#may the best will win? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hottiesforhockey · 2 days ago

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may the best brother win pt 1⎜h.brothers

pairings: jack hughes x afab!reader ⎜ luke hughes x afab!reader ⎜quinn hughes x afab!reader ⎜ genre: romance ⎜angst ⎜friends-to-lovers ⎜smut? ⎜ warnings: mentions of a bet ⎜jack is an oblivious and unsure idiot ⎜everyone is making a mutual bad decision ⎜ lots of tension between reader and the bros ⎜not much in this part tbh ⎜ synopsis: you had spent every summer with the hughes brothers since you were ten years old ... why does this summer feel so different? word count: 9k authors note: this is a re-write of my original series - I hope I can get it to live up to the original and I hope every one enjoys!! This is more then double the original chapter 👀 and I'm hoping to add a bit more between each of the brothers with the reader cause I feel like who she was going to end up with in the original was to obvious. Who do you guys want to see next?

(unedited)

The Hughes brothers had made a name for themselves over the past few years.

Professional athletes.

All top ten overall draft picks.

Captain of the Vancouver Canucks.

Hotshot forward for the New Jersey Devils.

And the rising star defensemen in the league.

They had certainly found a way to make every parent look at their own kid and wonder where they went wrong.

But no one really knew what absolute imbeciles the Hughes brothers truly were.

“Jack, I’m dead serious give me the phone.” You hiss, stopping across the counter from the middle Hughes brother, who is continuing to swipe through your - previously private - instagram page while letting out the occasional wolf whistle as he finds something interesting. Jack doesn’t even look up, the smirk on his lips widening as he thumbs over another picture. His gaze flickers between the phone screen and you, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Oh wow,” he drawls, turning the phone toward Quinn, who sits unbothered on the couch, scrolling through his own phone. “Did you know she could clean up this well? I mean, this is—damn, I almost feel bad for Luke. He’s got no idea what he’s missing out on.” Your stomach twists at the mention of Luke. Heat creeps up your neck, but you shove it down, crossing your arms.

“Jack,” you say, voice laced with warning. “I swear to God—” Jack merely tuts, shaking his head like you’re the one being unreasonable.

“Relax, I’m just admiring your taste in outfits. This one? The black dress? Wow. I mean, who were you wearing this for?” He waggles his eyebrows, his entire face radiating shit-eating glee. “You sure as hell never look like this with us.” You lunge for the phone, but Jack jerks it out of reach, holding it high over his head.

“Jack!” you snap, fingers just barely brushing against his wrist. “Give it back.”

Quinn finally looks up, arching a brow. “What are you two doing?”

Jack grins. “Just admiring our bestie boos Instagram thirst traps.” You shoot Quinn a pleading look, but all he does is sigh and shake his head, completely uninterested in intervening. Jack, however, is eating up every second of your misery.

“I mean, come on, this is valuable intel,” Jack continues, swiping again. “This is the kind of stuff Luke needs to see. I bet he’d be real interested in knowing what you look like when you’re not just hanging around in sweats at the lake house, is this you at a frat party?”

Your heart stutters at the thought of Luke seeing those pictures—of him looking at you in a way that wasn’t just friendly, wasn’t just casual. You’d spent every summer since you were ten years old with the Hughes brothers but this summer felt... different.

Luke alone had been acting different. More careful around you, his eyes lingering just a second longer than before, something was up and as the Hughes brothers tended to do — they were keeping it a secret from everyone but themselves. Jack notices the way you freeze, and his smirk turns downright devious.

“Oh, interesting,” he murmurs. “I think I hit a nerve.” You snap out of it and make another grab for the phone, this time managing to get a grip on his wrist. Jack yelps, twisting in an attempt to wriggle free, but you hold on.

“Give it back, Hughes.”

He’s laughing too hard to fight back properly. “You’re gonna have to fight me for it.”

“I will. Don’t tempt me.” Just then, the front door swings open, and in walks Luke, fresh from a morning swim, hair still damp from the water. He pauses in the doorway, eyes darting between the scene in front of him—you practically wrestling Jack, who is wheezing with laughter, and Quinn, who looks deeply unamused.

“What,” Luke says slowly, “is going on?”

Jack, the menace, brightens instantly. “Oh, perfect timing, Lukey. Come look at what I found.”

Your heart slams into your ribs. “Jack, no.”

Jack grins, victorious. “Oh, yes.”

And with that, he tosses the phone straight at Luke.

Luke catches it effortlessly but doesn’t even glance at the screen. Instead, he rolls his eyes and, without hesitation, walks straight over to you — watching with amusement as you jump away from his brother and without a word, he presses the phone back into your palm, his fingers brushing against yours briefly before he pulls away, his eyes trailing over you as you whisper a soft “thank you.”

Jack lets out an exaggerated groan. “Oh, come on! That was supposed to be fun.”

Luke shrugs, giving him an unimpressed look. “You’re just mad your entertainment got cut short.”

Jack throws his hands in the air. “Obviously!” You can’t help the smirk tugging at your lips as you clasp the phone tighter between your hands. Luke catches your eye, something unreadable in his expression, and for a moment, you swear you see the ghost of a smile before he turns away.

Jack flops onto the couch dramatically. “You guys are ruining my life.”

Quinn snorts. “You’ll live.”

“I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal. You got secrets to hide or something?” Jack continues flopping onto the couch besides his older brother with a “humph” and a cross of his arms - cue grown adult throwing a tantrum.

“If we weren’t forced to be friends, I wouldn’t think twice about dropping you.” You hiss, pointing an accusatory finger in the thief’s direction before following his lead and taking the spot on the opposite side of Quinn, who very briefly glances away from the golf playing on his phone to glance down at the phone still tightly grasped in your hand.

