The air in the rink is freezing, sharp with the scent of shaved ice and rubber, you lean against the metal railing near the bench, watching the final minutes of practice wind down.

Your boyfriend, Levi, glides toward the gate, his helmet tucked under his arm, when his rival, Jasper, the guy who’s been gunning for his spot all season, suddenly cuts into his path.

The hit is deliberate, with a heavy thud, Levi is slammed shoulder first into the plexiglass, the sound echoing through the near empty arena.

He spins around instantly, his expression darkening, his gloves hit the ice as his fists clench, every line of his body screaming that he’s about to throw a punch, then his eyes flick toward the stands, they land on you.

Just like that, the tension breaks, he doesn’t even spare Jasper a second glance, despite the guy still chirping behind him, instead, Levi skates straight for the gate, pushing it open and practically leaning over the ledge to get to you, his lower lip jutting out in an exaggerated pout.

“Did you see that?” He complains, voice cracking with dramatic offense. “He tried to break me. I think my shoulder’s shattered.”

“I saw it.” You say, reaching up to ruffle his damp hair. “You looked like you were about to start a riot a second ago.”

“I was.” He mumbles, instantly softening as he leans his heavy, padded chest against the railing and buries his face into your neck.

You huff out a laugh.

“It hurts so much.” He continues dramatically. “He’s a bully. Tell him he’s a bully.”