a son. A son!

Gods.

He was a completely different person back then—he’d never have gotten caught up in Kronos’s manipulations. He wouldn’t have abandoned camp, abandoned Annabeth, Grover, Thalia. He wonders how his siblings are doing.

He misses his brother.

His big brother, who always had a smile and a kind word for anyone, even if they didn’t deserve it, even though it nearly got him killed. 

Luke doesn’t have a golden core anymore. He doesn’t have a sword, either. He’s glad. He doesn’t trust himself with weapons.

He misses his husband.

Gods, he misses his husband so much. It’s like a limb that was torn off, like part of him is gone and he can never get it back, and it hurts so fucking much it’s hard to breathe. He wonders what his husband would think of him now. He’d be disappointed, at the very least. 

Whoever saved Luke should have just left him. Death is a mercy compared to this. He’s barely even living. He’s just…surviving. 

Also hiding, because if he sees anyone from camp he’ll break down, and he doesn’t want to break down, and also he’s supposed to be dead and he’s probably still considered a traitor at camp so—so yeah. He’s hiding. 

So that’s how the days pass; Luke works his shitty job, picks up another shitty job to pay his hiked-up rent, gets coffee because it’s the only thing keeping him sane at this point, tries to reconcile his past life with the one he’s living. and avoids anything to do with gods.

Except.

Except one day, he comes home from his shitty job, tired and face aching from smiling all day, a plan to flop down on his creaky bed without even bothering to change, and stops, because someone’s in his apartment. He freezes after shutting the door, gaping at the (annoyingly) handsome man dressed in a purple button-down and black pants. Everything about him is too expensive for Luke’s shitty apartment. Everything about him is annoyingly familiar. 

His eyes catch on the sparking ring. 

“Jiang Wanyin,” he says hoarsely, once he finally unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth. He doesn’t sway, because he’d stumbled a few feet into the apartment and had grabbed onto a chair for balance (his neighbors were throwing it away, because it clashed with their new couch, but they’d offered it to Luke first before tossing it so he’d accepted it and now it’s probably the nicest thing in this place). 

Jiang Wanyin sneers. “Hanguang-jun,” he starts, no doubt about to spit out some vitriol about how far he’s fallen, or something, but Luke flinches. Jiang Wanyin pauses.

“Luke,” Luke corrects, moving around the chair and falling into it with a heavy thump. “It’s. It’s Luke now.”

Jiang Wanyin suddenly looks—unmoored. Like he’d had expectations and Luke is throwing them all out of the window, which he probably is. Luke knows what he looks like—heavy bags under his eyes, tanned skin pale, hair shaggy and in desperate need of a haircut. He knows, okay? He knows.

“You…you’re not okay,” says Jiang Wanyin, thoughtful. Spitefully, some corner of his mind thinks, wow. He knows how to be thoughtful. 

“Gee,” Luke mutters. “I wonder what gave it away. Why are you here?”

“Because you remember, and if you remember Wei Wuxian does, too, but I can’t find him.”

Luke stiffens. Wei Wuxian. He’s here? 

Jiang Wanyin rolls his eyes. “Look, Sizhui said that now that you remember, Wei Wuxian does, too, because your souls are linked, or whatever, but I can’t find him.”

“Sizhui?” Luke repeats, his mouth dry.

“Yeah. He's the one that saved you.”

Well. That’s just great. His son had seen just how pathetic he is.

“Oi,” Jiang Wanyin snaps, tearing Luke out of his thoughts. “Look, I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here, but if I’m going to find my idiot brother I need you.” His face sours as he speaks, likely resentful that he needs Luke. Luke understands the feeling.

“No.”

“Excuse me?” Zidian sparks. Luke can't stop himself from flinching. 

Pathetic. 

“I said no. Find him by yourself."

Jiang Wanyin’s eyes narrow. “What happened to you?”

“Like you care?” says Luke bitterly.

Jiang Wanyin scowls. “Fuck off.”

Luke…is too tired to do anything but flip him off, and even that’s half-hearted. He just wants to sleep, man. Is that really so much to ask for?

Apparently it is, because Jiang Wanyin doesn’t move.

“Look,” he says. “I know we don’t exactly…get along—”

Understatement of the century, Luke thinks.

“—but I need you, okay?”

“Wow,” Luke says dryly. “That must have taken a lot of effort to say. Congrats.”

“Will you help or not?” Jiang Wanyin says sharply.

“I already said no,” replies Luke tiredly.

“Why not? You’re crazy about him.”

I don’t deserve him. He’ll hate me when he finds out what I’ve done.

He shrugs. “Can you leave now?”

Jiang Wanyin stares, then snorts disbelievingly. “You are fucked up.”

“Helpful,” Luke deadpans. “Get out of my apartment.”

Jiang Wanyin casts one more long look at him before stomping out the door. 

Luke stays in that chair for what feels like hours but in reality is only fifteen minutes, staring blankly at the wall, before he forces himself up. He trudges to his room, strips off his uniform, and doesn’t bother putting anything else on before he collapses into his bed, pulls the covers over his head, closes his eyes, and tries to go to sleep.

“Oh, Luke,” Wei Ying says, his hair short and his eyes a startling green, dagger in hand. “My Luke. We could have been so much more, you know. We could have been heroes. But you just had to fuck it up.”

And then Wei Ying is falling off a cliff, long hair billowing around him as he reaches out, even as his eyes hold a terrible resignation. 

Luke’s back aches as he kneels, thirty-three lashes burning, as he tries to remember Wei Ying’s smile. 

“You’re a monster, Lan Zhan,” Percy says. His eyes gleam red, ribbons of energy curling around his limbs, holding Riptide to Luke’s chest. “We could have been something, but you just had to fuck it up.”

Riptide enters Luke’s chest and he screams.

Percy. Percy is Wei Ying. 

“Fuck,” Luke says, with feeling. 

He can’t tell him. Obviously Luke can’t tell Percy, because for one Percy’s, what, seventeen now? He got revived a few months after he died, and almost a year had passed since then, so in total somewhere around sixteen months, which means, yeah, Percy’s seventeen. 

Gods. Nearly a year. What does Luke have to show for it? Absolutely nothing. 

I’m sorry, A-Yuan, he thinks miserably. You should have just let me stay dead.

Anyway. Percy’s not even eighteen, and Luke’s twenty-three (disregarding that he was in his thirties and Wei Ying came back in an eighteen or nineteen year-old-body and was barely older than that mentally), so it’s creepy. Also Percy thinks he’s dead. Also he’s tried to kill Percy.

He doesn’t think going up to him and going surprise, I’m alive, and also we were married in a past life! Wanna go out with me? would go over too well.

He’ll just…keep on doing what he’s doing. Work his shitty jobs, live his shitty life, try not to wish he could go back to being dead so much, and pretend he doesn’t have memories of a past life swirling around in his head.

The week before Christmas comes with snow and a plane ticket. 

Business class, round trip, one week, to Gusu. There’s a letter attached. 

Luke Castellan,

Inside this envelope I have enclosed a plane ticket. You may refuse, of course, but I hope you will come. I miss you. Everything is paid for, so you don’t need to worry about money. 

Your son,

Lan Sizhui

Luke goes to sleep with the letter clutched to his chest and tears falling down his face. 

He shouldn’t go. He really shouldn’t.

But, gods, he wants to. He misses his son, he misses Gusu, he misses his old life. He wishes he could go back there. Why does he have to remember? Isn’t it enough that he’s alive? Why must he live with this punishment?

He really shouldn’t go. 

It’ll ruin all of his efforts to keep his lives separate, to keep his head down and survive. He’s been doing good, hasn’t he? He got promoted at one of his jobs last month, so he was able to quit his other one, and it’s still shitty but at least he can eat actual food instead of cheap cup noodles now. Going to Gusu will just…it’ll just hurt. And Luke—he knows he deserves it, knows he deserves so much worse, but he doesn’t want to hurt, he doesn’t want to be teased with everything he used to have and can never have again.

His son cultivated to immortality, and he’s so proud of him, but he’d left Sizhui alone. What is Gusu like, now? Is the Jingshi still there? Is the Cloud Recesses even still there? It’s been over a thousand years. 

And what about Bichen? Or Wangji? 

There’s too many questions and absolutely zero answers—unless he goes. 

This is a bad idea. This is a really, really bad idea. 

Luke packs a bag (he doesn’t have much in general, just a few fake plants that one of his ex-coworkers had gotten before he’d left that job and some other odds and ends that he’s picked up over the months) with a few changes of clothes. He packs a charger for his phone, and a book for the flight, even though he’ll probably be too keyed up to concentrate. 

He catches a subway to the airport, goes through security and customs, and wow, it really is that bad. He’d thought that people were exaggerating. 

He’s glad he got there five hours early, because it takes three hours to figure everything out (he hates airports, he decides, he’s never flying again after he comes home because he honestly thinks he might be traumatized by this), and there’s fifteen minutes until he’s supposed to board when he finally makes it to his gate. 

He slumps into an empty seat, pulling on a cheap pair of headphones that he’d gotten on sale a while ago. He doesn’t even play anything; he just wants people to not talk to him. They muffle the background noise of the airport, too, which helps. Boarding is chaotic. He’s jostled and shoved as people try to find their seats, and he’s so glad he didn’t bring a suitcase or anything because when he finally finds his seat—aisle—and sits down, a guy who was trying to shove the overhead luggage bins gives up and a few bags come tumbling out. Luke flinches and leans away from the carnage—and it is carnage—holding his hands over his headphones. Somewhere behind him, a baby starts to wail. Directly behind him, someone kicks his seat.

This is going to be a long flight. 

It is a long flight, and it cements Luke’s decision to never ever fly on a plane again for as long as he lives (he is very studiously ignoring the fact that he’ll need to fly back home). He misses his sword. It was so much easier back then.

Or. Well. Some things were easier. Some were harder. 

He shoves that thought aside and resigns himself to the chaotic disembarking, letting out a relieved breath when he’s finally, finally past the crowd. He scans the airport for—something, someone, he doesn’t actually know if anyone’s supposed to pick him up, but—ah.

“Why you?” he complains, reluctantly forcing himself to go over to Jiang Wanyin, who scowls at him.

“Believe me, I want to be doing this just as little as you want me too.”

“Then why?”

Jiang Wanyin clicks his tongue at Luke’s pitiful bag, which is old and ragged and should really be thrown out. “Because my nephew is very good at manipulating people.”

Luke bites back the remark that wants to slip out at the my nephew. 

“How many?” he asks instead, following Jiang Wanyin.

“Me, Sizhui, Jingyi, and Wen Ning.”

Luke processes that slowly. His husband’s brother, who Luke has never liked and who has never liked Luke; his son; his son’s best friend; and a fierce corpse who can’t die anyway. He’s not as surprised as he maybe should be about Jingyi, because Jingyi was always a good kid and there’s no way he’d ever abandon Sizhui, even to death. He doesn’t think about how he’ll never see his brother again. He’d known, even back then, that Lan Xichen would never be able to do it, not after Jin Guangyao. 

It still hurts. 

“Where are we going?”

“Cloud Recesses.”
“Why?”

Jiang Wanyin stops in his tracks and turns to face Luke, disbelief clear on his face. Luke, spitefully, relishes in the shock. 

“Because that’s where Sizhui and Jingyi are,” says Jiang Wanyin slowly, like Luke is five. “They miss you.”

Luke once again holds his tongue. What can he possibly say to that? He’s not the person who they remember. He’s not the shining star of the Gusu Lan Sect. He’s not the younger half of the Twin Jades. He’s not the pure and righteous Hanguang-jun. He’s just Luke. 

He is a traitor and a murderer and an asshole and he does not deserve high opinions they will hold of him. 

Jiang Wanyin leads him to a car—expensive—and stares him down until he gets in. Jiang Wanyin goes around to the driver’s seat and starts driving, and, blessedly, doesn’t talk. 

Luke leans his head back against the unfairly comfortable seats, closing his eyes. It’s quiet here, in the car, the steady roll of the wheels lulling him into a doze. It had been a long flight, and he hadn’t slept a wink, and he sleeps poorly in general, so is it any surprise that he nods off? 

He wakes when someone shakes him and jerks back at the touch. Jiang Wanyin stills and pulls back, eyes darting over Luke. Luke glares. 

“What?” he snaps.

“We’re here,” says Jiang Wanyin, just as brusque. Luke clambers out of the car and forgets how to breathe.

It’s stunning. The road ends just before the gate, which is open to reveal the remains of the Cloud Recesses. It’s like something out of a historical drama, except with indoor plumbing.

The buildings, though they must have been rebuilt many times, stand tall and strong. The grass is a healthy green, despite it being winter. There are disciples, walking along the paths, sparring, sitting in the shade of trees. They wear white and blue, and ribbons are tied to their wrist and not their forehead, but it’s so similar that Luke feels faint.