“Maybe she’s got a boyfriend and doesn’t want you to ruin it.” Quinn hints, his gaze flicking up to your face before he diverts his focus back to the sports game.

“A boyfriend?” Jack says softly, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. Your eyes rolling at the teases you can already feel are on the tip of Jack’s tongue, but he surprises you— “You would tell us, right?” Jack’s voice carries as he turns to face you on the couch, half your body hidden by his older brother, “like if you were seeing someone, you’d tell us?” He continues - the famous Hughes pout forming on his face. “You wouldn’t hide something like that?” You frown at Jack as he presses again, tilting your head in confusion as the sounds of Luke bustling about the kitchen pulling out the extra large party pack of chips and a freshly made container of salsa turns your attention away from the middle child.

“Why would I not hide something like that?” You question back, you gaze slowly moving away from the suddenly tempting chip Luke is hoarding at the kitchen counter, your words making Luke’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise as he shoves a chip in his mouth, “I mean you guys hide your relationships all the time - isn’t it normal at this point?” You add quickly noticing the way Jack’s face drops a little.

“From the public.” Luke notes quickly, before dipping another chip into the salsa.

Jack huffs, slouching even further into the couch. “So what you’re saying is… you do have a boyfriend?”

You blink at him, then scoff. “That’s not what I said.”

“But you didn’t deny it.” Jack’s grin is back, all sharp edges and mischief. He taps his fingers against the fabric of the couch like he’s waiting for you to crack under the pressure of his interrogation. “Who is he? Someone from home? One of those frat boys in your thirst trap era?”

“Oh my God,” you groan, rolling your eyes. “I do not have a thirst trap era.”

“You totally do,” Jack argues. “And I think everyone that’s seen your instagram would agree with me.” Your stomach flips, and you make the mistake of looking at Luke, who is suddenly very interested in the salsa container in front of him. His fingers drum against the side of it, his jaw tight as if he’s biting back a response. He doesn’t meet your gaze, and that alone makes your breath hitch.

“Fuck, do I have a thirst trap era?” You hiss at Quinn next to you who just shrugs, a small grimace on your face that answers all the questions you had.

Jack, ever the instigator, narrows his eyes in suspicion. He glances between the two of you, his smirk deepening. “Wait a minute,” he drawls, tapping his fingers against the counter. “Luke, you’ve been awfully quiet. I thought for sure you’d have something to say about all this.”

Luke finally looks up, his expression carefully blank. “Nothing to say.”

Jack squints. “Nothing at all?”

Luke shrugs. “Nope.” You expect Jack to let it go, but of course, that would be too easy. He turns his attention back to you, eyes glinting.

“Okay, so say you did have a boyfriend. Hypothetically.”

“Jack…” Quinn warns from the couch, but Jack ignores him.

“Would we know him?” Jack continues. “Is he hockey adjacent? Is he an athlete? Is he someone who’s, I don’t know, conveniently six-foot and plays as a forward for the Anaheim ducks?” he teases, the boys more then aware of the crush you had on their close friend Trevor Zegras when you were eighteen - the boy spending almost all his time at the Hughes lake house during the summer, your paths crossing more then once.

Your breath catches, but you force yourself to keep your expression neutral. “You’re exhausting,” you mutter, as Luke joins the three of you on the couch placing his snack on the coffee table in front of you. Reaching for the chip bag that Luke has, his fingers brush against yours as he moves the bag slightly closer, and the brief contact sends a jolt up your spine. You pull your hand back quickly, but not before Jack catches the movement.

“Oh, wow,” Jack breathes, eyes going wide with realisation. “Oh, this is amazing. This is better than I ever could have imagined.”

“Shut up, Jack,” Luke says flatly, but there’s a pink tinge dusting the tips of his ears.

Jack outright cackles. “You’re blushing!” he accuses, pointing at Luke, then shifting his gaze to you. “You both are! This is insane.”

Before you can respond, Quinn speaks up from the couch. “Maybe she’s not interested in Luke,” he muses, his gaze flickering toward you, unreadable. “Maybe she prefers someone older. More mature.”

The air shifts. Jack immediately perks up, his smirk morphing into something more calculating. “Ohhh, interesting,” he murmurs. “Are you suggesting that our favourite summer guest has a thing for captains? Because if that’s the case…” He trails off, leaning forward, his voice dropping. “I wouldn’t blame you. Nico does have that whole, doe eyed Swiss man thing going for him.” You watch as Quinn rolls his eyes at Jack’s obvious tease, but your eyes catch his as he stifles a small smile at his younger brothers antics. Quinn, unlike Luke, doesn’t look away. He holds your gaze, his expression unreadable, as if he’s testing you—seeing how you’ll react.

Luke shifts beside you, arms crossing over his chest. “Can we not?” he mutters, the tension in his shoulders visible. His jaw clenches, and you swear you catch the faintest flicker of something possessive in his eyes.

Jack, of course, thrives on the chaos. “Oh, come on, Lukey,” he teases. “Are you saying you wouldn’t be a little jealous if she picked Quinn over you?”

Luke doesn’t answer. He just looks at you—really looks at you. And for a moment, the world around you fades.

Jack snaps his fingers, breaking the spell. “Or,” he continues, his grin downright devious now, “maybe it’s neither of you. Maybe it’s me.” You bark out a laugh, but Jack just winks. “I mean, I’m fun, I’m charming, I don’t take life too seriously. Plus, I’m great with my hands.” He waggles his fingers in emphasis, making you roll your eyes.

