1 Work by tqlrt
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“Just watch, Owens,” he snarls, hot cloud of his threat hanging in the icy air. “We'll plow you into the fucking dirt.”
With that arrogant smirk he always seems to wear, Chris crouches low as Nate readies the puck, and he slaps the blade of his stick against the ice—a challenge, which Matt responds to by doing the same. The plastic of their helmets almost crack together, rivalry pinching their eyes which are already stinging in the cold, hockey sticks like crossed swords ready to swing. Ready to clash.
“Love to see you try, Sturniolo” Chris taunts just before the puck drops.