It’s not exactly as he remembers, but it’s close enough. 

“Hey,” says Jiang Wanyin, suddenly right next to Luke, who flinches away violently. “Breathe.”

He looks concerned, and that’s enough to shock Luke into sucking in a desperate gulp of air. It’s so clean and fresh, completely unlike the smog of New York. 

“I’m fine,” Luke gasps, clutching his chest. Is it normal for his heart to hurt so much? Maybe he’s having a heart attack. 

“Clearly.” Jiang Wanyin doesn’t say anything else, though he still has that concern in his eyes. Luke hates it. 

He follows Jiang Wanyin inside, tugging self-consciously at the threads of his Star Trek hoodie. Sue him, it’s comfortable. Jiang Wanyin takes him past the disciples, who stop and stare (which is breaking at least three rules, because after they think Luke is out of earshot they start gossiping, which is also against the rules), down a path—-oh. Luke knows where they’re going.

He falters at the threshold of his old home. He can’t do this. Why did he think he could do this? He should never have—but—

There’s a hand on his, and his fingers clasp around his wrist, a steady pulse beating under his fingers. 

“Easy,” says Lan Sizhui, says Luke’s son, smiling kindly. “It’s a lot, I know. Just take a breath.”

Luke follows the instructions, stumbling after Sizhui into the Jingshi. There’s an armchair there, and Luke collapses into it, his breathing ragged and stuttering like he’d fought a battle. But he didn’t, so there’s no reason why he should be feeling like this, why it’s so hard to breathe—

“You were dead for quite a while,” Sizhui says sympathetically, kneeling in front of the chair. “And you weren’t mentally prepared to see everything here, so it was a major shock to your system.”

Get up, Luke wants to say. I don’t deserve your bows. 

“You know,” he croaks. It’s not a question.

“Mn.” Sizhui lays a gentle hand on Luke’s knee. “I also know it wasn’t your fault.”

Luke laughs, sharp and bitter. “Right,” he gasps. “Right, sure.” He laughs again, and it’s an empty, joyless thing, and then he’s sobbing. Fuck. 

Sizhui doesn’t leave. Jiang Wanyin is—somewhere. Luke, frankly, could not give less of a shit. 

“How did you even—” Luke breaks off, unsure how to phrase it. His voice comes out raspy. He scrubs harshly at his face, trying to wipe away the tears that are still stubbornly streaming down his cheeks. 

“That…is a long story,” Sizhui says hesitantly. “I will tell you, if you wish, but later.”

“Later,” Luke repeats. “Sure. Okay.”

Gods, he’s so fucking pathetic. 

It takes a few minutes until he’s fully collected himself. Sizhui kindly doesn’t comment on how puffy his eyes must be, instead fetching a glass of water. Luke accepts it gratefully. 

“Sorry,” he says, fixing his gaze on Sizhui’s left shoulder. 

“Please, no apologies. It is perfectly understandable.”

How much older than him is Sizhui now? Can he even still think of him as Luke’s son? He’s over a thousand years old, but he doesn’t look a day over twenty.

“Is there a specific way you would prefer to be addressed?” Sizhui asks. Gods, he’s so kind. So unfailingly, unflinchingly kind. Luke must have done something right. 

“Luke,” he says. 

“Luke.” Sizhui nods. “It is very nice to meet you, Luke.”

Luke laughs wryly. “You, uh, you too.”

It should be stilted. It should be awkward. It isn’t, due solely to Sizhui, who makes small talk in such an expert way that it doesn’t even feel like small talk, until Luke is calm and—not relaxed, but not nearly as tense as he was when he stepped off the flight.

Sizhui had gotten them both tea at some point, and when there’s a lull in the conversation, Sizhui sighs.

“It was your father,” he admits. Luke, not expecting the non-sequitar, freezes. “He came to me perhaps a month after you had…he begged me to find a way to bring you back.”

Luke is—Luke is—

Furious. Tired. Hollow.

“So I just needed to die for him to care,” he says bitterly. “Great. Noted.”

“That isn’t it,” says Sizhui, pained.

“Yeah?” A swirl of emotions builds in Luke’s chest, tight and hot. “Then what? He was never around, he ruined my mother, it was all his fault—”

He cuts off abruptly, paling. His voice had risen as he’d spoken, nearly to a crescendo, and Sizhui’s eyes are wide and concerned. Luke breathes heavily, clenching his fists. It was Hermes’s fault. But it was also Luke’s fault. He knows that. Without Kronos whispering into his ear, he can think clearly, and he knows it was his own fault. 

“Shit,” he says. “Shit, I didn’t mean—I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have come here.”

“Yes, you should have,” Sizhui says fiercely. “Your life has been hard, Luke. It is messy and it is complicated. No one faults you for your reactions.”

“I left you!” Luke shouts, standing. The teacup clatters to the ground and shatters, lukewarm liquid spilling onto the pristine floor. “I left you.”

“A-die,” says SIzhui in a wounded voice. Luke is pulled into a hug, then, and he stands perfectly still, because he can’t remember the last time someone touched him without the intent to hurt. His arms hang uselessly as Sizhui tightens his grip, his face buried in Luke’s shoulder. It’s reminiscent of when Sizhui was young, and he’d burrow into Luke’s side, refusing to let go. 

Finally, Luke is able to lift his trembling arms and hug his son back. “A-Yuan,” he whispers into SIzhui’s hair. 

Sizhui lets out a sob. Luke lowers them to the ground, avoiding the spill.

“It’s okay,” Luke whispers, patting Sizhui’s back. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry,” Sizhui says when he pulls away, a few minutes later.

“If I’m not allowed to apologize, neither are you,” Luke chides. Sizhui laughs wetly.

“I suppose that’s only fair,” he concedes. 

“But,” Luke says. “I’m sorry for shouting. You didn’t deserve that.”

“It’s alright,” Sizhui says. “Really. I don’t know everything, but what I do know is that life has been unkind to you.”

Luke exhales slowly. “Maybe. But I didn’t exactly fight it.”

“You fought for what you believed in,” Sizhui points out.

“What I believed in was a tyrant who would have killed everyone I love and then me.”

Sizhui winces. “He was manipulating you.”

“Not an excuse.”

“No. But an explanation, perhaps.”

“Why are you so good at this?” Luke asks.

“I’m a licensed therapist,” Sizhui says, smiling blandly. Luke can’t stop his jaw from dropping.

“You’re—that’s—wow. 

“Quite,” Sizhui says, pleased.

“I’m proud of you,” Luke says. Sizhui looks even more pleased. 

“If you’re feeling up to it, perhaps you’d like to visit the rabbits.”

Luke perks up.

Buried as he is in rabbits, his hands buried in the soft, fluffy fur, he’s able to not have another freakout when Jingyi plops down across from him. Luke blinks, bemused, as Jingyi’s gaze zeroes into the Starfleet insignia on Luke’s hoodie.

“What gen?”

Luke, not phased by the abrupt question (it helps, actually, because if he’s given something else to focus on it means he doesn’t have to focus on literally everything else which threatens to crush him or drown him on a good day), says, “Tee-oh-ess.”

Jingyi grins. “Excellent. Have you seen the Chris Pine reboot?”

Luke has, actually, because his coworker got sick when she was supposed to go and gave the ticket to Luke, who is not shy about his love for the franchise.

“It was really good,” Luke says. “I wish they’d kept the boy in the beginning as Sam, though.”

“Right! It would have made a bigger impact!”

And thus starts an hours-long conversation about Star Trek, which both Luke and Jingyi participate in with gusto. 

Sizhui sits by them, interjecting every once in a while with something that makes both of them pause and recatalogue every interaction between two characters, or completely upend one or both of their opinions. It’s…really nice. Luke hasn’t smiled this much (a real smile, not his customer service smile) since…camp, maybe. Before everything went to shit.

Before he went to shit. 

Eventually, though, the sun begins to set. 

“Oh,” Luke says, startled, checking his phone. “It’s nearly nine.”
“Mn.” Sizhui stands. “You don’t have to sleep now, but keep your activities quiet and in your room.”

“Right.” Luke follows him back to the Jingyi, where he’s given a set of pajamas, even if he already has a perfectly good set. Sizhui is really good at manipulating people, wow. 

He goes to the futon that had been set up for him and curls up under the covers, and hopes that he doesn’t dream.

The week passes surprisingly peacefully. Luke meditates, freaks out and nearly faints when he sees Bichen and Wangji, nearly faints again when he holds Bichen, and spars with Sizhui and Jingyi. He and Jingyi have spirited conversations about Star Trek which somehow segue into Marvel and then DC and then comics in general. 

He goes to Caiyi, which somehow has become modern while retaining the same vibes it had back then, and Jiang Wanyin does not show up again, thank the gods. The morning of Christmas dawns bright and chilly, and Luke pulls on a hoodie patterned with clouds before heading out to the rabbits. There’s food set up; he ignores it. 

He sinks into the grass and picks up a rabbit, losing himself in the repetitive motions. He’ll be heading back tomorrow. He doesn’t want to leave. 

The Cloud Recesses are peaceful and serene and calming, and Luke has not been calm for a long, long time. 

But.

He’s imposed on Sizhui and Jingyi for long enough. It’s high time that he goes back home and falls back into the rhythm of his life. He can’t stay here forever, no matter how much he wants to. 

Sizhui finds him a few hours later, concern once again creasing his eyes. 

“Merry Christmas,” he says, settling down next to Luke and holding out a box. 

Luke swallows. Somehow, accepting the present seems like a crossroads. He can refuse it, and go back to his sad, lonely life, or he can take it, and something will fundamentally alter. He won’t be able to go back.

He’s not going to be able to go back anyway, though, not after the week he’s spent here. He knows what he has to do. He just really doesn’t want to do it.

There’s such a high chance of rejection, is the thing. He’s done terrible, monstrous things. Who could ever believe that he’s changed? Does he even believe he’s changed?

“Luke,” Sizhui urges softly. “It’ll be okay.”

Luke looks at him, at the faith in his eyes, and takes the box. 

There are two items in the box, and his breath catches. His hand trembles as he lifts a long white ribbon, faint clouds woven in.

“I can’t,” he whispers, his eyes brimming with tears. “I can’t, I—”

Gently, Sizhui takes the ribbon and ties it around Luke’s shaking wrist. “You can. You will always have a place here, Hanguang-jun.”

Luke presses his lips together, trying desperately not to cry. The ribbon is silky smooth against his skin, and even though it’s in a different place it feels so familiar.  

“Bichen, as with all spiritual swords, functions much the same as Celestial Bronze,” Sizhui says, nodding to the other thing in the box—a plain silver ring. “I hope it’s alright, I took the liberty of making it easier to carry. From my knowledge, things such as this are common among demigods.”

“Half-bloods,” Luke corrects, dazed, holding the ring. “We prefer half-bloods.”

“Mn. Alright. I do hope it’s to your liking.”

“I.” Luke rubs his throat. “It’s. Yeah.” He’s actually going to cry, isn’t he? Fuck. He slides the ring onto his right ring finger, flexing his hand. “How do I…”

“Twist it to the left,” Sizhui says.

Luke obeys, and then Bichen is in his hand, thrumming with power. “Oh,” he breathes out. “Wow.”

“To reverse it, turn the ring to the right.”

As suddenly as Bichen had appeared, it disappears. “This is—Sizhui, I—”

Forgoing words, he lurches forward and hugs Sizhui tightly. Sizhui is still for a moment before he hugs Luke back.

“I take it you like them?” he asks lightly.

“I love them,” says Luke fervently. He doesn’t deserve them, but he loves them so much it feels as though he might burst. Sizhui smiles.

Luke really is loathe to leave, but he reluctantly packs up his things (which now include three new hoodies, only two of them with the Gusu Lan cloud pattern; the third one, courtesy of Jingyi, is black except for the bright blue bird stretching over his chest and down the sleeves—the Nightwing symbol) and sits in the passenger seat of the car. Jingyi is driving, which does make Luke apprehensive, but the ride is surprisingly smooth.

Jingyi parks, but before Luke can get out, Jingyi reaches out.

“Wait,” he says, nerves clear in his voice. “Wait, just—I know you’re not in a great place right now—I mean it’s sort of obvious—”

Thanks, Luke thinks dryly.

“—but just. Even if you think you don’t deserve it, find Wei-qianbei.”

Luke stiffens. 

“Doesn’t he deserve it, if nothing else?” Jingyi asks. “You have us, now, but who does he have?”

“I hurt him,” Luke says, strained. “He won’t want to see me.”

“You don’t know that!” Jingyi shoves Luke lightly. “Wallow in self-pity or whatever if you want, but this isn’t just about you.”

