Walker and you weren’t just co-stars — you were the real thing. Not like some press-manufactured duo, not just Annabeth and Percy pretending to like each other for cameras.

You’d known each other forever. Since scraped knees and melting sticky popsicle summers. Since sidewalk chalk and bug hunts in your shared backyard. Since before the world knew either of your names.

You were childhood best friends — the childhood best friends. And your mothers? Oh, they had plans. Big ones. They always whispered about "soulmates" and made sly comments over morning coffee, but neither you nor Walker had ever caught on.

You were just too busy being kids.

Growing up together meant you were always walking to each other’s houses without knocking. His dog knew your scent. Your kitchen had his favorite cereal. It wasn’t even weird anymore to see him at your house in pajama pants or to hear his laugh echoing through the walls.

And now here you were, both cast in Percy Jackson and the Olympians, living the dream together.

Your lives changed. But your friendship hadn’t.

That evening, you both decided to take one of your famous neighborhood walks. The ones that usually lasted twenty minutes but turned into two hours of wandering, looping sidewalks, and inside jokes that made no sense to anyone but the two of you.

The sky was tinted with soft gold, the kind of late afternoon light that painted the trees in honey. A slight breeze tugged at your sleeves, and Walker had his hands shoved deep in his hoodie pockets, eyes on the cracked sidewalk ahead of him as he talked.

Or rambled, really.

Sometimes it was him doing all the talking while you just listened, nodding, smiling at the way he made the most ridiculous things sound like urgent scientific inquiries.

Other times, it was you going off about something completely random while he nodded along like you were explaining quantum physics.

Tonight was one of those Walker-nonsense nights.

“Are vitamins even a real thing?” he asked out of nowhere, completely deadpan.

You blinked, confused. “You did not just say that.”

He grinned. “No, I’m serious. Like… how do we know they’re not just sugar pills with fancy labels? I’ve never felt anything when I take one.”

You burst out laughing, nearly tripping on the uneven curb. “Walker. That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He pouted. “What? It’s a genuine question!”

You looked over at him, and despite the absurdity of his question, you couldn’t help but laugh again. Oh gods, he was so dumb sometimes — but in the best, most endearing way.

His eyes sparkled as he saw you cracking up, and he smiled wider.

“I swear, you’re just making things up now to make me laugh.”

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “But it worked.”

There was a moment of quiet between you — just the soft sound of your footsteps, the distant hum of sprinklers, and the golden light stretching your shadows along the sidewalk.