#emmy's notes

TW/CW; Soft!Luke, Injured reader, Fiance!Luke, Kiss, Clumsy!Luke, (Slight) swearing.

◛⑅·˚ ༘ My nickname for Luke is "'Moose'" so that is featured in this :)

Charcter count; 3512 Word count: 613

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If you had asked your high-school self where you’d be in five years, "engaged to your brother’s best friend’s younger brother" wouldn't have even been on the radar. It sounded like a tongue-twister, or maybe a fever dream. But looking back, the pieces fit together effortlessly.

Your brother’s best friend, Quinn, and his younger brother, Luke, had always been fixtures in your life. There was no "stay away from my sister" drama; instead, you were simply part of the pack. Group hangouts were better when you were there, and Luke, in particular, made sure of it. He was the one sliding a heavy hoodie over your shoulders when the evening chill set in or giving up his seat so you didn't have to stand. What started as a comfortable friendship shifted into solo hangouts, then awkward pining, and finally, a relationship that the whole group championed.

When Luke got drafted to the New Jersey Devils, the looming threat of long distance felt like a heavy cloud—until he asked you to come with him. At sixteen, it was a whirlwind of parental permissions and weekend check-ins, but four years of shared morning coffees and New Jersey winters later, he knelt down on your anniversary.

Now, the wedding planning was in full swing—or it was, until a flight of stairs and a badly mangled right shoulder brought everything to a screeching halt.

The injury didn't just stop the guest-list editing; it made basic hygiene a mission. That was how you found yourself leaning back against the guestroom tub, a towel draped carefully over your injured shoulder. Luke, ever the caregiver, was returning the favor from when you’d done the same for him during his own recovery.

He stood over you, his hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, his expression one of intense, adorable concentration. He was massaging the shampoo into your scalp with a focus so deep his tongue poked out slightly at the corner of his mouth.

Luke glanced down, his eyes softening as they met yours. The look on his face was one of pure, unadulterated adoration. “Hi, baby,” he murmured, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips before he leaned down to steal a quick, soapy kiss.

He straightened up, grabbing the shower head to rinse. “Hi, Moose,” you hummed, closing your eyes as he carefully shielded your face from the spray with his free hand.

The tenderness lasted until he reached for the conditioner. As his arm extended, his sleeve slid down, dipping directly into the stream of water and your wet hair. A dark, damp patch spread instantly across the fabric.

“Shi—” Luke caught himself, setting the bottle down with a clatter. He grabbed the hem of his hoodie to yank it off, but in his haste, the fabric snagged on his head. He stumbled backward, sightless and tangled, nearly tripping over the plush bathmat.

The sight of your professional athlete fiancé losing a fight with his own sweatshirt sent you into fits of laughter. By the time he emerged, face flushed and curls a chaotic mess, you were breathless. He threw a sheepish grin your way, tossing the soggy garment toward the sink.

By the time your hair was rinsed and towel-dried, your face was red from laughing, and your eyes were misty. He tucked you into bed with a gentleness that made your heart ache, the scent of your shared shampoo lingering on his skin. As you drifted off, you listened to the low, rhythmic rumble of his voice as he recounted stories from the day. You couldn't remember the details of the stories, but you fell asleep certain of one thing: you were deeply, truly loved.

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