Luke, abruptly, opens the door and yanks his bag over his shoulder before stalking into the airport. 

The flight back is better than the one there, but still, once again, affirms his decision to never ever get on another plane as long as he lives.

He falls back into the dull monotony of his life, and two weeks pass before Jingyi’s voice in his head gets too loud to ignore. That conversation has burrowed its way into Luke’s brain, and he hardly goes a few hours without thinking about it.

Without thinking of him. 

He’s torn between the need to hide and the desire to seek him out, but his choice is torn away from him the next time he goes to the cafe. He sits in his usual booth, reading a book, when a shadow falls over him. When he looks up, everything seems to stop.

Black hair falls in messy waves over sea-green eyes, tanned arms, lined with faint scars, are drawn tight, and long fingers are pressed against the table.

“You’re alive,” Percy Jackson, Wei Ying, the (underage) love of both of Luke’s lives, says.

Luke gape. He can’t remember how to form words under the heavy gaze of the person who he tried to kill.

“How?” Percy demands.

“I—” Luke falters when Percy leans closer. His face is inches away from Luke’s, and he can feel Percy’s hot breath. Percy is seventeen, Luke reminds himself. And also probably hates him. That’s also important. 

“Luke,” hisses Percy.

Luke flinches. “It wasn’t exactly my choice,” he bites out. “I don’t know the details. My dad went to someone who revived me, or brought me back or whatever, I got set up with an apartment and a job, and that’s it.”

“That’s it,” Percy echoes. He sinks into the seat across from Luke, running rough hands through his hair. He laughs, and it’s tinged with hysteria. “Who was it?”

Luke hesitates. 

“Luke.”

“Sizhui,” Luke blurts out. Percy freezes. Luke can almost see the gears turning in his head, that clever mind processing information and drawing them into a solid conclusion. Gods. He’s so smart. 

“Lan Zhan,” Percy says. It’s not a question. 

“Wei Ying,” Luke says back, because it’s not even an option not to answer. 

Percy stares, before pressing his palms to his forehead and emphatically saying, “Fuck.”

Luke agrees with that sentiment.

“How long have you known?”

“Since I was brought back,” Luke admits. 

“And you didn’t tell me.” 

“How could I?” 

“That’s…fair enough, I guess,” Percy says slowly.

“Percy,” Luke says helplessly. 

Percy breathes in, and breathes out. Luke watches his throat bob.

“Okay,” Percy says. “Start from the beginning. I want to hear your side.”

So Luke starts talking.

Percy knows a surprising amount, but Luke tells him anyway; his parents, being on the run, losing Thalia, seeing the shitty conditions in camp, Kronos slinking into his mind. Losing himself in the mission. Realizing too late just what a colossal mistake he’s made. 

“I should have stayed dead,” says Luke, staring down into his coffee. “I never wanted to come back.”

“Too fucking bad,” Percy retorts. “At least you’re in your original body.”

Luke, startled, lets out a laugh. “That’s true.”

It’s easy to talk to Percy. It’s always been easy, even when Luke was a bitter nineteen-year-old and Percy was a baby tween. He just knows why now. They keep talking, moving away from the past and towards what Percy has been up to; namely, graduating high school. 

“Congrats,” Luke says. “That’s really great, Percy.”

Percy grins. It’s the same grin on a different face, and Luke’s chest aches. He can’t keep ignoring the elephant in the room. He can’t keep talking around it.

“Why don’t you hate me?” Luke blurts. “I hurt you, I tried to kill you, I did kill your friends, but you’re just—and I’m—”

Percy gives him a strange look. Luke shuts up, ears burning. 

“Do you regret it?”

“Of course I do!”

“Will you do anything like it ever again?” Percy presses. 

“No,” Luke says vehemently. 

“Okay,” Percy says simply.

Luke stares, aghast. “Okay? Okay?!”

“Luke,” Percy says. He stops and sighs. “I don’t forgive you. But I believe that you want to be better. So let’s just…take it slow?”

He looks so hopeful. 

“You’re seventeen,” Luke says, strangled. He has other objections. Many, many other objections. But he’s fixated on this one.

“Yeah, so? We can still hang out.”

Feeling fragile, Luke says, “You’d want to hang out with me?”
“I married you once, didn’t I? You stuck with me then. It’s my turn to do the same.”

“I didn’t, though,” Luke whispers.

“Well, you thought you were doing the right thing. You just wanted to protect me. You just…went about the wrong way.”

“Why are you being so nice?” Luke asks, unable to hold it back.

Percy is quiet for a moment. Then, he says, “You fucked up. But you have a second chance, now. You’re a good person, Luke.”

Luke shakes his head, his throat tight. He’s not. He’s not a good person. Percy is basing all these opinions on who Luke used to be, but Luke is so far removed from that person that most of the time that life feels like a dream. 

“You are,” Percy insists. “You really thought you were helping. You just wanted things to be better.”

“All I did was make things worse,” Luke says wetly. 

Percy reaches over and grasps one of Luke’s hands. The touch burns, but Luke doesn’t pull away. 

“The road to hell,” Percy says wryly. “I killed my nephew’s parents.”

“You were being manipulated—”

“So were you.” Percy shakes his head. “Don’t do this to yourself, Luke. Don’t hold yourself to these impossible standards. Because if you do, then what does that mean for me?”
Luke pales. He hadn’t thought about it like that. But he can’t just—

“Hey,” Percy says. “Baby steps, yeah? I’ll help.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Luke whispers. “Please.”

Percy gives him a small, sad smile. “They miss you.”

Luke’s hands clench into fists. “They shouldn’t.”

“Well, too bad. But. I won’t tell them.”

Luke breathes out a relieved sigh. It turns horrified at Percy’s next words.

“You will. When you’re ready.’

“I can’t,” Luke protests.

“You can,” Percy says calmly. “And you will.”

“Or what?”

“Or,” Percy says, his smile turning sly, “I won’t kiss you.”

Luke’s ears burn. “You’re seventeen!” he squeaks.

Percy laughs. The sound is warm and melts something in Luke’s chest.

“When I turn eighteen, then. If you don’t tell them by then, I won’t kiss you.”

Luke gapes. “You’re a goddamn shit.”

Percy grins, wide and almost feral. “About time someone figured it out.”

Luke gains a new, tenuous normalcy following that confrontation. Percy makes Luke give him his number, and he drags Luke out once or twice a week, sometimes forcefully. 

“I’m not going to let you waste away,” Percy declares a few weeks after this strange routine. They’re in a clothing store, of all things, and Percy is making Luke try things on. “Also, your wardrobe is, like, nonexistent.”

“Since when were you a fashion guru?” Luke asks, half-heartedly fingering a light gray shirt. He doesn’t mind the cut, but the fabric is too coarse so he drops it. 

Percy shrugs. “I wouldn’t call myself a guru, just—oh, no, not that. It makes you look pale.” He pauses, and corrects, “Paler.”
“Thanks,” Luke mutters, putting back a red sweater. 

“Your closet is half hoodies. Do you really need more?”

“I always need more hoodies,” Luke says, crossing his arms. 

Percy laughs. “Okay, well, I guess I know what to get for your birthday.” Ignoring Luke’s blushing ears, he wades into another rack and starts digging through the hanging shirts. “Any color preferences?”

“Uh. Blue and white?”

“You’d look good in gray,” Percy says, apparently disregarding Luke’s words completely. “...Gray with red outlines, maybe.”

Luke swallows. He thinks about it: wearing an outfit composed of black, gray, and red, and Percy in a matching outfit only his would be in blue and white. Luke’s mouth goes dry.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” he manages to whisper. Percy glances over at him, nonchalant, and then looks closer. His eyes go wide, and then darken. 

“Yeah?” he says, his voice low. “Alright. I’ll…keep that in mind.”

Luke desperately wants to kiss him. Luke wants to pin him against the nearest wall and his way with him, like he would have before. But Percy is a minor, and they both want it, Luke knows, but he refuses to cross this boundary. 

“Um,” Luke says, finally joining Percy. He reaches out and feels a pale, almost white blue shirt. It’s too small for him, so he checks the tags on the other shirts and finds one in his size. “Have you…talked to your brother yet?” There’s a sour taste in his mouth as he obediently holds up a black long-sleeved shirt. He doesn’t like Jiang Wanyin. That hasn’t changed.

“Jiang Cheng? No, I haven’t.”

“But he knows?”
“Probably.” Percy grabs a few more shirts and then grasps Luke’s wrist. His hand is warm. “C’mon, let’s go try these on.”

“Who’s the us here?” Luke asks as he’s dragged to the changing rooms. Percy changed the subject really fast. Though that’s not much of a surprise. Even before, Jiang Wanyin was a sore subject, and Wei Ying was an expert at distraction. He could talk for hours without really saying anything. 

Percy laughs again and hands over the pile of clothes. Luke, conceding defeat, ducks into the changing room and takes off his shirt. His torso, like all half-bloods, is covered in a myriad of scars. He briefly touches the spot on his chest where, in his past life, the Wen brand used to rest. He doesn’t know why Percy insists on hanging around him. He’s just…so different. Luke can see Wei Ying in every word that Percy says, every action that Percy takes, but Luke can’t for the life of him come up with anything that resembles who he used to be. 

He’s a completely different person. He talks freely. He doesn’t keep a stoic facade. He’s not a cultivator. He’s not—

“Luke?” Percy calls. “You okay, man?”

“Uh, yeah,” Luke answers, hurriedly grabbing a shirt off the pile. It’s soft and gray, with long sleeves that fall down past Luke’s wrists. He steps out of the stall, spreading his arms self-consciously for Percy to inspect him. 

“Hm.” Percy tugs on one of his sleeves. “Do you like it?”

“I guess?” Luke rubs his arms. He’d never really done this before. His mom would just get him clothes that fit him, and when he was on the run he didn’t have the money to go shopping in the first place. He’d stuck to wearing camp shirts at camp, and he wasn’t the one who went out to get clothes when he was with Kronos. 

“Hey,” Percy says. “It’s okay if you’re overwhelmed or something.”

“I’m not, I’m not,” Luke assures him, lying through his teeth. The store is bright and crowded, and it’s a Sunday, so there’s a lot of people roaming around. He’s barely been able to keep himself from flinching anytime someone so much as brushed up against him. 

Percy frowns at him. “If you’re sure…”

“I am,” Luke repeats, grateful when Percy seems to drop it. “So…yes or no?”

“Well,” Percy says, circling Luke, “I like it. But we're here for you, not me. If you don’t like it, don’t get it.”

Percy says it so simply. Like anything could be that easy. Luke shrugs steps back into the stall to change into another shirt.

By the end, Luke has five new shirts, two of which are graphic tees (one has the Superman logo, though Luke chooses to think of it as Superboy’s instead, and the other has a collection of the X-Men), and three of which are more semi-casual shirts. Luke is exhausted when they finally leave, squinting against the harsh sunlight. Next to him, Percy is rambling about camp.

Luke listens to him, because he likes Percy’s voice and he likes Percy’s rambles and that won’t ever change. Even when he was young before, new to crushes and friendship in general, even when he pushed Wei Ying away, he always liked hearing the bouncy rhythm of the words, the way his sentences flow and change direction seamlessly. 

“Anyway,” Percy says, stopping in front of a bakery. “I was thinking maybe I could bring Annabeth next time?”

He looks hopeful, and Luke hates to crush that, he does, but his breathing grows short and erratic as he imagines Annabeth’s reaction. Percy is an expectation, not the rule, Luke knows that very well. If anyone else found out he’s alive—

“Hey, hey,” Percy says, grabbing Luke’s hand. “Hey, breathe. I’m sorry, okay? I won’t tell her. You’re okay.”

Slowly, Luke calms down. He lets his head fall onto Percy’s head, his cheek nestled against the dark locks so he doesn’t have to see Percy’s expression. 

“I’m fine,” Luke says.

“No, you’re not.” Percy pulls Luke down and embraces him. “I’m not either, though. It’s okay not to be okay.”

“Where was that back then?” Luke mutters. “Shit. Sorry."

Percy chuckles. “No, you’re good. You’re right. I was…hm. Not in a great place.”

“Yeah, but even before.” Luke frowns and steps back so he can hold Percy’s face in his hands. “You wouldn’t complain, ever.”

Percy ducks his head. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”
A familiar anger simmers in Luke’s gut. “To who? The Jiang? You were their head disciple. You were their family.”

“I wasn’t, though.” 

Luke scowls. Is he really going to do this?

He doesn’t want to. He really doesn’t want to. But.

He looks at Percy’s face. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply. 

“Okay. Let's go back to my place.”

Percy blinks, clearly taken off-guard, but doesn’t protest as Luke leads them through the streets that lead to his (still shitty) apartment. When they get inside, he dumps the bags on the floor and pulls out his phone. There’s a number saved, even though he didn’t want it. Sizhui insisted, though.

