✨ Here’s What I Think Happened
> If you don’t like lukola, pls just keep scrolling 😁
- Don’t quote me on all of this — it’s fictional for the most part. Let’s just say we’re filling in the blanks… creatively. And let’s just pretend Antonia wasn’t at this BAFTAs kapeesh?
You know how we got fuck all content of Luke and Nic at the BAFTAs?
Yeah. Here’s what I think went down.
They hadn’t seen each other properly in a while — not without cameras in their faces or someone micromanaging every move. And with their scene being nominated, you’d think they’d have been side by side the whole night. Interviews. Photos. That kind of thing.
☑️ Nicola came early. Luke came late.
☑️ No red carpet shots together. Not one frame of them in the same interview.
- Their PR teams had it down to a science.
No matter how many times they’re told to keep it professional, Luke and Nic can’t help but drift toward each other — eyes, hands… everything.
They’ve got that natural gravity that pulls them back in every time. 🧲
We zoom in. We rewatch. We dissect every touch, every glance, every laugh.
We call it love. And honestly? They make it very easy to believe.
So what did their teams do?
Staggered arrivals. Opposite sides of the carpet. Separate interviews.
Zero opportunity for them to “accidentally” bump into each other in front of the cameras.
Late. While everyone else was already seated.
Side by side. Up the stairs. With Nicola’s sister right beside them.
Shout out to the legend who took that blurry video of them walking in — 📱
You’re the reason we know. The unsung hero of this fandom. We salute you. 🫡
And then — because of course they did — they sat Luke behind her. 😂
Like maybe that would tone it down. Like maybe the cameras wouldn’t catch on.
Except he was still making heart eyes at the back of her head. 🥹❤️
Didn’t even try to hide it. Man was beaming.
Because tell me how any of that makes sense unless they’d met up beforehand, out of sight?
I think Nicola waited for him—
She’d told her sister she was just heading to the bathroom.
Leaning against a pillar, one hand fiddling with her clutch, the other lightly tapping her thigh.
Not nervous, exactly. Just… expectant. Hopeful.
Tired of being told to keep her distance from the one person whose presence always made nights like this feel a little less overwhelming.
He’s got that rushed, apologetic look on his face.
Tie slightly askew, cheeks a little flushed like he ran the last few steps.
A soft “sorry I’m late” escapes before she even says a word.
But she just smiles — the private kind, the one that makes her eyes soften when it’s him.
“They didn’t exactly make it easy. I had to tell my manager I was heading to the bathroom — pretty sure she thought I was trying to escape.”
They laugh — not loudly, just the kind that curls at the edges of their mouths and warms the space between them.
His arms open instinctively, and she walks straight into them.
The moment they meet, his chin settles gently atop her head — like muscle memory.
Her arms wrap tight around his waist, her face tucked against his chest.
They just hold each other — quietly, fully — in the hush of the corridor.
And then, slowly, he shifts.
His chin lifts slightly, slides aside —
and his lips connect with the top of her head.
He closes his eyes as his mouth lingers there.
And he breathes her in — deep and quiet, like he’s been waiting for this.
She exhales slowly into his chest, her fingers curling just slightly into his jacket.
And she breathes him in, too — the scent of cologne, and warmth, and something that’s only ever been him.
They stay like that for a moment.
In an empty corridor where no one’s watching, no one’s interrupting, no one’s directing them to stand apart.
His lips soften, loosen — but he doesn’t pull away.
They rest there, still brushing lightly. Still close.
It takes time — and even then, they only part slightly.
Just enough to look at each other.
He leans back an inch and finally sees her — really sees her.
Takes in the glow, the eyes, the dress, the nerves beneath her usual poise.
“You look stunning,” he breathes.
She smiles up at him — warm, soft, familiar.
A pause. Comfortable. Charged.
She rises a little — hand on his chest, eyes soft — and kisses him gently on the cheek.
“For luck,” she says, barely above a whisper.
He exhales, steady and full of something he doesn’t say out loud.
They don’t move right away.
Arms still partly around each other.
Until she glances toward the door.
“Everyone’s already inside.”
He offers his arm. Without thinking.
“Come on, Pen. Let’s be late together.”
…and so they walk in, arm-in-arm, just as the house lights are dimming.
Nicola’s sister waits at the entrance to the aisle, arms crossed and eyebrow already raised the moment she spots them. Her eyes flick between the two, then she smirks — a quiet, teasing smile tugging at her lips.
“Hiiiii, Luke,” she says, exaggerating his name just enough to make the point, the smirk widening.
Nicola rolls her eyes but doesn’t bother defending herself.
Luke just smiles. “Hi,” he says simply, warm and unbothered.
Without another word, her sister steps in beside them and together the three of them make the quiet climb up the carpeted steps—Nic and her sister to their reserved seats on the end of the row, Luke peeling off to the spot directly behind them. As he sits, he rests a light hand on Nicola’s shoulder and he leans forward close enough to whisper in her ear:
She tips her head back, eyes bright
“Wouldn’t be the same without you.”
Across the auditorium their respective managers clock the reunion—matching frowns from opposite sides of the room, arms folded, clearly unimpressed that the carefully planned “bathroom breaks” converged.
Nicola catches the glare first, Luke a heartbeat later. Instead of shrinking, they share a small, unbothered smile—equal parts oops and worth it—then turn away in unison and settle into their seats.
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