˙ . ꒷ 🥁 . 𖦹˙— Tim Drake  ꒰ 🤍 ꒱

—“Good luck, sweetie.” Tim whispered to you, giving you a small, sweet smile before focusing his full attention on the puck, anxiously awaiting the sound of the whistle to start the game.

Tim would rather not have to go head to head, he also preferred not to have to go head to head with you in any way. He knew how much you loved and cared about hockey, but he loved and cared about it a lot too.

Tim would never dare to be rough with you, at least not in the rink – intimacy is completely different – ​​but he wouldn't let you beat him either. He wouldn't get upset if you beat him fairly either.

And he hoped with all his heart that you wouldn't be upset by the fact that he beat you to the puck as soon as the whistle blew.

It didn't matter if he won or lost, he would still run to hug you and congratulate you as soon as the game was over.