“Sit,” he tells Percy, and hits dial. The phone rings once, twice, and then clicks.

“Hello?”

“He’s at my apartment,” Luke says bluntly. “If you want to talk to him then do it now.”

Percy jerks, staring at Luke with wide eyes. “Wait, don’t—”

“I’ll be there in five,” Jiang Wanyin says. Then he hangs up.

“Luke,” Percy starts, frustration dripping from his voice, but Luke cuts him off.

“He wants to talk to you,” Luke says. “When he found me, he said he only did it because I’d lead him to you. He misses you.”

Percy swallows, his jaw working. “I…I can’t.”

Luke crosses his arms over his chest. “If I have to talk to my siblings, you do too.”

“But—I—”

Luke drops to his knees next to Percy’s chair. “Perce, hey. It’ll be fine. And if it’s not, just say the word and I’ll kick him out.”

Percy’s laugh comes out high-pitched. “I. Okay. Fuck.”

The door opens not two minutes later—he didn’t even knock, the bastard. Luke retreats to his bedroom, keeping an ear out just in case. He can’t quite make out what they’re saying, but their voices fluctuate; a low murmur at first, then raised into shouts, then back to a muted hum. Luke nearly comes out of his room multiple times, but he’s had front-row seats to Wei Ying’s conversations with his brother, before, and he knows that this is just how they are.

Now that Luke is—well, now that he’s Luke, he understands better. Still, it rankles him that Jiang Wanyin is such an asshole to Wei Ying. Wei Ying deserves so much better. Percy deserves the world and more. 

Eventually the sounds stop, and Luke cracks his door open quietly and makes his way to the kitchen for a glass of water. The brothers are huddled on the floor, hugging so tightly that Luke can only tell where Percy ends and Jiang Wanyin begins because he knows Percy so well.

“Drink?” Luke offers, opening the fridge. 

“Water,” Percy says, muffled and wet. Jiang Wanyin twists to glare at Luke, but mutters an agreement. 

Luke dutifully gets out three cups—he’s sort of surprised he has three for a moment before remembering that it came in a set, he just doesn’t use the others very often. Or at all. 

He passes out the water and sits on the chair. Percy leans back against his legs, a motion so smooth that for a moment Luke thinks it was just automatic, until he sees Percy’s smile, hidden in his cup. Luke swallows a soft laugh and taps Percy’s cheek, just because he can. 

“Luke,” Percy complains.

“You’re the one sitting at my feet like a cat,” Luke teases. Percy flushes, and a smug feeling rises in Luke at having been able to draw out that pretty pink on Percy’s tan cheeks. 

“You disgust me,” Jiang Wanyin says with a scowl. Luke bristles, but Percy just tips his head back against Luke’s thigh and laughs.

Luke gazes down at him, his heart full to bursting. Percy looks so happy, his smile bright and his eyes crinkled, and Luke hates himself just a little more for having dimmed that light for so long. 

Reluctantly, he tears his gaze away to lock eyes with Jiang Wanyin, who stands, setting the empty cup on the rickety table. He nods, once, and Luke pauses before nodding back. 

“Idiot,” Jiang Wanyin says fondly. He lays a hand on Percy’s shoulder and squeezes. “I mean it, by the way.”

“I know,” Percy says, grinning. “I will, I promise.”

“You’d better.”
Jiang Wanyin leaves.

“What did you promise?” Luke asks.

“That I’d call,” Percy says with a shrug, shifting back so he can rest his head on Luke’s thigh. “Hey, so…”

Luke groans. “Noooo.”

“Suck it up and do it,” Percy says, rolling his eyes. “Don’t be a coward.”

“I am a coward,” Luke says. “I’ve always been a coward.”

“That’s not true,” Percy denies. 

“Maybe not then, but I’m a different person now,” Luke says. “I’m a coward, Percy. Why else would I…” He trails off, shuddering at the thought.

“Because you were manipulated?” Percy stands, and Luke takes a moment to mourn the loss of the warmth. “Luke, he took advantage of you. You were hurting. You were a kid.”

“I should have known better,” Luke snaps. “I should have—”

“Should have, could have, would have.” Percy jabs a finger at Luke. “Stop thinking about that! All it’ll do is send you spiraling. Aren’t you the one who keeps telling me to stop going over everything I did wrong, everything I could have done better?”

Luke deflates. Percy softens. He cups Luke’s face.

“Luke, please. These double standards aren’t healthy.”

“I know,” Luke whispers. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.” Percy sighs, exhaustion dripping from the sound. “Just. Try. For me.”

“Okay,” Luke mumbles. “I’ll try.”

“So,” Percy says. “I, uh, I’ve been wondering…your ring?”

Luke blinks. “Oh, uh, yeah.” He smiles, twists the ring, and watches with pride as Percy’s jaw drops. 

“Bichen!” he exclaims. 

Luke nods. “Sizhui gave it to me for Christmas.” 

“Wow,” Percy says. “Just—wow.”

“Yeah.”

Percy beams. “He really is such a filial son, isn’t he?”

Luke smiles softly. “Because of you.”

Percy flushes. “Oh, hush.” Then, almost shyly, he asks, “Tell me about him?”

So Luke tells him. 

Three days later, Luke is in a cafe, nursing a coffee and wishing he was dead. He can’t believe he let Percy talk him into this. This is going to go horribly. 

He sees the second they spot him, Travis elbowing Connor before dragging him over to Luke. Luke shrinks back as they take seats across from him. 

“When Percy told us you were alive, I almost punched him,” says Travis, studying Luke. “Guess it's a good thing I didn't.”

Luke blanches. “Please don't punch him.”

“Why didn't you tell us?” demands Connor. His hands clench around his coffee. “You're our brother.”

“I.” Luke swallows. “I didn't think you'd want to see me. I betrayed you all, I…” He shakes his head. “I'm sorry.”

“You should be,” mutters Connor. Travis elbows him. “I just—I’m really mad at you, Luke. You really hurt us.”

“I know,” Luke whispers. “I know. I can't tell you how sorry I am.”

“So why'd you tell Percy first?” asks Travis. 

“I didn't.” Luke blinks at him. “He sort of just…found me. I didn't ever plan on seeing anyone from camp.”

“Gods,” Travis says. “You are fucked up.”

Luke’s laugh comes out strangled. 

“So?” Percy looks at Luke expectantly. “How'd it go?”

“Not as bad as I was expecting,” Luke admits. “It was…I don't know. They said they're going to make me work for their forgiveness, which I'm glad about. At least they're being normal about this.” He eyes Percy, who huffs. 

“Okay, well, shut up.”

Luke grins. 

“Great!” Percy chirps. Luke's smile drops instantly. “Up next is Annabeth, Grover, and Thalia.”

Luke pales. 

Luke manages, somehow, to get out of the upcoming, nerve-wracking reunion by texting Jingyi and inviting him and Sizhui over. 

“They can stay at my place,” Percy says, his eyes bright with excitement. “I already asked my mom.”

“Did you tell her about…” Luke makes a vague gesture with his hands. 

“Sort of?” Percy shrugs. “She knows it was a past life, or whatever, but I didn’t tell her the details. I did tell her you’re alive, though. And that we were married.”

Were. It leaves a sour taste in Luke’s mouth, like he’s fucked up beyond all repair. He hasn’t, he knows that, and there’s only a few months until Percy’s eighteen, but part of him wonders if Percy will actually want him. 

“Oh.”

“She, um, she took it pretty well.” Percy nudges Luke with his shoulder. “She’s excited to meet you.”

“Excited,” Luke echoes faintly. 

“Well. Looking forward to it?” Percy’s nose scrunches up. Luke wants to kiss him so badly it aches. “I don’t think she knows how to feel about you.”

“I wouldn’t, either,” Luke mutters. He doesn’t, as a matter of fact. Sometimes he wallows in self-pity; other times he drowns in self-hate. 

Percy sighs. “Right, well. Do you want to meet her?”

Luke blinks. “What?”

“My mom,” Percy says patiently. “Do you want to meet her?”

Luke stares, uncomprehending. Percy blows out a long breath and takes Luke’s hand in his own, wrapping warm fingers around Luke’s wrist. He starts walking, forcing Luke to stumble after him.

“W-wait, Percy,” Luke says, catching up but letting his hand dangle limply in Percy’s hold. It feels good, sue him. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? I mean…” He grimaces.

“Yes, I’m sure.” Percy doesn’t even look at Luke, too busy avoiding pedestrians.

They walk in silence for nearly half an hour, until they come to a building. It’s a lot nicer than Luke’s.

He’s never been inside Percy’s apartment, he realizes as Percy leads him to the elevator. He’s never seen Percy’s home.

“Mom,” Percy calls, unlocking a door. “I’m home! And I brought a friend.”

“Good timing,” a woman who must be Sally says, appearing from the hall with a warm smile. Luke can see where Percy got his kindness from, his warmth and his smile. “I just took out the cookies.”
Percy perks up adorably. Gods, Luke isn’t going to last until August. 

“Mom, this is Luke. Luke, this is my mom, Sally.”
Sally turns to Luke, who shrinks under her appraising eye. 

“Hello, Luke,” she says pleasantly. Luke cringes. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Uh, you too,” he says, trying to keep his nerves out of his voice. “Percy talks about you a lot.”

“Does he.” She raises an eyebrow at him.

Percy makes a face. “I’m gonna get a cookie.”

And then he just leaves, abandoning Luke with Sally. 

“Careful, they’re still hot!” she calls after him. She wipes her hands on her skirt and turns to Luke. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Yeah,” Luke says, ducking his head. Haltingly, he goes on, “Look, I—I just. Your son is one of the most important people in my life—” (the most, he doesn’t say) “—and there is not a day that goes by that I don’t regret what I did.”

Sally just sort of looks at him for a minute, long enough that Luke starts to think that this was a bad idea. He should never have gotten out of bed this morning. 

“Do you love him?”

Startled, Luke can only gape. “Wh-what?”

“Do you love my son?” she repeats calmly. 

Luke swallows. His hands clench into fists before he relaxes them. “More than anything in the world.”

Sally steps closer. Luke has to fight the urge to step back. 

“He’s complained, you know,” she says, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “That you’re making him wait.”

Luke, somehow, manages to unstick his tongue enough to croak, “It’d be illegal otherwise.”

She cups his cheek. He stifles a sob and leans into her hand. 

“Oh, honey,” she murmurs, and pulls him into a hug. He’s stiff in her arms before melting, burying his face in her shoulder. He has to bend down a little, but it’s worth it—it’s so, so worth it. He can’t remember the last time he’d gotten affection like this—warm, maternal. He shudders, a few tears slipping free.

“Sorry,” he whispers, pulling back to wipe his face. 

“Don’t be,” she says sympathetically. “I can’t say I’m thrilled that you’re the one he loves, but…he’s good for you, isn’t he?”

Luke nods.

“Then you have my blessing.”

Luke stares, open-mouthed. “You…what?”

She smiles. “I don’t know what you’ve been through, Luke, in this life or your last one. I do know that you care very deeply about Percy. And I’m sure you’ve learned your lesson.”

His neck protests with how fast he’s nodding. “I have. I swear I have. I’d rather die again than hurt him.”

“Good,” she says, and steps back, apparently satisfied. “Let’s go to the kitchen before Percy eats all of the cookies.”

Luke follows her, still in shock. His skin buzzes from the memory of her warmth. He understands why Percy is so fiercely protective of her now. And…well, he’d never really talked to Jiang Yanli, when she was alive, but from the stories he’d been told, he thinks that Sally might be more than a little similar. 

“Took you guys long enough,” Percy says, grinning, around a mouthful of blue cookie. He’s got two more in his hands, and there’s a ziploc bag with another handful. He stands from where he’d been sitting on the counter, leaning against Luke’s side. “Here. Try it.”

“Percy,” Sally says, exasperated. “Two is more than enough.”

“But mom,” Percy whines, plaintive, still grinning. Luke holds the cookie that Percy had given him, drinking in the atmosphere. The apartment feels lived in. It’s saturated with warmth and love, and Luke doesn’t belong here. Percy glances at Luke and his smile drops. “Hey, you okay?”
“I, um. I should go.” Luke’s eyes prickle. He has no place in Percy’s life. What was he thinking?

“What?” Percy drops the cookie on the table and grabs Luke’s arm. “No way. You’re not leaving.”

“Percy—”

“Look,” Percy says, a fraction away from snapping. “I get it. You fucked up, and you feel bad about it. But for fuck’s sake, Luke!”

Luke flinches, his eyes going wide.

“I just—I’m sick of it! You hurt me, yeah, but all you’re doing by pulling away is hurting me more. Didn’t you promise that you’d protect me?” 