Quinn exhales sharply, running a hand down his face. “You’re unbelievable.” Luke mutters something under his breath that you don’t quite catch, but whatever it is makes Jack snicker.

“Oh, this is way better than I expected,” Jack muses. “We’ve got a real conundrum on our hands, don’t we?”

“Not a conundrum,” you correct, grabbing your phone and standing. “Because I’m leaving.”

But before you can make it out of the lounge room, Quinn speaks again, low and steady. “You don’t have to leave.” Your breath hitches. It’s not just the words—it’s the way he says them, quiet yet certain. Like he doesn’t want you to go.

Jack watches you closely, grinning like he knows something you don’t. Luke’s still staring, silent but intense.

Something has definitely shifted. And you’re not sure you’re ready for what comes next.

“We could make a bet out of it.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, something to determine which one of us is more your type?” Jack explains, your body frozen in its spot by the doorway as all three sets of eyes turn towards you.

Silence blankets the room, thick and charged, as Jack’s words settle over you. Your grip tightens around your phone, the only thing tethering you to reality as your heart pounds against your ribs.

“A bet?” You echo, your voice barely above a whisper. Jack, the absolute menace that he is, grins like he’s just uncovered the secret to the universe.

“Yeah. A competition, if you will.”

You blink at him, stunned. “A competition for what, exactly?”

“To see which one of us you like best.”

You choke on air. “Excuse me?”

Quinn sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jack—”

“No, no, hear me out,” Jack insists, holding up a hand. “It’s obvious there’s some… interest here.” His gaze flickers between you and his brothers, and you swear you catch Luke shift uncomfortably on the couch, his chips and salsa long forgotten. “We’re just figuring out who’s got the upper hand.”

You scoff, heat rising in your cheeks. “That’s insane.”

“What’s insane,” Jack corrects, “is pretending like there’s not something going on here.” His smirk widens as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Think about it. You’ve been hanging around us for years. Summers at the lake house, road trips, late-night conversations. We’ve all seen you at your best and your worst. You’ve seen us the same way. There’s history here.” Your mouth opens, then closes. Damn him for making sense.

Luke finally speaks, his voice low and measured. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Jack shrugs. “Maybe. But tell me I’m wrong.” Luke doesn’t respond. He just clenches his jaw, his gaze flickering toward you before darting away. You swear his fingers tighten into a fist for half a second before he forces them to relax.

Quinn exhales sharply, eyes scanning your face. “You don’t have to entertain this.”

Jack ignores him, grinning like the devil himself. “Come on, wouldn’t it be fun? Just a little friendly competition.” He tilts his head, considering. “Three Dates and the winner gets…” He pauses, then smirks. “Bragging rights.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Bragging rights?”

Jack shrugs. “What, you want us to wager something else?” You glance at Luke and Quinn. Luke’s staring at Jack like he wants to strangle him. Quinn’s lips are pressed into a thin line, unreadable.

It’s absolutely ridiculous.

And yet… The thought sends a thrill down your spine, something equal parts terrifying and exhilarating. The idea of them competing for your attention? The tension that’s already been simmering under the surface bubbling over into something real?

Jack sees the way you hesitate, the tiny flicker of consideration in your eyes, and pounces. “You’re thinking about it.”

“I am not.”

“You so are.”

You glare at him. “And what exactly would this ‘date’ be?”

Jack beams, clearly delighted that you’re engaging. “Oh, I’m thinking a mix of skill, charm, and, you know, just generally proving who’s the best fit for you, it can be anything we can think of.”

Luke snorts. “This is so stupid.”

Jack ignores him. “Give us all one date to try to convince you on who's the better brother”

“Absolutely not,” you say flatly. “I refuse to be the prize in some pissing contest.”

"It's not a pissing contest." Jack defends, "It's more of a show on who knows you better - who can please you the best."

Luke rolls his eyes. “We all know her the same.”

Jack raises a brow. “Do we?” Your stomach twists. You think of late-night talks with Quinn, quiet and deep. The way Luke watches you when he thinks you’re not looking. Jack’s easy, teasing familiarity. The way they each know pieces of you—different, overlapping pieces.

“And it would just be a date?” You ask before you can stop yourself.

Jack grins, eyes dancing with mischief. “One date each. That's it. ” You inhale sharply. Luke shifts again, his body suddenly tense. Quinn’s gaze sharpens.

Jack spreads his hands. “One day, one date, one shot to impress you.”

You shake your head. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” Jack agrees easily. “But you haven’t said no.” You press your lips together. Every rational part of your brain is screaming at you to shut this down, to walk away, to pretend like this conversation never happened. But deep down, in the place you don’t often acknowledge, you know the truth.

You don’t want to walk away.

You want to see what happens next. You exhale slowly, rolling your shoulders back before levelling Jack with a look. “Okay. But how does this work?”

Jack’s grin stretches wider, pure delight flashing across his face. “Easy. We each get one date—our best shot to win you over.” He repeats. Jack grins, his eyes practically sparkling with mischief as he leans back against the counter, arms folded like he’s just won the lottery. “So, do we have a deal?”

You chew on your bottom lip, glancing between the three of them. Luke looks exasperated, his arms crossed so tightly over his chest that it looks like he wants to physically restrain Jack from continuing this nonsense. Quinn’s expression is as unreadable as ever, but there’s something in the way he’s watching you—steady, assessing—that makes your skin prickle with awareness. Jack, however, is practically bouncing on the couch, barely containing his excitement.

“Fine,” you say finally, exhaling sharply. “One date. One date with each of you. And then it’s over. No bragging rights, no competition, no nonsense.” Jack whoops, pumping his fist in the air like he just scored the winning goal in overtime.

