There's this NY Jets tee-shirt hanging on the back of Luke's bedroom door. The soft cotton is stretched out from bare legs being tucked under it on cold mornings and from those nights when he was too impatient to touch Abbie's skin to be careful.
She'd left it behind when she'd packed up for Quantico and he'd hoped it meant she intended to come back to him some day. Then, Sheriff Corbin had been killed and Crane had happened and Abbie had stayed in the Hollow.
But the shirt is still left hanging, waiting for Abbie.
Kind of like Luke.