Luke’s heart drops into his stomach when he sees Percy’s eyes glisten.

“You said you’d always be by my side,” Percy continues, crowding Luke against the counter. “You said you wouldn’t let anything or anyone take you away again. You gave me your ribbon.”

“I’m sorry,” Luke whispers, a few stray tears slipping down. He doesn’t know what else to say. He feels like a teenager again, left adrift in the wake of Wei Ying’s hurricane. “I—gods, I’m so sorry—”

He wants to kiss Percy so badly. He wants to kiss the tears off his cheeks, wants to kiss the frown off his lips, wants to kiss the hurt out of his body. His arms come up to wrap around Percy, holding him tight. Percy buries his face into the crook of Luke’s neck, his hands running up Luke's back and fisting into the fabric of Luke’s sweater. 

“Lan Zhan, please,” says Percy, his voice cracking. Luke can feel his heart splinter.

“I won’t,” he swears. “I won’t leave. You have me. I’m yours.”

“Marry me,” Percy demands, pulling back to cradle Luke’s face. “On my birthday.”

Luke’s breath catches. “Percy, I—” Unbidden, his eyes flicker to Sally, who’s leaning against the wall. He can’t read her expression.

“Luke,” Percy says, drawing his attention back to him. “Lan Zhan. Lan Wangji. Hanguang-jun. Lan-er-gege.”

“Okay,” Luke breathes out. “Okay, yes. I’ll marry you. Wei Ying.” He stares into Percy’s beautiful green eyes, the hope, the anguish, the grief all swirling within the depths. “I’m still not going to kiss you until you’re eighteen, though.”

Percy laughs waveringly. “You’re a bastard.”

“I mean, technically—”

“Shut up.” 

So Luke shuts up and just holds Percy—his fiance, fuck, what the fuck—and breathes.

The day ends with Luke collapsing into bed, not bothering to change.

Today was. Fuck. Gods. Jesus Christ. His brothers (two of them, at least) don’t hate him, he met Percy’s mom and didn’t burst into flames, and he’s engaged. Unofficially? Should he do an actual proposal? Should he get a ring? 

He twists Bichen around his finger. Sizhui gave him the ribbon months ago, in December, and it’s March, but he hasn’t put it on since Sizhui had given it to him. He hadn’t felt…worthy. He still doesn’t, but maybe…maybe he can start trying to forgive himself.

Maybe.

He curls up on his side and closes his eyes. 

A few days later, Luke is with Percy at the airport, waiting by the baggage claim. Percy is visibly nervous, his fingers drumming on his leg as he paces. 

“I shouldn’t have done this,” he says, stepping around Luke. ”There’s still time to leave—I should just—”

Luke rolls his eyes and lays a hand on Percy’s shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. 

“If I had to meet your mom, you can meet your son.” He says it in Greek, because even though he knows he’s being paranoid, he doesn’t want anyone overhearing. 

Percy glares at him. “Shut up. This is going to go horribly. Shit.”

“Percy.” 

“Luke,” Percy parrots. 

Luke sighs and pulls him close, letting his hand rest on Percy’s hip. Percy shivers and relaxes into Luke’s hold, and fuck, how is Luke supposed to last? How is he not supposed to kiss Percy’s perfect face?
“Luke,” comes a call, and he turns, smiling, to greet Sizhui and Jingyi.

“A-Yuan,” he says warmly, pulling Sizhui into a hug. Percy makes a strangled noise.

Sizhui, hopeful, turns to him. “Wei-qianbei?”

“A-Yuan,” Percy gasps out, and draws Sizhui in for a desperate hug. Luke meets Jingyi’s eyes over their heads, and Jingyi gives him a nod. 

“You got your shit together," he says, pleased. “Good.”
“It was more Percy than me,” Luke admits with a grimace.

“Percy,” Jingyi echoes. 

Percy untangles himself to grin at JIngyi. “Percy Jackson. Hi.”

“Hi,” Jingyi says, matching his grin. Percy pulls him into a hug and JIngyi goes willingly, wrapping his arms around him. 

“So,” Sizhui says, smiling gently at the scene. “How are you?”

Luke, before he speaks, thinks about his answer. “Better,” he says truthfully. “Still not great, but better.”

“Good,” Sizhui says firmly. “That’s good.”

Sally greets them with open arms, her husband peering out at them from over his shoulder. 

“Welcome,” she says warmly. “It’s very nice to meet you both. My name is Sally, and this is my husband, Paul.”

“It’s very nice to meet you as well,” Sizhui says, matching her warmth with his own. “I am Lan Sizhui, and this is Lan Jingyi.” 

Jingyi is looking around with unabashed wonder. “This is where you grew up?”

“No,” Percy says with a laugh. “No, uh, we moved here a few years ago. It’s more home than where I did grow up, though.” His smile fades slightly, and Luke slips his hand into Percy’s, squeezing. Percy squeezes back in thanks.

“I have food in the oven, if you’re hungry,” Sally says, bustling to the kitchen. “Percy, help me set the table.”

“Okay, Mom,” Percy says, giving one last squeeze to Luke’s hand before following his mother. 

“So, uh,” Paul says, his hands fluttering. “You’re, uh, immortal?” His eyes gleam with curiosity. “But you’re not…”

“Gods? Nah.” Jingyi snorts, flopping down on the couch. Sizhui perches next to him demurely. “Gods are assholes.”

“Jingyi,” Sizhui sighs, as Luke snickers. 

“No, he’s right,” Luke says, finding a spot on Jingyi’s other side. “They’re assholes.”

“They’re the reason you’re alive,” Sizhui reminds him.

“They’re the reason I died,” Luke counters. “They’re the lesser of two evils.”

He may hate himself for betraying Percy, for betraying Camp Half-Blood, but he does not regret rising up against the gods. He regrets how he did so, and he regrets the casualties it wrought, but his stance has not changed on his opinions of the gods themselves. They do not deserve worship, nor do they deserve his guilt. 

Sizhui searches his face for something. Luke doesn’t know if he found it, because Percy pops back in.

“Hey, food’s ready, if anyone’s hungry.”

Luke stands, relieved, and hurries into the kitchen. 

The meal is good, of course it’s good, Luke’s heard plenty about Sally’s skills from Percy. He’s tasted her cookies (the best thing he’s ever had, sans perhaps ambrosia and that doesn’t count). 

“So,” Sally says eventually, after the small talk has exhausted itself. “If you don’t want to, I understand, but…” She looks, imploringly, at her son, who takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. 

“You know those, uh, xianxia shows?” Percy begins. “With the cultivators, and flying swords, and sects?”

“Vaguely,” Sally says. 

Percy glances at Luke, and then at Sizhui and Jingyi. 

“Right. Well. That’s what…my parents died when I was little. Jiang-shushu took me in, adopted me into the Yunmeng Jiang Sect. When I was fifteen, I was sent with the other disciples my age to the Cloud Recesses to study under the Gusu Lan sect, where I met Lan Zhan. Luke.”

Sally’s eyes flick over to Luke, who gives a little wave. His own gaze is fixed on Percy as he speaks.

“My sword was named Suibian. It means whatever, because shushu had a sense of humor. There. There was.” He stops.

“There were five great clans,” Luke jumps in. “The Lan, the Jiang, Qinghe Nie, Lanling Jin, and Qishan Wen. Wen Ruohan, the sect leader, was a psychopath.”

Percy snorts, a little wetly. He buries his face in his hands. Luke scoots his chair closer, bumping their arms together.

“He wanted control. He wanted everyone under his thumb, under the banner of the Wen. He launched an attack on the Cloud Recesses. Not even a week later, he sent for all the best juniors to go to Qishan, under the guise of lessons. It was a ruse.”

“Things happened,” Percy continues, his voice gaining a rasp. His eyes are distant. Unfocused. “There was a war. The Sunshot Campaign, because their symbol was the sun. Lotus Pier was destroyed, shushu and Yu-furen were killed, and Jiang Cheng and I only made it out because Yu-furen tied us to a boat.”
Luke doesn’t know how much Sally is following, how much she understands, but her expression is intent as she listens, face drawn with sorrow. Sizhui and Jingyi as well as leaning in; Sizhui’s face is deliberately blank, and Jingyi’s is open with shock. 

“Shijie—” Percy’s voice catches, and he pauses to suck in a breath. “Jiang Cheng and I stayed alive for a while, but it…it never would have lasted. I, um.” 

He’s shaking, Luke realizes, trembling under the weight of these memories. He wraps an arm around Percy’s side, holding him close.

“He got captured,” Luke fills in. “Thrown into the Burial Mounds. It was said no one ever left. But Wei Ying did. Wei Ying invented an entire new kind of cultivation just so he could make it out.”

Pride is clear in his voice. Percy shudders. 

“We won the war because of him,” Luke goes on, daring to drop a kiss in Percy’s hair. “We won the war, but…”

“But I fucked up,” Percy says flatly. Luke flinches. “The people I tried to protect—they died. Because of me.”

“No.” Luke is barely aware of speaking, too focused on cupping Percy’s face so that he’d look Luke in the eyes. “It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t. You did the best you could.”

“And it still wasn’t good enough,” Percy snaps. “It wasn’t—they all—”

“Not all,” Sizhui interrupts softly. His eyes are so, so sad. “I’m still here. You saved me, Baba.”

Luke hears Sally’s soft gasp. Percy’s eyes are wet with tears. 

“A-Yuan,” he chokes. Sizhui slides off the chair and kneels next to Percy.

“You’re the reason I’m here,” he says. “Me, and Wen-shushu.”

 “Wen Ning?” Percy asks desperately. “He’s—he’s still—gods, it’s my fault.”

“No, Baba.” Sizhui grasps one of Percy’s hands. “He is glad to be here. I am glad he is here. He will be thrilled to see you.”

Percy sniffs. Luke lets one hand drop to Sizhui’s shoulder, the other cradling Percy’s cheek.

“Aiyah,” Percy says wetly. “Such a filial son. What am I to do with you?”

Sizhui’s eyes are bright with tears as Percy ruffles his hair. 

Luke hears Jingyi speak, but he has tunnel-vision, too fixated on his fiance, on his son.

“Wei-qianbei died,” Jingyi is saying softly, “for thirteen years. He was brought back with a ritual, but thirteen years is a long time, and Huanguang-jun mourned deeply. Wei-qianbei hadn’t known that Hanguang-jun loved him. He hadn’t realized that he had feelings for Hanguang-jun, either. When he was brought back, there was a crisis, and they resolved it together. They got married as soon as they could, and they did all they could to help the cultivation world, even though both of them had been hurt very badly by it.”

Luke’s throat is dry, his face sticky with salty tears. Percy and Sizhui are exchanging soft words. Luke feels far away, like he’s underwater, or watching a movie. His hearing is muffled. He can’t bring himself to speak.

He’d not let himself dwell on these memories. He’d barely allowed himself to remember at all. But now he does, now he remembers, now he sees flashes behind his eyelids every time he blinks.

The Cloud Recesses, burning. Wei Ying, delirious with fever in his lap. Hundreds of corpses, fighting their kin. Wei Ying, gaunt and pale and hollow as he pastes on a bright smile and teases him like nothing is wrong. Wei Ying, falling off the cliff. Wei Ying, dead. The world, muted and grey.

Wei Ying, flute to his lips, coaxing Wen Ning into submission with the song Lan Wangji wrote for him. Wei Ying, hiding behind him as Fairy barks. Wei Ying, his robes painted red with blood. Wei Ying, collapsed in his arms as Zidian sparks on Jiang Wanyin’s finger.

Always Wei Ying. Always, forever. 

Slowly, he becomes aware of a stinging sensation in his cheeks. Someone is hitting him gently.

He’s sitting on a bed, Percy is kneeling between his legs, and they are alone.

“Hey,” Percy says, a small smile on his lips. “Back with me?”

Luke nods, the motion jerky.

“Wanna tell me where you went?”

“You,” Luke whispers, surprised to find his voice hoarse. “Memories.”

“Oh, Lan Zhan,” Percy sighs. He pushes himself to sit on Luke’s lap, straddling him. “Will you let me kiss you? Please?”

Luke shakes his head, even though he wants it, needs it, aches for it. “Illegal.”

“Hard-ass,” Percy mutters. He rests his face on Luke’s shoulder, holding him close. “Do you want to leave?”

“Yes,” Luke admits, a confession that goes deeper than the surface question Percy is asking.

“...Are you going to?”

Luke shakes his head. Relief is stark on Percy’s face. 

“Never again,” he whispers. 

Percy laughs breathlessly. 

“This is so cool,” Jingyi breathes.

“It’s overpriced and stupid,” Luke corrects. Jingyi doesn’t seem to hear him, gazing around at the large building in awe.

“A whole store,” Jingyi says, “just for chocolate!”