“Hell yes! And since this was my idea, I go first.”

Luke groans loudly. “This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever agreed to.”

“Well, nobody forced you to, Lukey boy,” Jack sing-songs, spinning around and throwing an arm around your shoulders like you’re already a couple. “So, princess, you better get ready. Tomorrow, we’re going on the best date of your life.”

The next day, the weather is perfect—warm, but not too hot, with a gentle breeze ruffling the trees. Jack had insisted on planning the date himself, and you stand in front of the mirror, smoothing your hands over your jeans, a white tank top, fitted but not tight, tucked neatly into the denim. Casual, but cute. Your hair pulled away from your face with a soft white bandana—the kind of outfit that says, ‘I put in effort to look cute but not enough that one of my childhood best friends would think I have any feelings for him.’

Behind you, Quinn is perched on the edge of your bed, scrolling through his phone. His posture is relaxed, but there’s something about the way his eyes flicker up to your reflection in the mirror—just for a second—before dropping back down that makes you wonder what he’s thinking.

"Are you ever not on your phone?" you question, eyes narrowing as you catch him glancing at the screen yet again.

He barely lifts his head. "What do you even do on it all day?" you press, turning away from your mirror to fully face him.

"Read." He says it so simply that it catches you off guard.

You blink. "Read?" That was not the answer you were expecting.

He shrugs, as if this is common knowledge. "Mum convinced me to get the Kindle app, so…"

"Oh." You hesitate, eyebrows lifted slightly. You don’t know why, but the thought of Quinn Hughes spending his free time reading instead of, you know, hockey or brooding silently in a corner, surprises you. “What kind of books?”

He glances up then, something almost amused in his expression. “Why? Got some recommendations?”

You smirk. “Maybe.”

Quinn just shakes his head, setting his phone down beside him. “You done staring at yourself, or are you planning to change again?”

You cross your arms. “Should I?”

He exhales slowly, then shrugs. “Depends. Are you trying to impress Jack?”

Your stomach twists slightly at the question. “It’s just a date, Quinn.”

“Right.” His voice is even, but the way his jaw tightens doesn’t go unnoticed. He picks his phone back up, returning to his scrolling like he couldn’t care less. "Then you look fine."

You shake off the strange feeling creeping up your chest and grab your jacket. “Alright, I’m going.”

Quinn doesn’t look up, still sitting on the edge of your bed as you leave your room. “Have fun.”

When you step outside, Jack is waiting in the driveway, leaning against his car with a picnic basket in hand and an easy grin on his face. His eyes sweep over you, lingering just a second longer than usual before he clears his throat.

“Damn, princess. Didn’t know you were gonna try and outshine the sun today.”

You roll your eyes, but the compliment warms you. “Is that your way of saying I look nice?”

“Pfft, don’t fish for compliments,” he teases, opening the passenger door for you. “But yeah, you do.” The drive to the picnic spot is filled with Jack’s usual antics—singing dramatically to the radio, asking you absurd ‘would-you-rather’ questions, and throwing in the occasional flirty remark just to see if he can make you blush. By the time you reach the park, your stomach hurts from laughing.

Jack picks a spot beneath a sprawling oak tree, spreading out a blanket with a flourish. “Welcome to the Hughes five-star dining experience,” he announces, pulling out sandwiches, fresh fruit, and a ice cold jug of lemonade. “I even packed dessert. Prepare to be impressed.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Did you actually make this yourself?”

He scoffs. “Okay, first of all, rude. Second of all, I helped Mum make it, so that totally counts.”

You smirk, plucking a grape from the container. “I’ll allow it.” For a while, the two of you eat in comfortable silence, enjoying the scenery. Jack watches you between bites, something softer in his gaze now. It’s different from the playful energy he usually exudes—more contemplative, like he’s soaking in the moment.

“Hey,” he says after a pause, leaning back on his elbows. “You ever think about… I don’t know, what it’d be like if things were different?”

You glance at him. “Different how?”

Jack exhales, tilting his head back to look at the sky. “Like, if I met you under different circumstances. If I wasn’t, y’know, me—Would you look at me differently?” The question catches you off guard. You don’t know how to answer it, not when there’s something so vulnerable in his voice, hidden beneath the usual bravado.

“Jack,” you start carefully. “I don’t—”

“Never mind,” he interrupts quickly, sitting up and flashing you his usual grin. “Just forget I said anything. Let’s focus on the important stuff—like proving I can totally beat you at cloud spotting.” You let it slide, even as your heart beats a little faster in your chest. Jack doesn’t often let his guard down like that, and part of you wonders if he regrets doing so. But for now, you let him change the subject, watching as he dramatically points out a cloud shaped like a ‘hockey stick’ that looks nothing like a hockey stick.

“That looks more like an elephant to me.” You disagree as you lie back on the picnic blanket, pulling the tray of chocolate covered strawberries with you as you grimace up at the sky, the sun far past it’s highest point making the sky only just bearable to look at with the softening rays of late afternoon.

“Agree to disagree.” Jack huffs as he joins you, sprawling against the blanket, his hand snatching a strawberry from your container, popping it into his mouth with a hum of delight. You watch as Jack chews the strawberry, his jaw flexing slightly as he savours the taste. There's something about the way his lips part, the tip of his tongue swiping over them to catch any lingering sweetness, that makes your stomach flutter.

“Good, huh?” you remark, trying to sound casual. You pop one into your own mouth, but suddenly, the fruit feels heavier on your tongue, the sensation too intimate as you become hyperaware of his gaze on you. Jack hums in response, stretching his arms behind his head.

