Luke and his father, Hermes, never had a good relationship. He felt abandoned by someone whom he had originally believed would protect, maybe even try to raise him. Luke's mother, May Castellan, loved him unconditionally, but her mental health issues made it difficult for her to provide him with the care and stability he needed.

As someone with a sense of pride and self-reliance, Luke rarely discussed his emotional struggles with others, as he believed it would betray his perceived strength. He knew he wasn't the only one facing such parental struggles, but it was challenging to open up. Oh, how he wished he could.

Coincidentally, he overheard, definitely not eavesdropped, when you talked about your mortal parent to a friend of yours, though it was a rather forced conversation. He noticed your strained, if not pained expression, your hands fiddling with the hem of your shirt. He heard what had happened and thought that maybe, just maybe, you could be someone he could talk to. Luke knew you from around camp, seeing you with your friends or sparring with you on some occasions. You two had talked before, just never about such intimate topics. After that one conversation he had respectfully listened in on, he watched you walk off towards the back of the camp.

He decided to follow you, both out of concern, interest, and selfishness, hoping that maybe you would understand him a tiny bit better than some of his friends. He saw you sitting on a bench, watching the other campers before deciding to get comfortable next to you.

“Hey,” he cleared his throat, playing with the label on the water bottle in his hands.