“M&Ms,” Luke corrects. “Specifically M&Ms.” 

“Even cooler,” Jingyi proclaims, and scampers off to explore.

“It’s very lovely,” Sizhui says. The sun is settling over the horizon, and Luke is tired, and he has work in the morning, but he says nothing.

“It is, isn’t it,” Percy says rhetorically, pride clear on his face. There’s few people around them, leaving Central Park, for the most part, empty. A breeze flows through and Luke shivers.

“I’ve never ridden the subway,” whispers Jingyi, eyes bright with anticipation.

“It’s really not that special,” Percy says with a laugh as he weaves through the horde of people. “It’s dirty and it smells like piss.”

“The whole city smells like piss,” Luke points out, his fingers fisted into Percy’s sleeve. “Piss and shit and street food.”

“Yeah, but the subway smells extra like piss.”

“That makes no sense.”

“It does too,” Percy says, fighting a smile that he can’t quite hold back.

“It doesn’t smell that bad,” Sizhui says delicately, pushing the turnstile. 

Percy turns a deadpan look on him. “A-Yuan, I adore you, but I’ve lived in this city my entire life. It smells worse than shit and piss on a good day.”

Luke snickers as he snags an empty seat. Jingyi takes hold of a pole. 

“This,” he declares, “is the best day of my life.”

Salty air fills Luke’s senses as he hugs himself, eyeing the gently lapping waves warily. Percy is knee-deep in the water, even though it must be freezing, head tilted back to embrace the warm rays of the sun. 

JIngyi is bent over, digging through the sand to find shells and rocks, and Sizhui is next to Percy. They’re talking, their voices a low thrum that carries, though Luke can’t make out the words.

He doesn’t dare get closer to the water; doesn’t dare risk the wrath of Poseidon. 

He watches Percy, sees the way his throat bobs as he talks, takes in the way his muscles bunch and flex under his shirt. A few more months, Luke thinks. Just a few more months. 

There’s crying at the airport. There’s hugging, and promises of texts and calls, and demands for future visits. There are soft words, and lingering touches, and longing glances. 

When Sizhui and Jingyi finally leave, Luke opens his arms, and Percy falls into them. 

“They’ll be fine,” Luke says soothingly. “They’re big boys.”

“I know,” Percy mutters, his arms winding around Luke’s waist. “Still.”

“Yeah.” 

Luke starts walking, and Percy follows. They’re holding hands. They look like a couple. Percy has a tired, worn, jaded sense about him that makes him seem older than he is. They say eyes are the window to the soul, and maybe that has some semblance of truth, because Luke sees all of Percy’s years weighing him down. Like Atlas, shouldering the weight of the sky. Luke’s hand comes up to brush the streak of grey. He swallows, a pit opening in his stomach. 

“Hey,” Percy murmurs, catching Luke’s hand. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Luke denies.

“Well. No.” Percy’s steps turn more sure of himself, leading them both somewhere. “But it’s…it’s getting better, right?”

Luke stares at the back of Percy’s head as they walk, feeling warmth bloom in his chest. “Yeah. It’s definitely getting better.”

The warmth, that had blossomed throughout his body, disappears in a flash of frozen stillness when he sees where Percy has taken them.

“No,” he says, pale and stiff. “No. No way.”

“Yes way,” Percy says, resolutely ignoring Luke’s quickening breaths. “Luke, come on.”

“I can’t—”

It’s just a pizza place, is the thing. It’s small and cozy and Luke’s been here a few times, and the pizza is decent. It shouldn’t be a big deal.

But as Percy drags his unwilling body through the doors, as he shoves Luke over to a booth near the back, all Luke can see is three heads, three former friends. 

He sits, because it’s either sit in the booth or fall on his ass on the floor, and the booth is, at least, cushioned. But he’s dizzy, and he can’t think straight, and he thinks he might actually spontaneously combust.

“I brought him!” Percy says, much too cheerful, sliding in next to Luke and boxing him in, closing off his exit. He could—he could shove Percy away. He could crawl under the table. He could—

“Luke,” says Annabeth, anguished, and the first tears drip down Luke’s cheeks. 

It’s a long few hours.

Luke has nearly fled—has tried to flee—at least five times, thwarted each time by Percy’s disarming smile and strong arms. Luke had given up eventually, resigning himself to being yelled at, being punched.

But that doesn’t happen. 

Thalia does yell, to be fair, but worse than any yelling are the tears, are the sobs, are the broken whispers of shattered promises. 

At the end of it, with discarded plates and greasy fingers from pizza, Luke is exhausted. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, for what feels like the nth time. 

“Gods, just shut up,” Thalia mutters. Under the table, she kicks Luke’s shin with unnerving precision. “You suck. I hate you so much.”

Luke gives her a watery smile. 

“Wait, so,” Annabeth says, “how did you come back? You never said.”

“Ah. Um.”

“His dad asked someone to…intervene?” Percy glances at Luke for confirmation. “Is that the right word?”

Luke shrugs, the bitterness at the mention of his father a familiar taste on his tongue. “All I know is that he begged Sizhui to bring me back.” There’s satisfaction there at the image of his father on his knees, but it’s not enough to stifle the acidic bile that rises up. 

“Sizhui,” Grover repeats thoughtfully. “Why does that sound familiar?”

“He’s one of the Immortals,” Percy says. When Luke raises an eyebrow, he shrugs. “I did some research after…well, you know. It’s Lan Sizhui, Lan Jingyi, and Sandou Sengshou.”

Luke scowls automatically. 

“Oh my gods,” Percy mutters. “Seriously?”

“I’m allowed to not like someone,” Luke says petulantly.

“You are a child. Jesus.”

“So you, like, totally fucked, right?” asks Thalia, leaning in with a dangerous gleam in her eyes. Luke squeaks.

“I wish,” Percy replies with a light flush. “He won’t even kiss me.”

“You,” Luke says, for the millionth time, “are seventeen. It is illegal.”

“You didn’t have any problems before!” 

“That was before! There were different rules! And you were an adult!”

“I mean, I was barely twenty—”

Luke bangs his head on the table. 

“...You remember,” Grover says in a strange tone. “Your past lives?”

“Yeah,” Percy says. “We were married. We’re gonna, again, on my birthday.”

Oh.

Luke sees Percy’s expression; the way he seems so hopeful; the way that he’d dragged Luke here to talk with his three oldest friends, his family; and Luke understands. 

“Will you come?” he asks. He hears Percy’s breath hitch. He pulls his fiance closer, placing his hand on the nape of his neck, toying with the short strands there. Percy relaxes, a soft smile on his face that Luke doesn’t think he’s even aware of.

“Married,” Annabeth whispers. Her eyes are wide.

“Wow.” Thalia leans back.

They’re both silent.

Then, blissfully, wonderfully, Grover breaks the silence that had been growing more and more awkward. “Of course we’ll come.”

“Really?” asks Percy. Luke’s heart clenches at Percy’s small voice.

“Of course,” Thalia says immediately. “You think I’d miss my idiot cousin getting married?”

“I don’t know,” Annabeth says, light in the way that Luke knows is forced. “I don’t really want to see my best friend and the guy who tried to kill him sucking face.”

Luke flinches. Percy’s face falls. 

Annabeth watches them, her eyes hard. Luke knows he doesn’t deserve her forgiveness. He doesn’t deserve anyone’s forgiveness, let alone Percy’s, but here he is.

Here he is.

“Sorry,” Annabeth says quietly. “I’ll come. I just don’t want to see you getting hurt.”

Percy’s smile is tremulous. “I know. But I’ll be fine. I’m more worried about Luke backing out because he’s too scared.”

“Percy,” Luke hisses.

“Lan-er-gege,” Percy says back, teasing. Luke groans, dropping his face in his hands.

“You don’t play fair,” he says, muffled.

“The ribbon,” Percy says.

“You got me drunk!”

“I didn’t know you were a lightweight!”

“Yes you did,” Luke says, affronted and indignant. “You definitely did. You just wanted to make fun of me.”

“It’s just so easy,” Percy says, finally breaking into laughter. His shoulders shake in his mirth, and he turns amused green eyes on Luke. 

“You’re easy,” Luke retorts. Percy gasps.

“You take that back.”

“Make me.”

They look at each other, both grinning, leaning closer and closer—their breaths mingle in the the short space between their lips—Luke reaches up and cradles Percy’s cheek—

“Ahem.”

Luke jerks back, flushing a deep, dark red, dropping his gaze to the table so he doesn’t have to look anyone in the eyes.

“Oh, come on,” Percy groans. “I was so close!”

“You really haven’t kissed yet,” Thalia says, fascinated.

“And you were really married,” Grover adds, awed. 

“...Okay,” says Annabeth. She stands up and pulls Percy out of the booth and into her arms. They stand there, holding each other in an intimate embrace. Maybe Luke should feel jealous. Maybe he should do something other than watch with soft eyes, but he doesn’t, because this is the love of his life and the girl he loves as a little sister. 

Just a few months away.

Luke can make it.

Just a few more months.

Luke can’t make it.

For the past week, Percy has been doing everything he can to kill Luke. His clothes show more and more skin, he keeps touching Luke, and he blatantly checks Luke out. 

Luke simply won’t survive if this keeps up. 

“Let’s go to the beach,” Percy suggests, and Luke is going to die.

“I don’t know,” he says, biting the inside of his cheek as he thinks. “I mean…your dad…”

“If he has a problem with you, he has a problem with me,” Percy declares. Luke’s throat works as he swallows. 

“He’s right to have a problem with me, though,” he points out rightfully. Percy scowls.

“You’ve changed.”

“He doesn’t know that,” Luke says. Unbidden, some of his exhaustion seeps through the words. Percy’s eyes soften. He takes Luke’s hand in a gentle grasp, fingers tangling together. 

“Luke. This isn’t about my dad.”

“What’s it about, then?”

“It’s about one of my favorite people going to one of my favorite places,” Percy says, pressing his forehead to Luke’s. “You can say no. But only if you really don’t want to go.”

Luke sighs, wrapping his arms around Percy and holding him close. “Okay. Let's go to the beach.”

Whatever hangups Luke still has are washed away from the force of Percy’s beam.

“It’s kind of cold for a swim,” Luke says. Percy just shrugs, wading deeper into the water. He wouldn’t care, Luke thinks fondly. He was made for water. Luke’s breath catches in his throat when Percy turns to him with a laugh, an image of Wei Ying buried in rabbits superimposed on top. 

Suddenly, Luke remembers Percy’s dog.

He can’t believe he hadn’t thought of it. Clearly Percy isn’t afraid of dogs anymore, and while Luke is happy for him, there’s a small part of him that mourns the loss of Percy hiding behind him for protection. 

“Are you coming in?” calls Percy. Luke sends him a smile and shakes his head.

“I’m good here, thanks,” he replies. Percy pouts. It’s devastating. Luke sighs heavily and inches forward, hissing at the icy coldness of the water. “Gods, that’s cold. What are you, Elsa?”

“Jack Frost!” Percy says brightly. Luke blinks at him, uncomprehending. 

“Like the winter spirit guy?”

Percy gasps dramatically. “You’ve never seen Rise of the Guardians?" 

“Rise of the what now?” Luke asks. 

Percy’s hands go to his hips, and he tuts disapprovingly, shaking his head. Luke is abruptly reminded of his uncle, lecturing Wei Ying for the smallest of infractions. 

“Well, I know what we’re doing tonight.”

“Yeah?” Luke says, finally braving through the cold to stand next to Percy. He shivers, hugging himself. “What’s that?”

“Movie night,” Percy answers. “Duh.”

“Hold on,” Luke protests. “You still won’t watch Star Trek with me. Why should I watch your movie?”

“Okay, first off, Star Wars beats Star Trek any day—” Luke gasps in betrayal “—and secondly, it’s Rise of the Guardians.”

“Star Trek so beats Star Wars,” Luke huffs.

“Luke,” Percy says menacingly, flicking water at Luke, “I am your father.”

Luke’s nose wrinkles. “Gross. That’s incest.”

Percy breaks, giggling. “Come on.”

“You come on,” Luke retorts, splashing Percy. Annoyingly, Percy barely even flinches before splashing Luke back. Luke shrieks. “Percy! That’s cold!”

“Don’t be a baby,” Percy teases, splashing him again. Luke glares, his teeth chattering.

“If I get hypothermia I’m blaming you,” he says, making his way back out of the water.

“You’re not going to get hypothermia,” Percy calls after him, amused. Luke flips him off. 

He lets his feet sink into the sand, hunched over as the sun beams down, warm and bright. It’s a beautiful day, really, but Luke can’t exactly savor it like this. A breeze whisps past and he shivers. 

“Hey,” Percy says, brushing some hair out of Luke’s face. Luke is suddenly, blessedly dry. “Sorry. Are you okay?”