“See, I told you. Five-star Hughes dining experience.” His voice is light, teasing, but there’s something else there, lingering beneath the surface. He’s watching you again, not quite the same way he usually does when he’s trying to rile you up. This is quieter, more observant.

You shift slightly, trying to shake the feeling creeping up your spine. “You never explained your question earlier.”

Jack lifts a brow. “Which one?”

“The one about looking at you differently.” You turn onto your side, resting your weight on your elbow so you can properly see him. “You asked if I would see you differently if we met under different circumstances.”

Jack stiffens, just for a second, before covering it up with a lopsided grin. “Ah, so you were paying attention.”

“I always pay attention to you.” The words leave your mouth before you can think better of them. Jack stills, his eyes flicking to yours, something unreadable flickering through them, something distinctly surprised. You clear your throat, pressing forward before the moment stretches into something too heavy. “So? What did you mean by that?”

Jack exhales through his nose, like he’s debating something internally. Then he sits up, resting his forearms on his knees, gaze locked onto the picnic blanket. “I don’t know,” he says finally. “I guess I just wonder sometimes if you ever think of me as more than… I don’t know. Just Jack.”

Your breath catches slightly. “Just Jack…” You repeat under your breath, as you follow his movements sitting up onto your knees.

He shakes his head, chuckling under his breath, though it sounds a little forced. “Forget it. I’m being stupid.”

You reach out before you can second-guess yourself, your fingers grazing his forearm. His skin is warm beneath your touch, and his muscles tense slightly before relaxing. “I don’t think it’s stupid.”

Jack turns to you then, really looks at you. His brown eyes are dark, searching, filled with something that makes your heart beat a little too fast.

“You’re one of my best friends,” you say softly. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t see you.”

His throat bobs as he swallows, his gaze flickering down—to your lips, to your hand still resting on his arm—before he quickly looks away. “Yeah?”

You nod, your own pulse thrumming in your ears. There’s an energy between you now, something simmering just below the surface. The air feels warmer, the space between you charged. Jack shifts slightly, his knee knocking against yours. He doesn’t move away. Instead, he lets the silence stretch, his fingers twitching where they rest on his thigh, like he’s fighting the urge to reach for you. And suddenly, all the teasing, all the playful flirting over the years—it doesn’t feel so innocent anymore.

You wonder if it ever really was.

Jack swallows hard, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “So… if I kissed you right now, what would you do?” His voice is quiet, almost testing the waters, but there’s an unmistakable intensity in his gaze. Your breath hitches. You could play it off, laugh it away like you always do, but something in you refuses to back down this time. Instead, you tilt your head slightly, letting your fingers trace absentminded circles on his forearm.

“Why don’t you find out?” A slow smirk tugs at the corner of Jack’s lips, but it doesn’t quite mask the nervous energy crackling between you. He leans in, hesitating for just a second, like he’s waiting for you to change your mind.

You don’t.

Then his lips brush against yours, a whisper of contact that sends a shiver down your spine, he pulls away after barely a touch, his blue eyes locked with yours as he lets out a shuddered breath. “You call that a kiss, Hughes?” You can see the corner of his lips tilt upwards, his eyes searching yours one more time as he lifts himself onto his knees, one hand lifting to cup the underside of your jaw, his thumb tracing against the curve of your cheekbone.

“No.” He exhales softly, like he’s been holding his breath, and then he’s kissing you fully—tentative at first, but quickly deepening when he realises you’re not pulling away. The world around you fades, the picnic, the warm sun, everything—it’s just him, just the way he tastes, the way he feels pressed against you.

His lips are warm, softer than you expected, and they move against yours with a careful tenderness that makes your chest ache. His hand on your jaw is steady, his thumb still tracing small, soothing circles against your cheekbone, but you can feel the faint tremor in his fingers, the way his breath hitches ever so slightly when you lean into him. It’s as if he’s holding himself back, like he’s afraid of breaking something fragile between you.

You don’t want him to hold back.

Your hand finds its way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. He responds immediately, his other arm sliding around your waist to anchor you against him. The kiss deepens, his lips parting slightly, and you feel the faintest brush of his tongue against yours. It’s electric, the kind of kiss that makes your head spin and your heart race, and for a moment, you forget everything else—the park, the picnic, the years of friendship that led to this. All that exists is the heat of his mouth on yours, the way his body feels pressed against you, the way he smells like sunshine and something faintly sweet, like the strawberries you’d been sharing. But then, just as quickly as it started, Jack pulls away.

His breath is uneven, his chest rising and falling as he stares at you, his eyes wide and searching. There’s a flicker of something in his expression—doubt, maybe, or fear—and it makes your stomach twist. He doesn’t let go of you completely, his hand still resting lightly on your jaw, but the distance between you feels like a chasm.

“Jack…” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. You don’t know what you’re going to say, but you need to say something, anything, to fill the silence that’s suddenly too heavy.

He shakes his head, cutting you off before you can finish. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. His hand drops from your face, and he shifts back, putting even more space between you. He runs a hand through his hair, his gaze darting away from yours, like he can’t bear to look at you. “I—I’m sorry. That was… I shouldn’t have.” The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You stare at him, your mind racing, trying to make sense of what just happened. One second, he was kissing you like you were the only thing that mattered, and the next, he’s pulling away like he regrets it. Like he regrets you.

“Jack,” you say again, your voice firmer this time. “What are you talking about? You don’t have to apologise.”

He lets out a shaky laugh, but there’s no humour in it. “Yeah, I do. That was… I don’t know what that was, but it wasn’t fair to you.” He finally looks at you, his eyes filled with a mix of guilt and something else you can’t quite place. “You’re my best friend. I shouldn’t have crossed that line.”

