Quietly Yours = Luke Hughes

The video was only thirteen seconds long.

Thirteen seconds that changed everything.

Margo found out about it the usual way: a dozen frantic texts, three voice memos from her best friend, and a notification that the team’s TikTok had doubled its engagement overnight.

She pressed play.

It had been filmed from the tunnel after warm-ups—unofficial, unscripted, and clearly not meant for public release. Luke was skating off the ice, helmet tucked under one arm, sweat in his hair and the kind of exhausted grin he only wore after a good practice.

Margo stood by the tunnel gate, holding a towel and water bottle. One of the rookies chirped something as he passed, and Luke turned to respond—but before he did, he reached out and tucked a loose piece of hair behind Margo’s ear.

She blinked. He said something, too quiet to hear.
She laughed, ducked her head.
He smiled, warm and soft, like he forgot they weren’t alone.

Then the video ended.

No interviews. No captions. No hashtags.

Just the most natural moment in the world that looked a hell of a lot like love.

And now it had a million views.

“Luke,” Margo said sharply as she stormed into the media lounge, holding up her phone, “Why would you do that?”

He glanced up from tying his skates. “Do what?”

She hit play again.

He watched. Then looked back at her. “That?”

“Yes, that!” she hissed. “You can’t just—hair behind the ear? That’s not fake-dating protocol! That’s—intimate!”

He frowned slightly. “It wasn’t for the cameras.”

Margo froze. “Then what was it?”

Luke stood, suddenly close enough that she had to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes. “You had hair in your face. I moved it. That’s all.”

“It didn’t look like all,” she said quietly.

He held her gaze. “I know.”

Her stomach flipped. The line between real and fake, already blurry, was now basically invisible.

Outside the door, someone called, “Hughes, media’s ready!”

He didn’t look away from her.

“Margo,” he said slowly, “if this is getting to be too much, just say the word.”

But she couldn’t. Not when her heart was pounding like that.

“Go,” she said instead. “They’re waiting.”

He gave a small nod, brushing past her with one last glance before disappearing down the hall.

She exhaled, dizzy.

The comments were already rolling in:

“They’re in love. You can’t fake that.”
“This wasn’t PR. This was real.”
“He looked at her like she hung the moon.”