“Don’t be sorry,” Luke admonishes lightly. “I’m fine. You’re just freakishly immune to freezing water.”

Percy shrugs, smiling. “It doesn’t feel cold to me.”

“Freak,” Luke mutters fondly, bumping Percy’s shoulder and taking his hand. “I’ll watch Rise of the Guardians with you if you watch Star Trek with me.”

Percy narrows his eyes. “I’m not watching a whole show.”

“We can watch the reboot,” Luke compromises. “I mean, it’s definitely better if you’ve seen the original, there’s a ton of easter eggs and references—and Leanard Nimoy—but it’s not necessary, I guess.”

“You guess,” Percy parrots, snickering. “Luke, I love you, but I’m not watching three seasons of a show that came out in the sixties.”

Luke fights past the warmth that spreads to say, “You’ve seen every episode of Doctor Who.”

“It’s Doctor Who,” Percy says, exasperated. 

“It’s Star Trek,” Luke says, in the same tone. Percy groans.

“Fine, I’ll watch your stupid movie.”

“It’s not stupid,” Luke protests, grinning. “It’s clever and fun and there are explosions.”

“Well,” Percy drawls, “if there are explosions…”

“Wait,” Luke says, hours later. He’d conceded to watching Percy’s movie first, and they’re curled up on Luke’s couch, limbs tangling together as they share a bowl of popcorn. “Didn’t Sophie literally go to the Easter Bunny’s home? Why is Jamie the only one left?”

“She’s too young,” Percy says, eyes locked onto the screen. “I don’t think she knows what’s real and what’s not.”

“Still,” Luke says.

“Just watch the movie,” Percy sighs.

“The Kobayashi Maru,” Luke crows. Percy smacks his thigh, but Luke is too excited to mind. “Kirk beat it in the original series, too. We’re not told how, but he beat it.”

“Spock!” Luke exclaims in delight. 

“Haven’t you seen this before?" Percy asks, laughing. 

“Yeah, and?”

“Scotty!” Luke crows. “Gods, I love Scotty. Scotty’s awesome."

“He seems fun,” Percy says.

“Oh, he is.”

“What the fuck,” Percy says in horror. “The whole planet?”

“Endangered species,” Luke whispers. 

Luke can’t remember the last time he’d grinned this much. His cheeks hurt.

“So?” he says, fingers drumming on his knee.

“It was good,” Percy says. “Really good.”

Luke crows in triumph, throwing his arms around his fiance. Percy laughs, hugging him back.

“You’re such a dork,” he teases fondly.

“Shut up,” Luke says happily.

“Make me.”

“I’m still not kissing you.”

“You suck.”

Luke has gotten attacked by maybe seven monsters in the time that he’s been brought back.

He doesn’t know why there’s been so little; he just knows better than to question it. It does mean that he hasn’t had much opportunity to use Bichen since Sizhui gifted it to him. He practices; of course he practices. He spars with Percy, and he goes through the drills—the Lan stances, and some of the Jiang stances, if only because he knows them from observation. 

All this to say—he’s a little taken off-guard when he turns and there’s a cloud of dust fluttering idly to the floor. 

“Yo,” Thalia says, retrieving her arrow. “You’re welcome.”

Luke blinks. “Thanks.”
She squints at him. “You good?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m fine.”

“Liar,” she says, hooking her arm through his. “C’mon. I want burgers.”

“I’m poor,” Luke protests.

Thalia slaps his chest. “Suck it up. You owe me a million.”

And—well, Luke can’t exactly argue against that, so he sucks it up. 

Over fries and burgers, Luke asks, “Would you spar with me?”

Thalia pauses. “I mean, yeah. If you want.”

He nods. She grins.

“Well, if you’re sure you want to get your ass kicked.”

He scoffs. “Please. Like you could.”

“...We’ve never really sparred before, have we?” Thalia asks carefully. Luke frowns. She’s right—they hadn’t exactly had sword-fighting lessons when they were on the run, and when Luke was in camp Thalia was—well, she was a tree. And then Luke went off and betrayed everyone just because he felt self-righteous and destroyed any chance he had of being happy, but now he’s back and he’s happy, he is, and he doesn’t—

“Hey,” Thalia says sharply. Luke flinches, eyes darting up to meet hers. She softens. “Where’d you go?”

“Nowhere,” he says. “Sorry.”

He hopes she can hear the multitudes contained in that word. He hopes she knows just how sorry he truly is. 

“How many times have you apologized?" she asks, flicking a fry at his face. He catches it in his mouth, chewing and swallowing before answering.

“Um. A lot.”

“Too much,” she says, slurping her Coke obnoxiously. Luke sips his own Dr Pepper, eyeing her curiously. “Like, yeah, you fucked up, but you’re trying, right? Have you done anything fucked up since you came back?”

Luke shrugs. “I didn’t smile at a customer.” When Thalia gives him a flat look, he adds, “She yelled at me and demanded to speak to my manager.”

“Just because you weren’t smiling?” she asks, incredulous. 

“Never work in customer service,” he says seriously. “Never.”

Thalia snorts. “Duly noted.”

Thalia leads Luke through a dizzying array of the New York subways. It takes nearly two hours to get where Thalia wants to go—a small clearing a little outside the city—and they pass the time by catching each other up on their lives. 

Thalia fills him in on what the Hunters have been up to, and the gods (even though Luke really couldn’t care less; he cares about the gods about the same amount that he cares about, say, the Yao Clan, which is to say not at all), and camp, when she visits. Percy talks about it sometimes, but not often, and Luke understands, but it’s nice to hear about it. It’s nice to hear he didn’t completely wreck everything.

Luke, in return, tells her about before. Not everything, not even close to everything, but the basics. How he met Wei Ying. How there was a war. How Wei Ying saved them all and was killed for it, and how he was brought back, and how Lan Wangji never stopped loving him. How Wei Ying confessed in the middle of the confrontation with Jin Guangyao (“if it were a movie it’d be the climax,” Luke says with an eye roll. “He had a wire to his throat!” “It’s appropriately dramatic,” Thalia counters, not bothering to hide her snickers.), and how they eloped a few days after that.

“And you haven’t kissed him,” Thalia says in amazement, shaking her head as she drags Luke by the wrist. Snapping her fingers, she encloses the area in the Mist and draws her sword. He hums appreciatively, the Celestial Bronze sparkling in the sun. It’s a new sword, but one she’s clearly comfortable with already.

“He’s seventeen!” Luke repeats for the hundredth time. “Excuse me if I don’t want to be arrested!”

He twists his ring, gripping Bichen and falling into an open stance. 

“Nice,” Thalia whispers, her eyes sparkling as she takes in Bichen. Luke preens. “But, c’mon, throw the guy a bone.”

“I’m not kissing a minor,” Luke says, feeling slightly hysterical. They begin to circle each other slowly. 

“He’s almost eighteen,” Thalia points out, lunging. Luke dodges, swiping at her side. She blocks. “Besides, I bet there weren’t any of those rules before.”

He ducks to the side to avoid a slash and says, “Okay, but we were in the middle of a war.” He stabs upwards; she jumps and brings her sword down. “And then he ran away, and then he told me to fuck off—”

“He did not say that,” Thalia says, rushing in and pressing the flat side of her sword to Bichen’s blade.

“‘Get lost’ is pretty close to fuck off, I dunno what to tell you.” He swipes her legs out and she falls to the ground with a grunt. He points the tip of Bichen to her throat.

“Yield,” she says. Luke puts Bichen away and holds out his hand, pulling her up when she grips it. “Damn, dude. You’re really good.”

“I was the best swordsman in camp until Percy came along,” Luke says with a shrug, wiping sweat from his face. “And I was one of the best back then.”

“Still.” She laughs, exhilarated. “We need to do this again.”

“Yeah,” Luke agrees, feeling an almost giddy grin spread across his own face. “We definitely do.”

Thalia falls back down, tugging him with him. He yelps but doesn’t fight, ending up sprawled across her legs in the grass. He lets out a breathless laugh.

“Will you tell me?” she asks, curling a strand of his hair around her finger and tugging. “About…when you were married. Your life.”

“When we were married or my life in general?” he asks.

“In general,” she clarifies.

Luke sighs. “It wasn’t…it wasn’t very pretty, a lot of the time. There was a war…he tried his best to do the right thing, but the way he went about it was heretical—he walked the narrow path.”

“He walked the what,” Thalia says flatly.

Luke huffs out a wry laugh. “Yeah, um. The righteous path was wide and straight, and the—demonic path was narrow and dark.”

“There were demons?” she asks, her eyes gleaming. Luke swats at her.

“No! There were ghosts and creatures and the like, but not demons. Even saying demonic about what he did is wrong, he always complained about it. He called it, um, the ‘ghostly path’.” 

“Damn,” Thalia whistles. “That’s kinda cool.”

“Yeah, well, the rest of the world didn’t think so. They made him a parriah—he didn’t exactly help with that, to be fair, he made a lot of bad political decisions including publicly cutting off the people who wanted to help him, but he just…he was doing what he thought was right.”

“Did,” Thalia starts. She stops. “Did you stand by him?”

“I…was really fucking repressed,” Luke says wryly. “He was the first person I’d ever been attracted to, and by the time I came to terms with it he was using resentful energy and harming himself—or I thought he was harming himself, apparently there were—anyway.” He shakes his head. “I tried, but I went about it the wrong way and there were a bunch of misunderstandings and I didn’t say what I meant so much as I hoped he’d hear it.”

“That’s…wow,” says Thalia. “Just wow.”

“Yeah,” Luke replies with a dry laugh. “And that’s barely the tip of the iceberg.”

Thalia is quiet, her hands combing through Luke’s hair, still damp with sweat from the fight. 

“You talk a lot about him,” she says carefully, “but all I got from that about you is that you were repressed, and you were in love with him.”

Luke closes his eyes. “The place I grew up was rigid,” he says softly. “I loved it, I still do, and he does too. But there were over three thousand rules when he came to study. We were one of the great sects; he was from another. Every year, the sects who were invited would send their best and brightest disciples to train with us. He was…reckless. Charming. He didn’t care about the rules. I grew up with them. My father lived in seclusion and my mother died when I was a child, leaving my brother and I in the care of our uncle. He did his best, and we loved him very much, but he was rigid and strict and did not know how to raise two little boys.

“I learned to stay neutral; to never show excess emotion. I learned how to be the perfect jade of our sect. I learned how to be good and righteous, and to never stray to the path of evil.

“And then he showed up, with his red ribbon and his bunnies and his drawings. I think I fell for him the instant I laid eyes on him, but I didn’t have words for the feelings I was experiencing. I was fifteen and I wasn’t used to someone so—so brazen.”

He picks idly at a blade of grass. “He broke rules and spoke too loudly and walked too fast. He was friendly to everyone except those who insulted his family. He was beautiful and everything I had never known.”

“And you fell in love,” Thalia says softly. 

“Not yet.” Luke tugs at a few more blades. “By the time the war came around, perhaps. We spent time together. We fought together. And then…he…” He draws in a shuddering breath. “He died, and I raised the child he had saved.”

“He died,” Thalia repeats. “But you were married…?”

“He came back,” Luke explains. “There was a ritual, or something.”

Thalia stares down at him, her eyes sad. “Oh, Luke.”

“We eloped,” Luke says. “After…we figured some stuff out, solved a few mysteries…and then we eloped.”

“And now you’re going to do that again?”

“Courthouse wedding," Luke corrects. “Percy’s mom and stepdad are coming, and you three, and, um.”

“And?” Thalia prompts, raising an eyebrow. 

“So. Um. There might be a little more to it than just remembering our past lives…”

“Luke,” she says sternly.

“Lan Wangji,” he blurts out. “I was Lan Wangji. Hanguang-jun. Percy was Wei Wuxian, the Yiling Laozu—Patriarch, whatever—and, um, Lan Sizhui, Lan Jingyi, and probably Jiang Wanyin are going to be there.”

He fiddles with the grass, staring down fixedly.

“The immortals,” Thalia says at length. “The Immortals. Are going to be at your wedding.”

Luke nods, still avoiding her gaze. 

“Gods above,” she mutters. “You two don’t do anything by halves, do you?”

Luke flushes. “Shut up.”

“Never,” she snorts. “I owe you so much teasing.”

Luke shifts a little, off her lap and upright, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them loosely. “You’re not…mad? Or think I’m crazy?”

“Oh, you’re definitely crazy,” she says, nudging him. “But nah. I’m not mad. I was, I mean—you did—well, you know.”

Luke swallows. Yeah. He knows.

“But you’re back now, and I missed you, I missed the Luke that you used to be and you’re him again, so…I dunno. Yeah.” 

