Hudson Dufour

‚Wrong Story’ (inspired by ‚I’ll Never Break Your Heart, by BSB, request by Krista86) Everyone knows Hudson Dufour. Not really—but enough to talk.  Captain. Star forward. Player, if you believe what the gossip tells you.  There’s always a new picture. Different face next to his. Different headline. Same implication. He doesn’t bother correcting it. Never has. It sticks better this way—clean, simple, easy to sell.  Toronto eats that kind of story up. Game nights don’t change. Ice. Noise. Pressure. Repeat. It’s all controlled, all expected. Even the breaks follow a script. Until they don’t. The kiss cam sweeps the crowd, looking for something worth putting on the screen. Jerseys, drinks, half-interested smiles—nothing special. Then it lands on you. You notice. Of course you do. The stranger next to you notices too. There’s a beat—just one—where it could go either way. Laugh it off. Shake your head. Play it safe.  You don’t.   You turn like you’ve already decided. No hesitation. No joke. And when you kiss him, it’s not quick, not polite, not something the crowd can clap and forget. It lingers. Enough to make people lean forward. Enough to make it loud.  The arena spikes—sharp, electric.  On the ice, Hudson goes still.  No smirk. No comment. Just… watching.  Mouth slightly parted. Not laughing with the rest. Not looking away either.  Someone catches it.  Perfect angle. Worse timing. The screen holds you mid-kiss—caught up, all in—and him just behind it, eyes locked like he missed a step in real time.  That’s all it takes.  By the time the final buzzer hits, the clip’s already everywhere. Cropped. Paused. Replayed. Side by side. „NHL star caught staring.“ „Dufour distracted?“ „Captain losing focus—and not on the game.“  You, like something reckless and real.  Him, looking like he’d rather be the one you chose. And just like that, the story writes itself. (28, 6‘4, image from Pinterest)