Till Sunrise┊Luke Castellan

3 .·:· Whispers from the Sea

Tiepolo, Giovanni Battista. 'The Death of Hyacinthus'. 1752-1753. (censored) ⋆.ೃ࿔*:·

Words:  2,662

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Luke leaned with casual grace against one of the withered pillars outside of the training arena, a celestial bronze trinket dancing between his fingers, absentmindedly playing with it, like Hermes would when twirling his caduceus. The sun cast a golden hue around him as he counted the minutes she wasn't here. She was late.

"Luke!"

At the sound of her voice, his eyes lifted, meeting hers as she sprinted down the hill. A tender smile breaking out on his face.

Breathless and flushed, Phoebe sought to catch her breath and stabilise herself, she placed a hand on his shoulder and he subtly leaned into her touch. "I didn't make you wait too long, did I?" She asked breathlessly.

"Nah, I just got here" his response carried the ease of someone who hadn't been waiting around for ten minutes.

"How was lunch?" He asked, looking down at her.

"Yeah, it was good," She responded, cheeks ablaze from the run. "How was yours?"

"Same as always," he shook his head. "Oh, Percy seems to be getting the hang of things."

"Really?" She sounded euphonious to him as a hopeful smile lit up her face. "That's so good. Oh, right, that reminds me, we should introduce him to Annabeth."

"Why? Is she doing the staring thing again?" His brow furrowed.

"Yeah," she confirmed.

He suddenly raised his eyebrows at her. "You're not trying to play matchmaker again, right?" a hint of scepticism tinging his tone. "That went so bad last time. Plus she's like ten; she shouldn't be thinking about boys. don't be putting any ideas in her head" pointing a finger at her.

"Hey no. I just think they could be good friends, that's all" she smiled cheekily.

"Yeah, maybe," he said slowly, his eyes narrowing at her.

She nudged her head in the direction of the arena."Ready to get beaten?" she teased.

"If memory serves, you've lost three times in a row," he said while raising his eyebrows, presenting three fingers in her face to emphasise this.

Laughing, she playfully knocked away his fingers and reached for him, and he came to meet her hand. She pulled him along as they entered the sword-fighting arena. Loose strands of her catching the glare of the sun. Stealing his breath.

Phoebe brushed these stray hairs that had fallen out of her ponytail away from her face as he collected their wooden training swords.

"Show me your stance again" Luke requested, passing her a sword.

Assuming her fighting stance and looked up at him with questioning eyes. He circled her, examining her form for any faults.

"Okay not too bad," he said. "But your positioning with the sword is all wrong."

"Damn still" she sighed. "I thought I cracked it."

His hand encircles hers, repositioning her grip on the sword. "Like this," he says, breath warm in her ear.

"You're doing this on purpose" She mutters, thinking that the position was unnecessarily intimate for the simple instructions he was giving.

"So what if I am?" He replied, readjusting her grip again.