“I missed you too,” he whispers, his eyes stinging. “I missed you and Annabeth and Grover and—” He chokes on the words, doesn’t say what goes unsaid. He can’t—he hasn’t let himself think about it, about what he used to have, what his father ruined. A normal childhood; as normal as he could get, anyway, being his father’s son. A mother, present and sane, with sweet words and soft touches.

“Luke,” murmurs Thalia. “Luke, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s okay.” His voice is wrecked. He’s lost his mother, lost both his mothers, any chance of maternal love in his life gone to the wind. 

“It’s not.”

Luke lets out a wet laugh. “No,” he agrees. “It isn’t.”

“I have to get back soon,” Thalia says at length. “But—let’s do this again. Hang out.”

“Yeah.” Luke sits up, scrubbing at his face. “Yeah, sounds good.” He stands, wobbling slightly before finding his balance. Thalia envelopes him in a tight hug that he returns. They stand there and just hold each other for a moment, basking in the other’s presence. 

When they separate, Luke sees Thalia wipe at her own eyes. He keeps quiet, because he knows how she feels about crying, especially in front of other people, but he’d be lying if it didn’t make him feel a bit better. 

“I love you,” Luke says, because he doesn’t know if he’s said it to her before. Her eyes gain a glassy sheen. 

“I love you too,” she says, punching him in the arm. “Dumbass.”

Luke cracks a grin. “I’ll, um, I’ll see you at the wedding?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, definitely.”

He leaves her there, opting to take the train back. He uses the ride to stew in his thoughts. He still can’t believe Percy is giving him a chance, let alone marrying him. It’s—it’s just insane. Luke tried to kill him multiple times, and Percy just—he just—

“Shit,” Luke mutters, running a rough hand through his hair. He ignores the dirty look it gets from a woman holding onto a little girl. It’s New York; if she didn’t want to expose her kid to bad influences she should have thought about that before. 

He wonders what his uncle would think of him now. He wonders what his brother would think. Would they be disappointed? Probably, yeah. They wouldn’t hate him, at least he doesn’t think; even after everything, Lan Qiren didn’t hate his brother, and Lan Xichen didn’t hate Jin Guangyao. It’s not in his brother’s blood to hate people, especially not his people.

He’d deserve it, though. He does deserve it. He doesn’t understand why his friends, why his brothers, are giving him a chance. He had his chance and he fucked it up. He should have to earn this second chance, not be given it blindly. And yet—

And yet. 

Maybe this is how Percy—Wei Ying—used to think. Maybe this is what went through his mind whenever he succumbed to his self-loathing. He caused the deaths of his loved ones, made a series of bad decisions that ended in a massacre, and still he had people who loved him. Who still love him. And if Luke could hold him close and tell him it’s okay, it’s not his fault, then maybe…maybe he can extend the same courtesy to himself. 

He…he was manipulated. Used. He hurt people, caused death and pain and he’s not blameless, but maybe it wasn’t fully his fault. Maybe he should start listening to his friends when they tell him to stop drowning in self-hatred. 

It’s not that simple, he knows, but…it’s a start. 

“So?” Luke asks nervously. “What do you think?”
Percy spins slowly, taking in the apartment—the open space that connects the kitchen to the main area, the hallway that splits off to the two bedrooms and the bathroom. Luke had been saving up for nearly a year now, and Sizhui had lended him some extra (even though Luke kept insisting he didn’t need it, and that later he’d pay Sizhui back), and he’d been just about able to afford this place. Their place, hopefully. 

“I love it,” Percy replies breathlessly. He launches himself at Luke, who catches him with a grunt. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“It worked,” Percy laughs, kissing Luke’s cheek. It feels like fire on his skin, and all he wants to do is bend Percy over the new table—but. No. 

There’s a little under two months until Percy is finally eighteen. Luke has held out this long; he can last a little longer. 

Moving Percy in is a gradual process, one that happens over a few weeks. Sally helps them pick out furniture, and Jingyi gifts them a Star Trek poster with Kirk, Spock, and Bones. Annabeth criticizes the layout, but Thalia throws an apple at her, which she catches and tosses to Grover, her eyes fixed on Thalia. 

“What the hell,” she says. 

Thalia shrugs. She can see the danger in Annabeth’s eyes just as well as Luke and Percy can, but she is nothing if not an instigator. 

“Chick fight!” Connor calls out, laughing as he ducks a plastic knife thrown by one of the girls. 

Travis facepalms, messing up Connor’s hair. 

The apartment—new, shiny—is filled with noise and laughter, and Luke’s heart might just explode. 

“Hey.” Percy nudges him. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Luke says. He clears his throat. “Yeah. I think I am.”

Percy smiles at him, takes his hand, and entwines their fingers. He leads Luke to the dark grey couch, pulling Luke down next to him. 

“This is wild,” Percy says.

“Wild,” Luke echoes teasingly.

Percy elbows him lightly, grinning. “Shut up. Did you ever think…”

Luke shakes his head. “Did you?”

“Definitely not. I think Jiang Cheng would have a conniption if he was here.”

Luke scowls automatically. Percy rolls his eyes. 

“Oh my gods,” he mutters under his breath. Luke huffs, but it falls flat in the face of his wide smile. He can’t stop. His brothers and his best friends are here, and Percy’s here. That’s more than he ever imagined. 

“Okay!” Sally says brightly. “We’re all set. Are you boys excited?”

“Yeah,” Percy says, hugging his mom. “Gods, one week. Can you believe it?”

“My little boy’s getting married,” she says, cupping Percy’s cheeks. She strokes his hair proudly. “You’ve grown up so fast.”

“Mom,” Percy whines, a cute flush spreading across his cheeks. Sally laughs lightly and lets him go. 

“What about you, Luke?” she asks, turning to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m dreaming,” says Luke faintly. 

“I can pinch you,” Percy offers, pressing his side against Luke’s. Luke wraps an arm around him. 

“I can tell your mom about—”

“Okay, okay!” Percy pouts at him. “Mean.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” Luke says with a snicker. 

Percy huffs. “You and Jiang Cheng are like, the only people with viable blackmail. It’s not fair.”

“You have plenty on us,” Luke points out, fighting back the habitual scowl at the mention of Percy’s brother. 

“Yeah, but like,” Percy says, and then stops, like it’s a complete sentence. Luke smiles fondly down at him and holds him closer. 

Their bed has pale blue blankets, and the walls are painted the same soft gray as the rest of the apartment. There are three paintings Percy did hanging up; one of them before, as Wei Ying and Lan Wangji, in the meadow behind the Cloud Recesses. The second is of a black pegasus (“Blackjack,” Percy tells him when he asks) soaring over Camp Half-Blood. The third one is simpler, yet has more meaning than both of the others: a flute, a guqin, and two swords, surrounded by a border of lotus flowers. Chenqing, Wangji, Riptide, and Backbiter. Luke’s breath had left him the first time he’d seen it, and it was only Percy’s arms around him that prevented him from falling into a panic attack.

They’re all beautiful. Of course they are; Percy was the one that painted them, after all. But even so, Luke still can’t look at for more than a few seconds before panic and memories threaten to pull him back down. 

Percy had originally hung it on the wall directly opposite the bed, but after seeing Luke’s reaction, he’d placed it right next to the door, so that whenever the door is open, the painting will be covered. Luke had put up a protest that had died down when Percy aimed a look at him. 

“I was thinking maybe I’d paint something new,” Percy says now, dressed in a loose t-shirt and shorts. “Something something your ribbon.”

Our ribbon, Luke thinks, but doesn’t say it. He doesn’t tell Percy his plan for tomorrow. Instead, he says, “Something something.”

“Shut up,” Percy mutters. “I’m just thinking.”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Luke teases, grinning. Percy flips him over so he’s on top of Luke, pinning his hands down. “Percy. No.” 

“There’s less than an hour,” Percy hisses. “Come on!”

“Good night,” Luke says pointedly, easing Percy off him and closing his eyes. He can feel Percy glaring daggers at him, and it takes everything in him not to break out laughing. 

“I hate you,” Percy mutters finally, settling down and pulling the covers over him. “Bastard.”

Luke blinks awake to sunshine streaming in through the window. When he checks, Percy’s still sleeping, so Luke slips out of bed and gets started on breakfast. He puts the pancakes (Sally’s recipe) on a tray that also holds a glass of orange juice and eases the door open. 

“Wakey-wakey, Sleeping Beauty,” he says, setting the tray down on his side of the bed, nudging Percy back from the edge and sitting down. Percy groans, and Luke doesn’t try to fight the smile. “Perce. Wake up.”

“Ugh,” Percy says. His eyes crack open, and then he shoots up. “Holy shit, it’s my birthday.”

“It is,” Luke agrees.

“I’m eighteen.”

“You are.”
Percy meets Luke’s gaze, and Luke leans in. His hand finds Percy’s jaw, his other settling on Percy’s waist as he presses a chaste kiss to Percy’s lips. 

They’re as soft as he imagined, and they taste like salt and strawberries. Percy pulls him back in immediately, deepening the kiss. Luke follows his lead, and the breakfast tray goes forgotten. 

“I’ll meet you at the courthouse,” Luke says, an hour later. Percy pouts up at him. Luke smiles down at him fondly and brushes a kiss over his cheek. “Percy.”

“Fine,” Percy grumbles. Luke rolls off him and stands, stretching. Percy’s eyes follow the motion as his short rides up. “I’ll…see you later, then.”

“Yeah,” Luke confirms. “I’ll see you later.”

Percy pulls on a sweater and steals another kiss before trudging out of their room. Luke watches him leave. 

Luke takes a shower, brushes his hair, spritzes some cologne. He dresses carefully in the suit Sizhui had made for him, fabric as blue as the sky with soft white clouds bordering the sleeves. It fits perfectly, because of course it does, because Luke’s son is amazing at everything he does. Luke is so proud of him. 

He takes the small black box he keeps under the mattress and slips it into his pocket. Running a hand through his hair again to keep the strands in place, he checks his phone: ten-seventeen. He needs to be at the courthouse by eleven-thirty. 

He’s the last one there, he knows. Percy had gone to his mom’s apartment to change and meet up with everyone. Luke’s fingers flex as he hurries down the hall to the right room. He stops right outside of it. 

This is it.

In a few minutes, he and Percy will be married. Legally. In front of friends and family. Luke doesn’t think he’s ever been this nervous. 

He inhales. Holds. Exhales. 

He pushes open the door. 

His breath catches as his eyes fall on Percy—Percy, in a dark grey suit accented with red; Percy, who turns to look at him the second Luke steps inside; Percy, the man Luke has harmed over and over and yet still believes he is worth it. 

“Hi,” Luke says, voice cracking as he takes in the rest of them. Sally’s eyes are bright with unshed tears, and Paul doesn’t look far behind. Thalia is grinning, her arm slung around Grover. Annabeth, who had been talking with Sizhui, turns, and smiles as she meets Luke’s gaze. Connor and Jingyi had been deep into a conversation, at odds to Travis and Jiang Wanyin, who looks like he had swallowed a lemon more sour than usual.

There’s a man he doesn’t recognize, presumably the man who is going to marry him.

“Right,” he says, confirming Luke’s thoughts. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

The others clear out from the middle, leaving a space for Luke and Percy to fill. They step up to right in front of the desk, never looking away from each other. 

They fill out some paperwork, the man recites some spiel that Luke is only half-listening to, and then—

“Alright. You’re married. You may kiss the groom, or whatever.”

Immediately, Luke dips Percy, who lets out a surprised laugh. Luke bends down and kisses him firmly, relishing in the feel of Percy’s—of his husband’s—warmth.

“One more thing,” Luke says when they’re upright again. Percy looks a little dazed, blinking fast to come down from the high. Luke stifles a grin at the sight. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the small box.

“Sizhui?” he calls softly, as Percy gasps in recognition. “Will you do the honors?”

He grasps Percy’s hand as Sizhui steps forward, beaming.

“Of course, A-die.” Gently, he takes the box and opens it, revealing the same ribbon he’d given Luke for Christmas. Luke hadn’t worn it, feeling too unworthy. But now, months later, finally understanding that he’s allowed to forgive himself, to be happy, he can’t wait to feel it against his skin. 

“Oh my gods, Luke,” Percy whispers. His eyes are wide as he glances from the ribbon to Luke. “you planned this.”

“Duh,” Luke says, as Sizhui unravels the ribbon. He falls silent as his son winds the ribbon around their wrists, binding them together. He ties it off and steps back. Luke pulls Percy in for another, sweeter kiss. “I love you, Perseus Jackson, Wei Ying, whatever name you go by.”

“I love you, Lan Zhan, Lan-er-gege, Luke Castellan,” Percy says, grinning so widely that Luke is afraid his cheeks will tear. “I’m never letting you go.”

“You’d better not.”

To the sound of their friends and family cheering behind him, they meet in the middle for another kiss.