Your heart sinks. “You didn’t cross anything,” you argue, your voice rising slightly. “It was spur of the moment.”

He shakes his head again, his jaw tightening. “It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have let it happen. I just—” He cuts himself off, exhaling sharply. “I don’t want to mess this up. You’re too important to me, to us. ” The words sting more than you want to admit. You want to tell him that he’s not messing anything up, that this was a mutually agreed upon ‘platonic’ kiss but you know you’d be lying and by the way he’s looking at you, like he’s already made up his mind, makes the words catch in your throat.

“Jack,” you say softly, reaching out to touch his arm. He flinches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away completely. “You’re not messing anything up.”

He looks at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he sighs, running a hand over his face. “I just… I need to think, okay? This is… a lot.”

You nod, even though it feels like your chest is cracking open. The motion is automatic, a reflex to keep the fragile pieces of yourself together, but inside, you’re falling apart. The weight of his words presses down on you, heavy and suffocating, and you can’t help but feel like you’ve just lost something irreplaceable.

“Okay,” you whisper, the word barely audible over the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. It’s a small word, a simple word, but it feels like a surrender, like you’re giving up something you didn’t even know you were fighting for. The sharp feeling of rejection settles deep in the pit of your stomach, a cold, gnawing ache that spreads through you like poison.

Jack stands up, brushing off his jeans like he’s trying to erase the moment, and you follow suit, your movements stiff and mechanical. You help him pack up the picnic basket, your hands brushing against his occasionally, but the contact doesn’t feel the same anymore. It’s like the spark between you has been snuffed out, leaving only a hollow emptiness in its place. “We should probably head back,” he says, his voice carefully neutral. “It’s getting late.”

You don’t argue and the drive back to the house is quiet, the easy banter from earlier replaced by an awkward silence that feels suffocating. Jack keeps his eyes on the road, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s replaying the kiss in his head, just like you are.

“Jack,” you say quietly, your voice trembling slightly. “Are we okay?”

He doesn’t look at you. “Yeah,” he says after a pause. “We’re okay.”

“Okay” you reply because that the only thing your stupid brain can think of - sliding out of the car as soon as he pulls it into the lake house driveway, not wasting time in saying anything to him as you push open the front door surprised to see Quinn sitting in the small blue armchair in the entryway, a book in his lap.

“Oh, you’re back early.” Quinn says as he looks over you. You swallow hard, your emotions still tangled from the car ride home, from the way Jack’s kiss had felt like everything and then suddenly, nothing at all. You take a slow breath, trying to steady yourself before forcing a smile that feels brittle at the edges.

“Yeah,” you murmur, stepping inside and kicking off your shoes. “Guess the sun got to us.” Quinn watches you carefully, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t say anything right away, just flips the book in his hands closed, his fingers resting lightly on the cover. You glance at it absentmindedly, but your mind is too foggy to make out the title.

Jack walks in behind you, his presence heavy even though he doesn’t say anything. He rubs the back of his neck, shifting on his feet before muttering a quiet, “I’m gonna head upstairs.”

You don’t turn around. You don’t trust yourself to. Quinn’s eyes flicker between you and Jack, something tightening in his expression before settling on your face again. The sharpness of his gaze makes you feel exposed, but there’s something else there, something simmering just beneath the surface. Jack’s footsteps fade as he disappears up the stairs, leaving just the two of you in the entryway. The silence stretches, thick and almost unbearable, before Quinn finally tilts his head slightly, studying you.

“So,” he says, voice even, but there’s an edge to it now. “Are we pretending everything’s fine, or are you actually going to tell me what happened?” You hesitate, your fingers curling into the hem of your tank top. Part of you wants to brush it off, to tell him you’re just tired, but you know better.

Quinn knows better.

“Nothing happened,” you say anyway, but it comes out weaker than you intended.

Quinn’s brow lifts, but there’s no amusement in his expression. “Right.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “And yet, you look like you just walked off the set of a dramatic coming-of-age movie.”

You huff out a laugh, but there’s no real amusement behind it. “You’re annoying, you know that?”

“Comes with the territory.” He leans back again, stretching his legs out. “So. Jack?”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Jack.” Quinn waits, patient as ever, but there’s something tighter about his posture now. And when you finally meet his gaze, something in you cracks. You sink onto the chair across from him, hugging a pillow to your chest like it’ll somehow keep your emotions from spilling over.

“We kissed,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper.

Quinn’s expression stills, but you see the way his fingers flex slightly around the edge of his book. “Huh.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

He exhales slowly, considering you. “Do you want me to say more?” You hesitate.

Do you?

“It was… it was nice,” you say, your voice quieter now, like you’re admitting something too fragile to say out loud. “And then it wasn’t.”

Quinn’s jaw tightens, his grip on the book whitening his knuckles. “What do you mean?”

You shake your head, staring at the pattern of the couch cushion like it holds the answers. “It was like… for a second, it felt like he wanted it. Like he wanted me. But then he pulled away, and suddenly it was like it never happened. Like he regretted it.” Quinn’s silence stretches, but this time, there’s no unreadable neutrality to it. There’s tension in the air now, something sharp and unspoken between you. His gaze drags over your face, lingering a second too long on your lips before he looks away, jaw working like he’s biting something back.

You sigh, rubbing at your temples. “And I don’t know what to do with that. Because he’s Jack, you know? He’s my best friend, and I never really expected something like this to happen and now everything feels weird, and this whole stupid date thing was his idea anyway and I—I don’t know.”Quinn watches you for a long moment, his expression carefully composed, but his fingers drum against the book’s spine, a restless tell you’ve come to recognise over the years.

