nhl imagines

competition, brendan brisson

You and Brendan had been together forever, you loved each other deeply, and were the perfect couple, but sometimes your stubbornness clashed, especially about sports. You were deeply invested in sports, and you had strong opinions, so sometimes a little argument sprouted out of that. 

This was today's argument.

You two were going to lunch when he came out wearing a Warriors t-shirt. You immediately shook your head when he went to walk out the door. "No, you can't wear that."

He looked down at his outfit confused, his mind immediately went to see if it was mismatched or something, but it wasn't. "What's wrong with it?" He frowned.

"I cannot be seen with a person wearing a Warrior's shirt."

He rolled his eyes, he should've seen this coming. "You're just bitter," He grumbled, referring to the Warriors beating the Celtics (your favorite team) in the Championship this year.

"You're just bitter," You mocked him. "Go change," You deadpanned, pointing to your shared room.

He scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest, "No," He stubbornly said.

You scoffed, "You were born an hour from LA! I thought you liked the Lakers!" You exclaimed.

"I do."

"So you're a bandwagoner," You raised your eyebrows and crossed your arms over your chest too. "You're only wearing that because they've been winning."

He dramatically gasped, "I am not a bandwagoner," He glared at you.

"Then why are you wearing that shirt?" You exclaimed.

He grumbled a few words to himself then looked back to you, "I will not be called a bandwagoner," He mumbled and dramatically stomped into your bedroom, hopefully, to change.

And of course, he did, being called a bandwagoner is practically the worst thing to be called in the sports world. And he was not a bandwagoner.

When he went to change, you thought you won, but you forgot who your boyfriend was. He was as equally stubborn as you. He came back out of the bedroom with a shitty little smirk on his face with his chest poked out. He grabbed the car keys and didn't look at you, "Okay, are we ready to go, Ms. Every opinion is wrong except for mine?"

You nodded and got up, not even looking at your boyfriend, distracted by your phone. He was happily singing along to the radio, knowing that you were going to be absolutely furious when you saw what he changed into.

Once you two sat down at the restaurant, sitting across from each other, you saw it. His outfit. If his entire goal was to piss you off then he succeeded, incredibly succeeded. "You motherfucker," You cursed at the New York Yankees jersey on his body and the Los Angeles Dodgers hat on his head. Your two least favorite baseball teams.

His head snapped up to meet your eyes, once he saw the anger in your eyes a smirk appeared on his face. "Problem?" He innocently asked. 

Your dryly chucked and shook your head, "I hate you."

He clutched his chest, like your words actually hurt him, "Aw, babe, that isn't nice to say."

"Since when have you ever liked the Yankees?" You scoffed, pointing to the old-looking jersey.

"Never, I got it randomly when I went to a game," He told you with a proud smile on his face.

You grumbled a bunch of incoherent curse words while rubbing your temples. "This has got to be bullying of some sort."