Luca was good to Apollo once; that's hard to forget. His face was the only thing that ever looked like home. He was a crutch, an anchor, and now he's wrapped around Apollo’s legs as he drowns at the bottom of the sea. Their hands still reach out in the night and lace their fingers into an empty bedsheet, around the ghost of a man who is no longer there. The muscle memory is hard to shake; the ghosts never leave; the chalk outlines don’t wash away. Apollo loved him, and it’s evident to Luca now that nobody else is ever going to love him again. He traded his humanity for immortality, and disquieting is the reality that neither is going to die out, the two of them will never be born again, and nothing between them will ever be amended.

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