“Did you want him to?” he finally asks, voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

Your throat tightens. “Yeah,” you admit. “I think so.” Something flickers in Quinn’s expression—something darker, something unreadable—but it’s gone before you can place it. But then he nods, leaning back once more, like he’s forcing himself to relax.

“Okay,” he says simply.

You blink. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, but there’s something stiff in the way his shoulders move. “You both wanted it. He freaked out. Now you’re left here, overthinking it.”

You scowl. “Wow. Thanks for that groundbreaking analysis.”

Quinn lets out a short breath that might have been a laugh, but there’s something off about it. “Look,” he says, shifting in his seat. “Jack’s an idiot, but you already knew that. If he kissed you, it means something. Even if he doesn’t know what to do with it yet.”

You chew on your lip, considering that. “And if he decides it didn’t mean anything?” Quinn’s jaw tightens, his eyes darkening, and for the first time, there’s no mistaking it—the way his fingers dig into the book, the way his posture has gone rigid, the way his gaze lingers a second too long. It’s something plain and unguarded, flashing through his expression before he schools it into something steadier.

“Then he’s an even bigger idiot,” he says, but there’s an edge to it now, something sharp and unspoken.

A small, shaky laugh escapes you. “What would I do without you, Quintin?”

Quinn smirks, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Crash and burn, probably.” You roll your eyes but feel a little lighter.

“Go get ready for movie night” he says, already heading for the stairs. “And stop overthinking. Jack’s got enough of that covered for the both of you.” You snort, watching as he disappears down the hall, leaving you alone in the quiet of the lake house. You exhale, leaning back against the couch, your mind still tangled with too many emotions. But for the first time since that kiss, it doesn’t feel quite so heavy.

A few hours later, the lake house is dimly lit, the TV flickering with the start of some comedy movie no one had really agreed on. Luke had insisted on picking, and after a brief argument about horror versus comedy, he’d won out—typical. Now, he’s stretched out across half the couch, his feet obnoxiously nudging your thigh every time he shifts.

“Move your feet, Luke,” you grumble, swatting at his shin.

Luke just grins, not bothering to budge. “I’m comfortable.”

“You’re intolerable.”

“I’m your favourite, so it's okay.” You roll your eyes but don’t bother fighting it. If there’s one thing you’ve learned over the years, it’s that Luke operates on pure chaos, and the more you argue, the more he doubles down. So you settle for grabbing a throw pillow and chucking it at his face. He yelps, laughing as he catches it, and the sound is enough to make something in your chest loosen.

“Actually my favourite is Quinn.” You snip back, trying to fight the urge to glance over at the oldest for any kind of approval, the most you get is the small snuff of a breathy laugh from his spot in the solo love seat on the edge of the room.

When you had taken Quinn in earlier as you shuffled into the room with your very worn down and oversized pyjamas thrown on, you could tell he was still thinking about your conversation from earlier. His arms still crossed, his jaw tight, but he didn’t say anything. But as Luke shuffles up the couch, using the throw pillow you had just thrown at him as a cuddle buddy, his head falling on your lap you just barely see Quinn shift out of the corner of your eye.

“You always smell so good." Luke hums, his voice muffled as he nestles his head more comfortably against your lap. You stiffen, just slightly, caught between exasperation and something warmer, something softer. Luke has never been the type to hide how he feels—about anything. Least of all you. It’s been that way since you met him, he was twelve the first time he had outwardly professed his love to you.

"I think I love you." He had said as you both sat at the end of the boat dock, after a day of fun in the sun on the boat with your families, feet dipped in the water as the sun sets softly on the horizon.

"I love you too, Lukey." You had mumbled back, of course you loved him, he was one of your best - maybe only - friends.

"No, not like that." he had corrected, "I mean the way that my parents love each other." He had sounded so sure of himself, setting his resolve with a nod of his head, "Yep, you're it for me... my mum said it's like were two halves of the same person sometimes." Since then Luke had made it his mission to profess his undying devotion to you annually - usually towards the end of summer, when the air was crisper and just a little cold, it was an endless push and pull where he teases and flirts with absolutely no shame, and you pretend it doesn’t get to you.

Sometimes it doesn’t.

Sometimes it does.

“Like fabric softener and regret?” you quip, reaching down to flick the side of his forehead. He grins, lazy and content, shifting just enough so that his hair tickles against your fingers, the oversized man making it clear what he wants.

“Nah,” he murmurs. “Like… I don’t know. Something sweet. Something very… you.” You roll your eyes, but your stomach flutters anyway.

“That’s the worst description I’ve ever heard.” Luke snickers, turning onto his side so he’s half-curled against you now, pillow still tucked to his chest, but his warmth radiating through the thin fabric of your pyjama pants.

“You like it,” he says, and it’s not even a question.

“How about no.”

“You love me.”

“Debatable.” Luke just grins wider, as if he knows something you don’t. Maybe he does. The flickering glow from the TV casts a golden hue over his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the very slight dimple on his smile lines that only ever appears when he’s truly pleased with himself. The worst part is you can’t even deny it. Not really. You’ve known about his crush on you for as long as he’s had it, and maybe some part of you has always liked the way he never hides it, never shies away from making it obvious. Even when you pretend not to notice, even when you let it roll off your back like it doesn’t make something in your chest tighten just a little too much. Out of the corner of your eye, Quinn shifts in his seat. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t react beyond the subtle way his fingers tighten over his arm where they’re crossed.

Still, you notice.

You always notice when it comes to Quinn.

The same way you notice everything about the brothers.

