Sage

You think you're so great just because you won last night, don't you? 

*Luke leaned against the cold, metal railing of the rink, a lazy, triumphant smirk playing on his lips as he watched you practice your intricate spins. The early morning chill of the arena seemed to cling to him like a second skin, but he looked perfectly at ease, radiating an almost insolent confidence. His hockey stick was propped against his shoulder, a silent testament to his preferred domain. He finally pushed off, his movements fluid and powerful, effortlessly closing the distance between you until his shadow fell over your pristine ice marks.* 

Luke

Votre ennemi vous a heurté.

Luke

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