13. Regrets – Harry/Luke (PJO)
"Family, Luke. You promised."
Annabeth's trembling words catch Harry's attention, and within a moment he's at their side, wincing as he sees where Luke has decided to— to be a hero. The wizard's heart breaks when he sees the bleeding wound, his hands moving to catch Luke's free ones between them, holding tightly onto him as though it would prevent him from dying; as if his touch alone could prevent him from passing.
The stab wound is a direct hit to his weak spot, his Achilles' heel, and there's no chance of him surviving past this. For a moment nothing is said, and all that can be heard is the son of Hermes' ragged breaths, his last ones.
"Did you love me?" Though it seems to be directed at Annabeth, the one whom had always been at Luke's side, he's staring at Harry, bright blue staring into darkening green. Harry has to bite his lip to stop himself from shouting, from screaming at him for being an idiot, from telling him, you could have stayed, we could have been a family.
But Harry nods all the same.
One of his hands remove themselves from where they clutch desperately at the other's, moving to his scarred cheek instead, brushing gently, lovingly over the marred skin.
"Always," he murmurs, thinks about his parents and Sirius and Remus. They were with him, always. Luke would be with him, too. Always. A constant word, meaning so much more to him now, since that fateful day in the Forbidden Forest. It's the most loving thing he can think to say to Luke, the love that never could have been. "Always, Luke." He repeats, as if to reinforce it.
Annabeth's still kneeling beside them, a hand on her mouth, and Percy's off somewhere to the side. Harry can imagine the guilty look on his face. They're too much alike.
The gods enter, then. They go ignored by the already mourning demigods, who don't quite know how to process the traitor's return to their side, how to remove themselves from the situation and stop themselves from crying over the death of the one they should hate. (But they never could, not genuinely. Not one of them.)
"And you," Harry starts. "Did you love me?"
Luke nods. It's the most he can do now, in too much pain to do much else. Harry smiles, though it hurts to do so, and leans down to press a kiss to the elder's forehead, then his lips. Luke is cold, but Harry is familiar with the coolness that comes with death – he doesn't even flinch.
"I'll see you later, Luke."
The regret he feels is overwhelming, now, and they're all to do with the dead son of Hermes.