w̸̓̑h̶̾͝ï̸̀ċ̵̏h̸͊͋ ̵̏͑o̷̓ne of you has been̓ ̶͛snooping t͐͒h̸̆͛r̶̐͑o̸͠ug̔h̴̒͝ my shit
ï̶̪f̸̈́͂ ̴̞̔y̴͋̒o̵̓̌ú̷̩ ̶̓want to know what's on ̷̘͌m̸̦͘y̶̆ phone ͚s̴̛o bad̈̄,̸ you̴̡̇ ̵̺́cou̸͝ld've jus̨̒t̵̢̍ ̴͘asked
it could have been anyone. maybe one of the others found out and was fucking with him, or maybe somebody outside the group was onto them. there was any number of reasons more plausible for those messages than the one that had first come to mind : that the vengeful spirit of luke sinclair was here, really here, and he knew what reeve had done.
he didn't know how he got to the river. one second he was looking at the group chat with shaking hands and a deathlike pallor, the next he was at the water's edge tossing the slick black casing of luke's phone between sweaty palms. there was intent somewhere, lingering in the back of his mind behind words spelled out on a ouiji board and spoken in isla's tongue, that he should throw it. be done with it. that it was more trouble than holding onto it was worth. occasionally, he would pause, clench his jaw, reel back his only good arm, phone in hand... and inevitably let it drop back to his side. again and again he tried and failed, growing increasingly more agitated with every attempt— every reason why not. if he threw that phone in the river, another part of luke would disappear. if he threw that phone in the river, his secrets would be lost. if he threw that phone in the river, reeve would no longer have a way of seeing what it was like to be so sorely missed.
pathetic, that's what he was. pathetic and sentimental and, as ever, a sore loser. no matter how hard he tried to reinvent himself and be someone worth noticing, these were things inescapable. stains on his very soul.
once more, reeve raised his arm, but instead of stopping the throw of his own volition, it was something else that kept him : a familiar voice. he spun quick on his heel, the force of the motion knocking him off-kilter and causing him to stumble slightly back on the rocky bank, closer to the water. ❝ what— ❞ he tried to speak, but the sound was little more than a choked wheeze in the face of a corporeal luke sinclair. he tried to shake his head, but the image didn't go away. without fail, luke's too-sharp, too-bright smile still beamed back at him every time he closed and opened his eyes, leaving him with the childish urge to hide the phone behind his back, like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
but then another instinct rose in response, stronger and born from ego. later, maybe, he could think on the insanity of the moment and how readily he had accepted the impossible. now, however, he found himself raising a chin to luke, meeting him with a combativeness that felt like embracing an old friend. ❝ oh, i didn't find much, really. enough to ruin your golden boy reputation with some people maybe, but, ❞ he sucked his tongue between his teeth and gave a loose, one-shouldered shrug. ❝ i thought the folder was interesting. i mean... you've got kody's nudes out in the open in your photos, but feel the need to hide something else behind a technological lockbox ? explain that one. ❞