“Are you gonna let me watch the movie, or do I need to suffocate you with your pillow?” you ask, fingers digging into the soft curls on top of his head, brushing ever so lightly you can see the moment a shiver runs down his spine. Luke huffs dramatically, as if the mere suggestion is the greatest injustice he’s ever suffered.

“If I die, just know I go out as your favourite.”

“That’s literally not what I said.”

“Not what you said, but what you meant.” He smirks up at you, pushing it just far enough, just to the edge of that unspoken line between you. The one you’ve both toed for so long it’s become second nature.

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can, Quinn finally speaks up. “Luke, shut up and watch the movie.” It’s not sharp, not irritated. But it carries weight, enough to make Luke’s smirk falter just slightly. He doesn’t sit up, doesn’t move away from you, but he does shift just enough to glance toward Quinn. You do, too. Quinn’s eyes are still on the screen, but his fingers drum against his arm now, as if he’s trying very hard not to look over.

Luke exhales, a low chuckle leaving him as he turns his attention back to you. “Guess I’m being silenced.”

“Long overdue,” you murmur, but your fingers don’t move from where they’re still running through his hair. Luke notices. Of course, he does. And judging by the way his grin returns, slow and knowing, he doesn’t mind at all.

The movie wraps up with Luke fast asleep against your leg, his hand has shifted from holding tight to his pillow to sliding under the hem of your pyjama pants, grabbing tight hold of your ankle in some weird attempt at getting closer to you. Jack had never come down to join the three of you, despite Wednesdays always being movie night.

The credits roll, the blue glow of the TV casting shadows across the room. You stretch your arms over your head, careful not to jostle Luke too much, though it’s hard when he’s all but latched onto you. His grip on your ankle is warm, his hand encompassing the whole ankle, grounding in a way you don’t really want to think too hard about.

Quinn shifts in his seat, clearing his throat. “You gonna wake him up or just drag him to bed?” His voice is light, teasing, but there’s an edge there, something unreadable that makes you glance over at him. He’s finally looking at you now, instead of at the screen or the floor. His arms are still crossed, but his fingers continue to drum lightly against his bicep, the only indication that he’s not as relaxed as he pretends to be.

You huff a laugh. “Yeah, like I’m carrying him anywhere.” You prod at Luke’s shoulder. “Lukey Pookie, time to go to bed.” Luke groans dramatically but doesn’t move. Instead, he tightens his grip on your ankle, mumbling something incoherent into your lap.

Quinn sighs, pushing himself up and stretching, muscles shifting under his thin T-shirt. “Come on, Luke, up.” He nudges Luke’s leg with his foot, a little less gentle than necessary. Luke finally stirs, cracking one eye open to squint at Quinn.

“No need to be jealous,” Luke murmurs sleepily, but the smirk on his lips is unmistakable. "I'm sure she'd let you hold her ankle if you asked nicely."

Quinn’s jaw tightens. “You wish.” You watch the exchange, something in your chest twisting at the way Luke grins, knowing and a little mischievous, while Quinn pointedly avoids your gaze. It’s not the first time they’ve had these little moments, not the first time Quinn has stepped in when Luke pushed just a little too far. But it’s the way Quinn looks at you after, as if he wants to say something but never does, that lingers longer than it should. Luke finally sits up, stretching his arms over his head before flopping sideways against the couch, boneless and lazy.

“Alright, fine, I’m up. So who’s next?”

You blink. “Next?”

Luke grins, rubbing a hand through his messy curls. “The next date, obviously. Since we’re doing this whole ‘take turns’ thing. Who’s up?” Your stomach flips. You hadn’t really thought that far ahead. The first date had been a whirlwind, fun until it wasn't. But now… now the reality of the situation settles over you. You glance between them, both waiting, both watching.

Quinn leans against the arm of the couch, feigning nonchalance. “Doesn’t really matter who’s next.”

Luke scoffs. “Yeah, it does. Jack bombed his date so whoever is next needs to make theirs worth her while.” He looks at you again, head tilting. “What do you think? Got anyone in mind?” You hesitate. You know what he’s asking, you know he's hinting that he wants to go next. But your gaze drifts, just for a second, to Quinn. He’s watching you carefully, waiting.

Not pushing, not teasing, just… waiting, like he always does.

Luke notices. Of course, he does. His grin widens, slow and knowing. “Oh I see how it is,” he hums.

“Shut up,” you mutter, but your face feels warm. Instead of laughing it off, though, Luke leans back against the couch, studying you.

“You know, it’s okay if you pick me,” he says, quieter this time, more serious. “I mean, I know I joke a lot, but…” He shrugs, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’d make it a good one.” Something about the way he says it makes your heart skip. You’ve always brushed off his flirting, treated it as something easy, something playful. But this? The soft sincerity in his voice, the way he doesn’t look away—this is different.

You open your mouth, unsure what to say, but before you can, he flashes you a grin, easy and warm. “Just think about it, okay?”

Then he stands, stretching again. “Well, if it’s not me next, I better get my beauty sleep.” He winks before sauntering off down the hall, leaving you alone with Quinn. The air between you shifts, something quieter, something heavier. You look over at him again, but he’s already looking at the screen, where the movie menu is looping on repeat. His fingers drum against his arm again, thoughtful, as if he’s debating something.

Finally, he exhales, glancing at you. “If you want it to be me next… just say so.” His voice is steady, careful, but there’s something behind it, something that makes your breath catch.

You swallow hard. “We’ll see.”

His lips twitch, the barest hint of a smirk, but he doesn’t press. He just nods once, then pushes off the couch. “Goodnight.”

“Night, Quinn.” He hesitates, just for a second, then turns and disappears down the hall, leaving you alone with a racing heart and too many thoughts to sort through.