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Luke’s betrayal hit Camp hard, but life moved on steadily. Soon his name was only spoken with distain and sometimes hatred, despite the speaker often silently mourning the golden boy’s sudden shift.
Alex, like so many nights before, sat at the side of the Canoe Lake, quietly playing his guitar. Two months ago he’d have sung to the melody as well, but there was something inside him, he couldn’t seem to get the words out. Afraid his voice might break the way his heart had. In his mind he replayed all the moments he had had with Luke. Running over the strawberry fields, toppling over each other into the grass and kissing until neither had air left in their lungs.
He’d even given up on painting as well as songwriting. Every time he tried to paint a sunflower, Alex would break down in tears and remember how his paintbrush used to run across Luke’s back in the same stroke, painting sunflowers, wings or whatever he pleased on a human canvas. Luke had always complained about the ticklish feeling he got from the cool paint, though fully aware that his “sunshine“ could see the grin on the son of Hermes’ face.
In secret Alex still hoped Luke would come back. Sure, everyone could see and guess, but he never spoke about it. The things that did speak were the ribbons fading in his curls. Pearls going missing one by one from where he used to braid them into the blonde strands. His siblings had noticed the golden glow he usually had growing dimmer each day Luke remained gone. Even the freckles on his arms were getting paler, though maybe he was just imagining that.
The only few things keeping him sane were his shifts in the infirmary and archery lessons. As oldest son of Apollo he was main medic and got to spent his afternoons, mornings and late nights in the makeshift hospital of Camp without anyone asking questions. Same goes for teaching a bunch of kids how to hold a bow and fire an arrow. And when they did ask, he always said the same thing:
„Since my boyfriend decided to go rogue, I have a lot of time on my hands.“
Though quietly he began to feel empty, numbing inner pain with physical pain and sometimes sitting in the same spot at the lake, waiting for the hours to pass and maybe even waiting for a tall blonde guy with a scar over his eye and a smirk to fear, to walk up behind him and place his hands on Alex’s shoulders.
Last week a younger camper, without any ill intention, had asked him "how he had missed the signs". If Alex thought about it too long he sometimes started crying. It wasn’t his fault, at least that’s what Chiron had said when he had first found him under the old willow. The son of Apollo’s eyes had been slightly red rimmed and tears streaks like silver on his cheeks, because even when crying Apollo’s children where a sight to behold.
For him it was impossible to give up on a six year relationship that fast. Alex had even considered running after Luke, hoping that joining the enemy would bring his love back to him. Not that he could ever do that without hating himself more than he did now.
Getting lost in thought, Alex began to silently hum and at some point even opened his mouth to silently sing along to it.
{{Eleven Eleven-CONAN GRAY}}
„There’s wishbones and clovers, and numbers from heaven
Shapes in the stars to invent our connection
As much I act as I want to forget it, I still wish for you at eleven eleven
I still wish for you…“
The quiet that followed was deafening in Alex ears and for a second his stopped breathing, looking up at where the moon was shining high above camp, a shallow breath fell from his lips and he looked down at the silver ring on his fourth finger, a gift Luke had given a while ago.
„I still wish for you…“, Alex whispered again and sighed.
„You do, huh?“, a voice behind him said.